Jenna choked while Casey laughed so hard she turned red.

Lucas, however, remained totally serious. "Seems to me, you're the one who's changed, Jen. I remember when Marianne turned thirty. Rowl," he growled in his throat and Jenna laughed too.

"You're impossible, Lucas."

"That's what Marianne used to say. Now she just says, 'Yes, yes, yes!'"

Casey held her stomach, still chortling. "Stop, Lucas, you're hurting me."

"I think Jenna's increased sex drive is all her fault. The real tragedy is that Adam died before she fully matured." He backed up, then turned, startled. "Kelly. How long have you been there?"

Kelly Templeton's eyes were wide. "From yes, yes, yes. You said we could talk extra-credit on my test during lunch, Dr. Marshall."

Jenna covered her eyes, mortified. "Kelly, just go, and don't mention a word of this. Please."

"Eight points partial credit on my test?" Kelly asked, her tone smug.

Jenna frowned and peeked through her fingers. "I don't give unearned grades."

Kelly pursed her lips, then smiled. "Yes, yes, yes. I could make quite a cheer out of that."

Jenna sucked in a breath. "That's extortion."

Lucas chuckled. "Sounds like free commerce to me."

Jenna glared at Lucas, then considered Kelly. "Tell you what. I'll give you the opportunity for eight points extra credit on the next test. It'll all come out in the wash."

"Make it twelve points and you have a deal," said Kelly with confidence.

Jenna stuck out her hand. "Deal. Now go away. And never say yes to me again."

Kelly laughed as she turned for the door. "I never thought I'd be looking forward to thirty."

Casey sucked in both cheeks. "Whoa, that girl has a future."

Jenna shook her head. "As what I don't want to know."

"But the important thing is, will you partake of Rocky Road?" Casey wanted to know.

Jenna considered it. Maybe Adam had been Rocky Road all the time, but her taste buds were just too dull to appreciate him. Maybe she wasn't such a louse after all, just a slow bloomer.

Casey plunked her fists on her hips. "Well?"

Jenna sighed. "Maybe a taste. Just to see how it goes."

Casey patted her arm. "Good girl." Then she winked at Lucas. "I've never known Jenna to stop at one bite of Rocky Road."

Lucas chuckled and picked up his broom. "Some things are not made for moderation."

Monday, October 3, 12:45 P.M.

The Pineville Public Library looked like something out of colonial times. Neil just hoped they had Internet access. He needed to track down the Parker family. One Parker in particular.

He found the fifty-something librarian sitting at her desk, her hands neatly folded. Her nameplate said Miss Wells. "What can I do for you today?" she asked pleasantly.

"I'm visiting and I need Internet access. Can I use one of your computers for a few hours?"

"Of course you may," she said and he realized she'd corrected his grammar, probably through reflex. She stood and gestured him to follow, leading him to a large table with eight desktop computers. "Take your pick. They do have software that blocks access to certain sites."

Neil felt his lips twitch. "I'm not looking for porn, ma'am."

Miss Wells's face heated to the color of cherries. "I never… I mean…" she stuttered. "Well, please just take one. I'll sign you in. What is your name, please?"

"Neil Davies. D-a-v-i-e-s. It sounds like Davis so everyone forgets the e."

She gave a professional little nod. "Very well, Mr. Davies. Can I get you anything else?"

"How about local newspapers from the last two weeks?"

He watched her pleasant expression change. Harden. Her mouth thinned to a straight line. "Of course. I'm sure you'll find all the little tidbits you're so hungry for." She looked away. "Parasites."

"Excuse me?" Neil asked.

"Reporters," Miss Wells spat. She looked back, her eyes flashing. "We can't turn around anymore without running into one. Turning a tragedy into copy. Go right ahead," she added bitterly. "You won't be the only one."

"I'm not-" Neil started to say, then stopped. Perhaps being a reporter would be a decent cover. "I'm not going to write a story on the missing girls," he said earnestly and watched her eyes go from angry to merely suspicious. "I'm doing a piece on local families," he added, inspired.

Miss Wells nodded uncertainly. It didn't really matter if she believed him or not. The papers were public record, but he did prefer to be on good terms with the librarian.

"Very well," she finally said. "They're in the back room. I'll be right back."

Twenty minutes later, Miss Wells brought him a stack of the Pineville Courier. "We have the paper copies going back two months," she said. "Beyond that you'll be squinting at microfiche."

"Understood," Neil said, his fingers itching to begin. "Thank you."

Three hours later he was deep into the microfiche and still hadn't found the face he sought. Another man might have given up by now. Another man who didn't see the faces of four innocent girls crying for justice every time he closed his eyes. He blinked hard and gritted his teeth.

William Parker was in here somewhere. He knew it. He just had to find one picture. One.

Miss Wells sat in the seat next to him. "Perhaps if you told me what you're looking for," she murmured in her librarian voice. "I'd be happy to help you."

I'm looking for a monster, he wanted to say. But, of course, did not. Instead he made his mouth smile ruefully and said, "Thanks anyway, but I think this is an 'I'll know it when I see it' situation."

"Very well. But you might want to take a break. You're starting to develop a twitch."

A twi-itch, he thought with amusement. Only in the South could a one-syllable word become so elongated. Neil stretched. "That's a good idea, Miss Wells. I'll walk around your library."

She stood up with him and pointed to the far wall. "The high school has put together a collection of pictures of local events. Maybe you'll find what you're looking for there."

He wouldn't, he knew. But his back ached and his eyeballs felt like they'd been carved out with a melon-baller. He definitely needed a break.

Miss Wells resumed her post at the front desk and Neil walked to the far wall she'd indicated. The high school stu-dents had done a good job, capturing a number of different aspects of local life including agriculture-a dried tobacco leaf; commerce-an aerial view of the Research Triangle; society-the first high school dance of the season; and of course sports. He bent forward and stared at the photos gathered in collage fashion. And froze.

There, amid photos of farmers, white-collar professionals, babies and senior citizens, students, parents and teachers, was the one picture he was looking for. The only face that mattered.

William Parker. Smiling. It was the smile Neil had last seen from the window of a black Mercedes sedan on a cold drizzling day in Seattle. It was the smile he'd seen every day from across the courtroom where Parker sat at the defendant's table, tie knotted impeccably, hair neatly combed, eyes defiant. It was the smug, self-satisfied smile that had made Neil want to rip his face in two.

That still made Neil want to rip his face in two.

Gathering his wits, Neil walked back to the computer and brought up a search engine, typed in a few words and got the result he was looking for the first time out. It was amazing how simple a search was when you knew who you were looking for.

Then he cleaned up his area, thanked Miss Wells for her help, and left the Pineville Public Library, his gut churning in the absolute certainty that he had found William Parker and in the absolute belief beyond a shadow of a doubt that Parker was actively murdering once again.