Tess was frowning. "Are the police going to track him down?"

"Why should they go to such trouble?"

"Ms. Montague-"

"Lauren," she corrected with a smile.

"Lauren, Ike was one of my clients, and I want to know he's okay."

"Then find him. Be my guest. I stopped spinning to Ike's tune a long, long time ago." Her tone was cool, but she felt hot inside, out of control, the way she had last night with Richard. She was bruised today, aching, and yet satisfied. "If he wants to come back, he'll come back. If he doesn't, he won't."

"What if he can't?"

"You mean, what if it was Ike's remains you saw? What if someone killed him, buried him in the carriage house cellar and then dug him up when you took an interest in your property?" Lauren smiled again, gentle despite the lava flows burning through her insides. "That's too far-fetched for me, I'm afraid.

And the police, too, I might add. If it's something you want to pursue, be my guest."

"Do you have any idea where Ike might be?" Tess asked.

Lauren sighed. "No, I really don't." She softened deliberately, yet could feel things cooling slightly inside her, as if the outward demeanor she'd maintained for the past year was all at once merging with the inner turmoil she'd been feeling, the ambivalence, the desperate uncertainty over what she should do. She plucked a lilac blossom and touched it to her nose. "Look, I don't mean to sound callous. If I, in any way, even for a second, believed you saw my brother's remains, I'd be sitting on the police until they got moving. I'd hire my own detectives."

"I didn't mean to imply-"

"I know," Lauren said, neatly cutting her off. "Please don't apologize. By the way, how do you like the carriage house?"

"Except for seeing things, just fine."

Tess was stiff, unrelenting and, Lauren knew, convinced of what she'd seen, no matter that she couldn't prove it or even tell herself there was no chance she'd made a mistake. "Please," Lauren said, "don't hesitate to use the Beacon Historic Project archives if you wish to research the carriage house. It has an amazing history, as I'm sure you already know. Stop by anytime."

Tess nodded stiffly. "Thanks."

"Andrew," Lauren said, moving toward him. "I've parked my car at your house. I'd like to say hi to Dolly while I'm here. You'll walk with me?"

He acquiesced, but only after a quick, concerned look at Tess. Something was going on there, Lauren decided. Well, what of it? The point of protecting him wasn't romantic. She simply couldn't allow Andrew Thorne to stand trial for killing her brother-even if it was involuntary manslaughter. It just wasn't right. Dolly had already lost her mother because of Ike. She didn't deserve to lose her father, too.

When she was at her car, Lauren finally turned to Andrew. The wind had shifted, coming off the water now, chilly and damp. She pushed back her hair. "This Tess Haviland worries me, Andrew. She's artistic and obviously has a fanciful imagination. I hope she isn't here just to stir up trouble."

His expression was unreadable, controlled as always. "Why would she stir up trouble?"

"Richard's up for a Pentagon appointment, you know. Senator Bowler is supporting him. It's a sensitive time. You know the senator has enemies-all politicians do." She pulled open her car door, the hot lava flowing inside her again. She had to control it, the way Andrew would, and use it to her advantage. And his. She cut him a self-deprecating smile. "I know that must sound ridiculously Machiavellian, but you must remember this sort of thing from Joanna's work with Richard."

He nodded. "One rat maze after another."

"Yes, that's one way of putting it. I'd hate to see Richard get hurt. He wants this appointment very much. He's dreamed of it for years."

"You think Tess made up the skeleton to undermine him?"

Andrew's tone was neutral, but Lauren felt the bite of his doubt, anyway. She slid onto the car seat, looked up at him with what she hoped was strength, conviction and the right measure of graciousness. "I'm keeping an open mind. I hope you will, too."

She left, gripping the wheel too hard, until she had to pry her fingers loose. She stopped at the project offices. Even Muriel Cookson wasn't around on a Sunday. Lauren relaxed at being in the familiar surroundings, the antiques, the flowers, the pictures of herself and Ike in happier times.

She really did have to get him out of her trunk. "Oh, Ike," she whispered. "Dear God." Two minutes later, Jeremy Carver walked into her office and sat on the wingback chair in front of her desk. He propped one foot up on the opposite knee. "I thought that was your car out front."

"I often come in on the weekend."

"Dedicated."

"Yes." He nodded. "I know what that's like. Mind if I smoke?"

"Yes, Mr. Carver, I do."

"No problem." He leaned back, a man aware of his unprepossessing appearance yet also the extent-and the limits-of his power. "So, why don't you tell me about your visit with Tess Haviland?"

Harl, Dolly and Tess decided to plant catnip for Tippy Tail and the kittens. Andrew pointed out that the kittens would be in new homes before they were big enough to appreciate catnip. It was Tess's idea. She'd ventured off in her little tank of a car and returned with a trunkful of herbs. Rosemary, sage, thyme, oregano, chives and catnip. "Even if I don't keep the carriage house," she'd said, "herbs will help sell it."

Andrew didn't know anyone who'd bought a house because of herbs in the garden. She'd suggested planting the catnip in his yard-she didn't want to encourage Tippy Tail to think of the carriage house as home. A nice gesture, but probably too late, seeing how she and her kittens were in a box in the bathroom.

Harl didn't approve. He was supervising. He'd produced garden tools and picked out a spot at the far end of the yard, where Dolly and Tess set to work. "Catnip doesn't spread, does it?" he asked. Tess shrugged. "I don't know. I'm learning as I go along."

"Well, if it does, there's always weed killer."

He finally returned to his shop, back to working on the chest of drawers he was painting. Andrew had finished up his yard work and sat on one of the Adirondack chairs under the shagbark hickory. "I guess planting herbs keeps her mind off skeletons," he said, watching Tess and Dolly bring the watering can over to the catnip. Dolly insisted on helping carry it, which meant she kept banging into it and water splashed out over both of them. Tess didn't seem to mind.

Harl was meticulously applying paint to a drawer. "I think she's got one of those minds that jumps around a lot. Artist. Always thinking."

"Doesn't your mind wander while you're painting?"

"No."

Andrew drank some of the ice water he'd poured for himself. He hadn't offered Tess or Dolly any. They were too busy. And he wanted a minute here in the shade, before Tess left for Boston, to think.

"She saw a skeleton," he said finally.

Harl didn't look up from his painting. "I know it."

"Jedidiah died at sea. There's no grave for him."

"What are you saying? That he was murdered, buried in the carriage house cellar, and the lost at sea story is a cover up?" Harl asked. "I don't buy it. And he died in, what, the 1890s? A skeleton that old, someone would have uncovered it years ago putting in the plumbing or installing a new furnace. Doesn't wash."

Andrew agreed. He'd thought through all the possible scenarios last night, then again while he worked in the yard. "It'd have to be a hell of a coincidence."

"She's not even sure what she saw. If the police had more to go on, they'd act. Otherwise, they're not rocking the boat." Harl dipped his brush into the paint can, then thought better of continuing. He didn't like to work and talk at the same time. He carefully wiped the brush. "Lauren doesn't want to pursue the possibility it might have been Ike down there. The police don't have any reason not to defer to her wishes."