The reference to Joanna working for Richard was in a note from Ike copied at the bottom of one of Tess's e-mails to him. She hadn't kept the original.

Whether he was a client or perhaps even a friend, her relationship with Ike, she now saw, had been a guilty pleasure. She hadn't really known the people he'd trashed with his cutting, often very funny wit. Now she felt like a coconspirator, although she couldn't bring herself to regret their relationship. He'd never meant people to take him seriously. He was an overgrown adolescent who believed everyone should forgive his excesses because he was a good guy at heart. Tess had never expected anything from him-Ike Grantham was what he was.

But, she thought, he really hadn't liked Richard Montague at all.

She sat back, her head pounding. "Susanna, yesterday Richard Montague told me he hadn't been to the carriage house in years." Her voice was steady but hollow, the strain evident. "That was a flat-out lie. He and Ike were supposed to meet there a few hours before Ike stood me up."

"There could be an innocent reason."

But Susanna's voice was flat and serious, and Tess knew they shared the same fear. "What if Richard Montague was the last person to see Ike alive? Wouldn't he want to tell the police, especially now, given the circumstances?"

"Maybe Ike never showed up."

Tess swallowed, her throat dry and tight. "Maybe he did."

Susanna swore under her breath.

"They meet, they argue over Lauren and Joanna-"

"And Ike ends up buried in the cellar."

Tess looked over at her friend. "Am I getting ahead of the facts?"

"Way ahead." Her green eyes leveled on Tess. "But who cares? You're not a cop. Go sit on the Beacon police, Tess. Make them talk to this Montague character. Look, another month or two of Ike Grantham and I might have been driven to dump him in a dirt cellar myself, but-" She inhaled. "Damn it, you don't get to murder people."

And there it was, Tess thought. You don't get to murder people.

She printed out a copy of the pertinent e-mails and charged out, promising Susanna she'd check in later. "Don't tell your grandmother or anyone who's ever stepped foot in my father's bar about this development, okay? I could be off track, and it was hard enough explaining falling on top of a skeleton in the first place."

Susanna nodded, but managed a grim smile. "Davey and the gang would never let you live down accusing someone of murder based on an e-mail."

"God, it is thin, isn't it?"

"Go. Let the police talk to Montague and find out if he has a simple explanation."

"I hope he does. Matter of fact, I'm still hoping it was a ghost I saw."

Susanna said nothing, but Tess knew-they both knew.

Ike Grantham was dead.

Andrew found Lauren in her herb garden with her poodles. The little dogs were running through the grass, looking as if they'd collide, but never did. Lauren stood on a narrow gravel path among the herbs- Andrew recognized oregano, several kinds of thyme, sage, all getting going for the season. The seaside mansion and extensive grounds reminded Andrew that Lauren Grantham Montague was a wealthy woman. It was easy to forget, and maybe she wanted it that way. She didn't have drivers or guards at a gate or even full-time household help, but she came from money-and a lot of it.

If she or Ike wanted to disappear, or to make someone else disappear, they could do it.

"Dolly would enjoy the poodles." Lauren spoke without looking at him, her gaze on the dogs. "You should bring her by sometime."

One of the dogs scrambled over Andrew's foot. He ignored the tight ball of tension in his gut and concentrated on why he was here. But he let her have her moment of pleasantries. Why not? "I'm sure she'd get a kick out of these guys. She's an animal lover."

Lauren turned to him, her eyes red-veined, as if she hadn't slept in days. She smiled without feeling. "Most princesses are."

Her comment irritated him. Her idea of being a princess and Dolly's were so different. Lauren didn't have a clue about how he or his daughter thought. It wasn't because she was rich. That was too simple, too black-and-white. She established her own ideas for who people were and what they believed, why they did what they did, to suit herself. She'd take one fact about them and run with it, creating a whole panorama out of one tidbit. He'd seen her do it even with antiques she brought to Harl. She'd mix fact with fantasy, project herself and her own perceptions and beliefs, and turn a Windsor chair into a grand story.

Bottom line, she tended to jump to conclusions about people.

Andrew suspected she had about him.

"Tess Haviland's skeleton is for real," he said.

She didn't seem surprised at his abrupt comment. "She thinks it's Ike. That's the police's nightmare scenario. They're hoping he turns up."

"What about you?"

She shrugged. "It would be horrible if it was Ike. I'd suffer personally, of course, but so would the project, my husband, you. Richard's Pentagon appointment is already in jeopardy, just at the whiff of something wrong. And you. You're right next door. Can you imagine if it turns out that Ike Grantham was killed in the Thorne carriage house?"

"You sound like a reporter reading the news. He's your brother."

She tossed back her head, annoyed. "I know who he is."

Andrew didn't back off. "You know more than you've admitted."

She kept her head back, her eyes half-closed as she stared at him. "Do I?"

"Lauren, whatever pieces of this mess you have- maybe you've put them together wrong, come up with the wrong answers."

She scooped up one of the dogs and held it, scratching under its chin. "I think I like dogs better than people." She pressed her cheek to the top of the dog's head, her eyes filled with tears. "You don't respect me, Andrew. You never have. You've never appreciated what I do for you-or anyone else for that matter. You're very independent that way, you know."

He didn't respond. A light breeze had stirred, bringing out the smells of grass and soil, flowers. It was a beautiful spot, no old Adirondack chairs, no overgrown lilacs, no Harl.

Lauren set down the dog and walked a few steps onto the path. The herb garden was planted in a classic star pattern, with a gazing globe at the center. "I haven't seen or heard from my brother since last March. He was supposed to meet Tess that afternoon in Boston to discuss a new design for the project's Web page. They often met up here, but not that day."

The dogs had followed her onto the path and were getting into the herbs. Lauren herded them out of the rosemary. "Stay on the paths, kiddos, or I'll put you inside." She squatted and replaced dirt one of them had scratched up. "He was stopping at the carriage house first. He told me at breakfast. We'd argued."

"About the carriage house?"

She shook her head and rose, brushing the dirt off her hands. "No, about his living arrangements."

Andrew knew what she was talking about. A frequent subject of gossip in town, the Grantham living arrangements were one of their more obvious eccentricities. When he was in town, whether for an extended period or a few days, Ike lived in the family mansion with his sister. It apparently was never a problem with her first husband. He and Lauren had traveled frequently themselves, and his family owned a place on Cape Cod. After their divorce, with their daughter away at school, it was just Ike and Lauren again, brother and sister, in the Beacon-by-the-Sea house where they'd grown up, an arrangement that apparently had suited them.

But Andrew guessed all that changed when Lauren decided to remarry. "Richard didn't want Ike staying here?"