Oliver poured himself a brandy from a cut-glass decanter sitting on a sideboard. He offered Warren nothing. As Viveca detached herself from Warren and drifted gracefully across the room, Oliver swirled his brandy in the snifter, slowly took a sizeable drink, then fixed Warren with pale gray eyes.

"Warren, Sheriff Meredith has informed us things are not as they appeared at first."

Blood rushed to Warren 's face, then quickly drained. "You mean Tamara's not dead?" he asked in a thin, startled voice.

"Of course she's dead!" Oliver's voice lashed at him. "They're not likely to make a mistake like that!'

"Oh, well, then…"

"Tamara's death wasn't caused by an accident." Oliver paused. Warren was vaguely aware of everyone intensely watching him. He could almost hear Alison's heart beating rapidly with excitement. "Tamara was murdered," Oliver said in a brittle voice. "Someone cut her throat."

I'm supposed to gasp, Warren thought distantly. I'm supposed to turn pale or sway. I'm at least supposed to look surprised. Instead he stood paralyzed and uttered a weak, "Oh."

"Oh?" Lily repeated in an eerie version of Tamara's voice. "Is that it? Oh!'

"I… I'm just…" His mouth felt full of gauze. Once again he was an inadequate boy reduced to stammering helplessness in front of his disgusted father. "Who?" he managed finally.

Oliver paused, then said, "The police have no idea. Yet."

But he continued to stare at Warren unflinchingly, his steely eyes flickering with suspicion.

Since returning home, Natalie had considered calling Lily but decided to wait. Sheriff Meredith had no doubt informed Oliver and Lily that Tamara had been murdered. They needed time to accept this information before friends descended. But she couldn't sit idle and dwell on the image of Tamara's eyeless body, and she certainly couldn't think about the unnerving call she'd received. She hadn't mentioned it to her father. Hopefully he would dismiss it as a prank. More likely he would grow alarmed, and she didn't feel like dealing with his overprotectiveness. Instead she kept quiet about the call and busied herself with the dog.

She led it to the patio and hoped it wouldn't run away at the sight of the garden hose. Thankfully it stood still, patiently enduring being doused with cold water then lathered with Natalie's shampoo. "This is guaranteed to add strength, body, and luster," she told the dog. "Vitamin B, hydrolyzed wheat protein, glycerin, tocopheryl-that's a form of vitamin E. Thyme and chamomile-sweet-smelling herbs. Expensive stuff, young lady. I don't think it does anything for fleas, though, but we'll worry about them later. Right now our prime concern is dirt and that less-than-delightful aroma you're sporting."

After the bath she patted hydrogen peroxide onto the dog's facial scratch and the shallow cuts on its paws. None of the wounds were serious enough to require stitches and only one looked as if it might be heading toward infection. She would start the dog on antibiotics just to be safe, but now she had a more immediate problem.

"I can't keep calling you 'the dog,' " she said, looking into its amber eyes. "And you're certainly not going to be Fido. You need a proper name. Nothing common because I have a feeling you're an uncommon dog." She stared out at the lake, considering and rejecting a dozen names. Then her gaze snapped back to the dog. "I'm reading a murder mystery with a heroine named Blaine." She dabbed a drop of water on the dog's head. "I christen you Blaine." The dog licked her nose and she smiled. "I think you like your new name."

Blaine 's head moved sharply. Natalie looked up, following the dog's gaze.

A woman stood in the doorway. She appeared to be in her mid-fifties with short, silver hair and bright aqua eyes. She stared at Natalie intently before she smiled broadly. "So you're the girl I've heard so much about!" She came forward, hand extended. "I'm Ruth Meadows."

Natalie smiled automatically. Ruth Meadows?

"Your father said you'd brought home a dog," the woman went on. "My, he's fine looking."

"It's a she," Natalie said. Free of dirt and oil, Blaine 's black hair glistened in the sun.

"She looks like the dog in the photo of you taken when you were about five."

"The framed one in Dad's study? Her name was Clytemnestra."

"Good heavens, that's a mouthful."

"My mother named her. Kira was in her Greek mythology phase then." Natalie looked at the dog. "Someone once cared about her. She's been spayed and I'd say she's only been neglected for a couple of weeks."

"Well, what a shame." Ruth stepped out on the patio. She was about five-seven and trim. She wore ivory linen slacks, a pale pink knit top and small gold hoop earrings. Her lips bore a lovely shade of coral-pink lipstick. Her voice was warm and friendly.

"I love animals," she said, petting Blaine. "I grew up on a farm. I always thought when I reached my age I'd be surrounded by children and animals. Instead I'm childless and

I have only one small cat. A calico. I named it Callie because all cats seem female to me."

"All calicos are female."

"They are? How do you know?"

"The calico hair coat color pattern is genetically incompatible with the male Y chromosome."

"Well, my goodness!" Ruth exclaimed. "Did you ever hear of such a thing?"

"Calicos are beautiful," Natalie said, her mind working. The woman said she'd heard about her. She had a cat. And she looked quite at ease in this house. Clearly Ruth was Andrew's new romantic interest. Natalie told herself not to stare or ask too many probing questions. She was surprised Andrew was even allowing the two women in his life to meet so soon.

Ruth said gently, "Your father told me about Tamara. I knew her slightly from my work with the suicide hotline she organized. Such a dear girl."

"Yes," Natalie said softly.

"I can't even imagine how awful finding her must have been for you. I'm so sorry."

Natalie swallowed, unable to say anything.

"Don't worry, dear, I'm not going to ask any questions. But I'll be here for a little while if you want to talk and take your mind off things. We can discuss anything. Animals, movies-" She winked. "Your father."

"Oh, no. The last subject is off-limits," Andrew announced as he joined Ruth. "Well, that looks like a completely different dog."

"I knew she was a beauty beneath all the grime." And blood, Natalie thought. She'd soaped the neck area twice. "I named her Blaine."

" Blaine? What kind of name is that?"

"She likes it."

"I don't know how you can tell, but if you like it I suppose it's okay." Andrew frowned. "You'll need a leash and collar."

"Which I plan to get immediately along with some anti biotics. I don't have anything with me. Dad, if you'll write a prescription for amoxicillin, I'll run to the drugstore right now." And leave you and Ruth alone and try to keep myself busy so I don't replay finding Tam, Natalie thought.

"Prescription' coming up," Andrew said, going back inside.

"This dog certainly fell into the right hands," Ruth smiled. "I really don't know much about modern animal care. Maybe you can teach me a few things, Natalie. One of our two vets is retiring next month. The other-Cavanaugh-just doesn't suit me. He's not gentle with the animals and it seems he's more interested in selling medicine than anything else. I've talked to several people who aren't happy with him, either."

"I see." Natalie stood up. "What color collar do you think Blaine should have?"

Ruth came forward and stroked Blaine 's head. "With all this beautiful black hair? Red!"

"That's what I thought, too."

Ruth kneeled and took the dog's face in her hands. "Hello, pretty girl. You've found a good home, haven't you?" Blaine licked her hand. "Natalie, are you sure she's perfectly healthy?"