Her volume hadn't lowered. Warren looked at her closely. Even in the bleaching light of the moon he could see her flushed cheeks. She'd been drinking. He'd never seen her take more than one glass of wine. "I'm only ten minutes late, darling," he said just above a whisper. "As I was saying, this isn't a good idea tonight. I had a grueling session with Sheriff Meredith today and-"

"Meredith's an ass.'

Warren winced. " Charlotte, the whole marina will hear you."

"Get on board." She extended her hand invitingly, but there was steel in her voice. "Please."

His heart raced. He could stand here and argue, with Charlotte getting angrier and louder by the minute, or he could board the yacht and disappear inside. He wanted to be with her. Besides, it was a little late to worry about being seen.

Five minutes later Charlotte poured him a glass of champagne. She'd already finished half the bottle. She insisted they toast to "new beginnings." Warren 's stomach tightened. His wife of six years was dead. How could he be here with his lover toasting to the future? Because until a few weeks ago the future had stretched before him like an endless desert? Because the thought of enduring Tamara for even one more year had become unbearable?

"You're not drinking," Charlotte said, her beautiful gold flecked eyes glittering up at him. She wore tight white slacks and a filmy blouse with no bra underneath. "This is very good champagne. Don't let it go to waste." He took a sip and she smiled. "All right, tell me about the great Nicholas Meredith's visit."

"He's very suspicious."

Charlotte 's pupils seemed to dilate. "Does he know about us?" she asked sharply.

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. He would have hit me with it if he did. But he had some questions about my alibi."

"Which you answered to his satisfaction."

"Yes. I think so."

"What do you mean, you think so?"

"I meant yes. Period." He could not tell her about Lorraine

Glover. He'd sworn to her that he'd never had an affair before she came along. Nor could he let Charlotte find out about Tamara's pregnancy. He'd also sworn to her he hadn't slept with Tamara for a year. "Meredith had a deputy who was looking at the model of the Mercy with a lot of interest. Hysell."

"Ted Hysell? The guy we saw at The Hearth?"

Warren was stricken. "I didn't recognize him."

"Don't worry. He's an idiot."

"But he's seen us together."

"Forget him. Listen, Warren, now is not the time to get rattled," she said calmly, "although I wish Sheriff Purdue were still in office. He was a great friend of Daddy's. He was also too lazy to do much investigating."

"He'd have to do something in a murder case."

"Nothing productive, I assure you." She smiled brightly. "You look so unhappy. Drink up, darling. You'll feel better."

Two glasses of champagne later he did feel better. Charlotte opened a second bottle of champagne. When he protested, she insisted they both needed it to relax. The champagne did not seem to relax her-just the opposite. With each glass she grew more animated. This was an unfamiliar Charlotte. Warren decided nerves were responsible for the drinking. She didn't want to admit Tamara's murder worried her, so she hid the anxiety beneath alcohol. Drunk or not, she was still charming. Charming, delightful, completely irresistible.

Warren took her oval face in his hands. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her nose, each flushed cheek. "I love you, Charlotte," he said urgently. "God, I love you."

She made a sound like a contented cat purring, then pulled down his head, pressing their lips together briefly. Then she pushed him farther down until his lips touched the cleft between her small, firm breasts. "You're a free man now," she breathed. "Make love to me as a free man."

They always made love in the master stateroom on the bed Warren was sure Max Bishop meant only for his personal pleasure. Charlotte said that before his strokes, her fa ther frequently "entertained" women in the stateroom. Now that Max's right side was seventy-five percent immobilized, Charlotte had appropriated the room. Max,was stuck at home with poor faithful Muriel who'd overlooked his many affairs. The lavish stateroom belonged to Charlotte. And him.

Mine, Warren thought in the midst of their abandoned lovemaking. This beautiful, exciting woman, this excessive but impressive yacht, this privileged life Charlotte 's money could buy. All his. That would make his father sit up and take notice. The future no longer looked endless and bleak to Warren. The future looked like a city shimmering on the horizon. The Emerald City, he thought, although he'd always hated The Wizard of Oz. Snagging Charlotte was like Dorothy reaching the Emerald City.

They made love twice, then lay spent, Warren on his back, Charlotte on her abdomen with an arm thrown across his chest. Water lapped at the sides of the Charlotte. Warren smiled, realizing that for the first time in his life he didn't mind being on a boat. The funeral and everything else that must be done for Tamara in the next few weeks didn't seem insurmountable now. He would get through it because he had something wonderful waiting for him… over the rainbow.

Warren burst out snickering. What was wrong with him tonight? Wizard of Oz on the brain. He must be drunk. He felt young and floating and a trifle silly. And sleepy. How tempting it was to just relax into the thick down pillows and drift off. But that would be a disaster. Imagine waking up at eight in the morning when the marina was coming to life. He couldn't stay on board for the rest of the night. He must wake up in his own bed and carry through with the day as people expected. He had to leave.

" Charlotte," he said softly. No response. " Charlotte "

She breathed heavily beside him. She had dozed with him before, but this was deep sleep. Too much champagne. He jiggled her. Nothing. She was all right but certainly not able to rise, dress, and go home. Oh, well, he needn't worry about Charlotte. She often spent the night on the yacht, so her family wouldn't be concerned if she wasn't home in the morning. He wasn't so lucky.

Warren gently moved her arm. She didn't stir. He smiled. Sleep, my beautiful prize.

He dressed by the one dim light they'd left on. Glancing in the mirror he decided he looked like hell-bloodshot eyes, dark circles, deepened lines in his forehead. Warren was usually vain about his appearance, but now he was glad he looked ragged. After all, he was supposed to be the grieving widower.

He glanced at Charlotte one last time. She hadn't moved. Colossal headache tomorrow, he thought. Maybe that would keep her too occupied to make any more unwise phone calls to his house.

He left the bedroom and went up to the beautifully appointed saloon. Saloon. The word had always seemed foolish to him, conjuring up images from Gunsmoke. Miss Kitty should be lurking somewhere ready to flirt with Marshal Dillon. Nevertheless, people were insistent on using the correct terms, like saloon for what would be called the living room, galley for kitchen, port and starboard for left and right. Nonsense.

He paused. Was that a shadow passing by one of the windows looking out onto the walk-around deck? He rushed to the glass and looked out. The deck was empty. The.boat beside the Charlotte was lighter and rocked while the Charlotte remained nearly motionless. Moonlight played over the water. That's all he'd seen-a cloud passing across the moon. He took a deep breath. He was being paranoid, thinking that Meredith had people everywhere. He had to stop jumping at shadows, literal or otherwise. The appearance of innocence was essential.

Warren crept forward. Twenty minutes and he'd be home. He had rarely looked forward to being at home in the past. How many nights had he lain beneath one of Tamara's quilts with her rolled into a tight ball, just like her inhibited little psyche, and felt himself breaking into a sweat, the sweat of panic at the thought that this was the rest of his life? Hun dreds of times. But now that bed seemed like the safest place in the world. That was where he should be, where he wanted to be if Sheriff Meredith should come looking.