"I'll be home by ten," Nick promised. "Keep the doors locked."

"Oh, Daddy, I always do," Paige said. "I'm going to fix popcorn. And Cokes. Or 7Up. Or whatever you like, Natalie."

"Sounds terrific." Natalie looked at Nick. "I'll take good care of her. You go do your duty. We'll be here suffering through the trials and tribulations of a nineteenth-century heroine and loving every minute of it."

It was 10:45. He'd told Natalie he'd be back by ten. Would she be mad?

"Nick Meredith, you act like you're married," he said aloud. "Natalie is not your wife. She's some woman you barely know. Probably shouldn't even have trusted after that dumb stunt she pulled at The Blue Lady. If she's mad, you never have to see her again."

He hoped she wasn't mad.

When he unlocked the front door and walked in, he saw her curled into a corner of the couch hugging an oversized pillow and watching Street Life. Her sandals lay on the floor and her long hair hung in a sloppy braid somewhere near her right ear.

"Natalie?"

She jumped, then smiled sheepishly. "I'm afraid I was somewhere between waking and sleeping. The movie ended at ten and Paige was worn out. She and Ripley are in hypersleep."

Nick laughed. "I take it you two had quite an evening."

"We did indeed. Before the movie we played the piano."

"You actually got her to play?" Nick asked.

"Yes. She said she hated her lessons, but I taught her a few songs. She has talent."

Nick smiled. "Both the piano and the talent come from her mother."

"I think she doesn't like her lessons because the teacher concentrates on classical music. It isn't her favorite. Afterward she got out her boombox and we danced and sang to some songs she does love. Did you know she's a closet rock star?"

"I've had hints."

"So was I at her age. I've promised to give her a few guitar lessons, if you don't mind."

"You play the guitar?"

"Yes, since I was younger than Paige."

"Guitar lessons," Nick said thoughtfully. "Maybe they would spur her musical interest the way the piano doesn't. I don't have an ounce of talent myself, but I'd hate to see hers go to waste just because she's playing the wrong instrument."

"It's not the instrument-it's the type of music. 'Fur Elise' doesn't inspire her," Natalie told him. "She'd prefer something more modern. Anyway, after our concert we played beauty shop. She's practicing her French braid."

Nick grinned. "Judging by the looks of your hair she needs more practice."

"Don't tell her that. She said this was her best braid yet."

"Good Lord."

"She'll improve." Natalie reached up and began untwining the long, shining strands of her hair. "During the movie we ate approximately five pounds of popcorn. After the movie she was determined to stay up until you came home but her eyelids were drooping. She'll sleep late tomorrow."

Nick looked troubled. "Was she still frightened about the murders?"

"She stopped talking about them. I'm sure she's still afraid, though."

"She and the rest of the town. It's been one hell of a day."

Natalie stood. She wore faded jeans and a pale green tee shirt. "You look tired," she said, slipping her slender feet into the sandals.

"So tired I'll never get to sleep."

"I'd suggest a drink but alcohol makes you sleepy, then wakes you up in the middle of the night. May I fix you some warm milk?"

"I would love some warm milk, but after the evening you've put in with my daughter, I certainly can't ask-"

"You certainly can," she said briskly. "Warm milk coming up, on one condition."

"And that would be?"

"You get milk, I get information."

"About the murders?"

"Yes." Sensing his reluctance, Natalie said, "Sheriff Meredith-Nick-I knew these people. Tamara was one of my closest friends. Warren was her husband. This is all striking pretty close to home."

He sighed. "Okay. You deserve information. Just give me a few minutes to unwind."

Nick followed Natalie into the kitchen and took mugs from the cabinet while she got the milk. "Sit down before you fall down," she directed, putting the full mugs into the microwave. "Do you like cinnamon in your milk?"

"I never tried it, but it sounds good. I feel like living dangerously tonight."

She smiled. "I guessed you were a risk-taker."

When he took a sip of warm cinnamon-flavored milk he said, "That's great. I didn't know what I'd been missing for thirty-six years."

"My mother used to fix milk this way." Suddenly she laughed. "Once she read some silly article that said nutmeg had the same effect as LSD, so she rushed out and bought some for herself, sprinkled it in milk, and gulped it down. She looked so disappointed when nothing happened."

Nick stared at her.

"Let me explain Kira to you," Natalie went on. "I was never allowed to call her Mommy-only Kira. Her parents lived in San Francisco. They were artists, very successful and very bohemian. Their son Peter was straight as an arrow. He and my father met in medical school. Unlike Peter, Kira was even more unconventional than her parents. She and my father were a total mismatch. I still don't understand why she married him and had me. Maybe Dad and I were an experiment for her. Anyway, when I was six she took off. She was supposed to pick me up at school. She didn't show.

Lily's mother took me home. The house was empty except for the dog. Three hours later when Dad got back from the hospital, he found a brief note in the bedroom saying she was sorry but she had to explore her inner self or some such nonsense. She said she'd be fine and in touch with us soon. Soon turned out to be six months. She was in California. She'd joined a commune, she called it. I think it was really a cult."

Natalie tossed Nick a lighthearted smile, but he saw the pain behind it. "She's still floating around from group to group, man to man. I hear from her a couple of times a year. I haven't seen her since I was twenty-one. She actually came to Columbus to talk me out of going into veterinary medicine. She said it was plebeian and that I should pursue my music. I ignored her."

"That's sad," Nick said, and immediately felt foolish. The woman had poured out her heart and all he responded with was "That's sad." He tried again. "Back in New York I ran into cases of neglect and desertion by parents all the time. I got almost used to it, but then I never knew the people involved. It seems almost unbelievable to me when I think of my own mother, though. She had seven kids. Didn't believe in birth control. My dad worked two jobs and Mom was a waitress, but things were still tough. She didn't have a lot of free time, but what she had she devoted to us. And my own wife Meagan… well, she was a great mother. A wonderful, loving mother. I wish she could have seen Paige grow up," he ended, feeling his throat muscles tighten. He took a sip of milk and sat rigid-faced when it wouldn't go down.

"Paige was lucky," Natalie said softly.

Nick nodded and managed to swallow. "Meagan died two years ago. That's why we left New York."

Natalie looked at him, clearly expecting him to go on with more details. But he hadn't discussed Meagan's death since it happened. A few people in Port Ariel knew that he was a widower. He'd never told anyone here how he had become one.

Natalie lowered her gaze and said casually, "It's tough on a little girl to be without a mother-"

"Meagan was murdered." The abruptness of the statement startled Nick. Natalie raised her eyes and the words began spilling from him. "She was working on a doctorate in English at N.Y.U. and had almost finished. One evening I came home and she was ecstatic. She'd done great on a general exam and wanted to celebrate with champagne. I offered to go to the liquor store, but she said I looked beat. The store was only a block away."