Blaine sat in the hall looking at her expectantly. "I'm sorry, girl. I promised you a walk this morning but something has come up." She opened the door, surprised by the cool air that wafted over her. A gray sky hung low like the lid on a box. She reached for a denim jacket hanging on the coat tree. Then she looked at Blaine again.

"I don't know why Lily wants me to go to Tamara's," she said. "You might be in the way, but I have this odd feeling…" The dog turned in excited circles as Natalie picked up her leash. "I don't want to go out there alone. It's your lucky day."

Blaine sat quiet and poised on the front seat, looking with interest at everything whizzing by. She left nose prints on the side window. Natalie flipped on the radio and stroked the dog's head as Linda Ronstadt's "Blue Bayou" played.

When she reached Tamara's house, she was surprised to find the driveway empty. No red Corvette. Maybe Lily had been delayed or had to leave suddenly.

She pulled in the driveway. Blaine jumped out behind her. Natalie held her leash although the dog clearly wasn't going off on her own. They climbed the porch steps. No note on the door. Feeling as guilty as a thief, Natalie turned the doorknob. Locked. She moved to the side and peered through the picture window into the living room. A book lay splayed on an end table as if someone had just put it down and would be right back. Only a week ago Tamara and Warren had lived in this house, Natalie thought. They'd slept, eaten, talked about their days, and now they were both dead. Not just dead-murdered, their throats slashed.

Soon other people would live in this house. Their furniture, their pictures, their clothing would replace the Hunts'. But some essence of Tamara and Warren would always linger here. No one would ever forget what had happened to them.

Natalie stepped off the porch and walked around the house. In Columbus, the daffodils and tulips already had disappeared, but here some faded blooms remained in Tamara's flowerbeds. Poppies and impatiens were just coming up. On the deck sat a glass-topped table with an umbrella. The green-and-white vinyl seat covers matched that of the glider and rocker. An expensive gas grill rested nearby. Leaves brought down in the storm the night Tamara was murdered littered the deck. If she had lived, every leaf would have been gone by noon the next day. Dear, meticulous Tam.

Tam. On the answering machine Lily had said Tamara but Natalie could not remember Lily ever calling her sister anything except Tam. Either my memory is faulty or Lily was really upset, Natalie thought. What on earth could be wrong?

She looked beyond the lawn to Hyacinth Lane. The dirt road was only visible for about a hundred yards until trees and vines obscured it from view. Her gaze drifted skyward.

Vultures.

"Oh, my God!" she cried, the image of Tamara's ravaged face flashing through her mind. "Lily!"

Natalie ran toward the road. She'd dropped Blaine's leash, but the dog galloped along beside her without a moment's hesitation. The last time Natalie had been out on this road, Blaine had run ahead to show her where Tamara's body lay. Today she thought if the dog ran ahead, then started furiously barking, she would faint.

Dirt and gravel crunched under her Reeboks. Much too soon her breath grew short. She used to run daily but had abandoned the routine months ago. Now she was out of shape. Blaine pulled ahead, then dropped back as if she sensed Natalie's need for a companion.

Natalie tried to keep her eyes straight ahead, but they drifted up again. The ugly birds circled. At least they weren't feasting. Yet.

A wave of nausea and breathlessness forced her to slow down. She was close now, but close to what? Oh, please don't let it be Lily, she prayed.

She saw a gray-white heap in the middle of the road. A hairy gray-white heap with a long bare rat-like tail. A dead opossum.

Natalie stopped abruptly and her vision blurred. She bent over, hands on knees, and drew deep, slow breaths. First she thought she would faint from fear. Now she thought she might faint from relief.

Blaine barked and drew closer. Natalie's head shot up. A man stopped in front of them, looking at Blaine with caution.

"I just wanted to see if you were all right," he said.

His voice was familiar. Natalie wiped away the perspiration dripping from her forehead into her eyes and blinked. Tall. Slender. Dark blond hair curling over the collar of his denim shirt. The man she'd met in Lily's store.

"Jeff Lindstrom?"

He smiled. "You remembered." He looked at Blaine. "Will you tell Lassie I'm harmless?"

"Her name is Blaine. She's very protective." Natalie was not sure this was true, although the dog was showing protective tendencies, but she suddenly recalled that the night Charlotte Bishop had been murdered she was seen arguing with a man who fit Jeff's description. She did not touch the dog, hoping Blaine would maintain her tense stance. "What are you doing out here?"

"Sightseeing. Someone told me about the Saunders house. I have to admit I was disappointed. They said the place was a little run-down. It's a wreck."

"So I've heard. My friends and I used to go there when we were kids. Back then it was run-down. I haven't seen it for ages."

"You and your friends?" He flashed the smile that at first had struck Natalie as open. Now it seemed studied. "Would that be Lily and Tamara Peyton?"

"Well, yes. How did you know?"

"When I was in Curious Things I could tell you were a good friend of Lily. Tamara was her twin. Simple deduction." The smile. "It really is terrible about Tamara. People in town have told me the details of her murder. She was found on this road, wasn't she?"

"Yes."

"By Lily and you." She nodded. "Hell of a thing. Who do you suppose would want to kill a lovely young woman like Tamara?"

"That's what the police are wondering."

"Then her husband and that Bishop woman. They must have been involved. Did Tamara know?"

"I have no idea," Natalie said faintly. She was growing alarmed. He was asking too many questions, watching her too intently. "I really have to be getting back."

"Why were you running? You looked like you were scared to death."

"Did I?" She forced a smile. "What you saw was strain, not fear. I haven't run for a long time."

"That wasn't a simple jog I saw. Tell me. What's wrong?"

You're scaring the hell out of me, that's what's wrong, Natalie thought. She wouldn't show it, though. "Nothing is wrong. I just ran too far too fast and I started to feel sick. I'm fine now.".

"You don't look fine." He moved one step closer. "You're very pale."

Blaine emitted a low growl. Jeff barely looked at her. His gaze held Natalie's.

"I am fine." Turn around and walk, part of her said. Another part told her not to turn her back on this man. It would be easy for him to grab her and pull a knife neatly across her throat. "Did you drive out here? I didn't see a car."

"It's parked over there." He motioned vaguely toward the end of Tamara's street. "I've been around here for hours."

"Then you must be ready to go back. Walk with us."

"Wouldn't you like to see the Saunders house? You said you haven't been there for a long time."

No, dammit! she screamed inwardly. Should she chance it and turn away? He certainly didn't seem intimidated by Blaine and she couldn't stand here forever.

"Hi! How're you doin'?"

A kid's voice. Jeff looked past Natalie. She turned her head. A black-haired boy rode a bike toward them. "Hi!" she called gaily as if she knew him. He looked familiar. Wasn't he the boy who'd hung around the day they found Tamara's body?

"I saw you come out the road, Natalie," he said, grinding to a halt beside her and hopping off his bike. "You brought Blaine. Hi, girl."

Natalie? Blaine? How did he know their names? "She looks a lot better than the first time you saw her, doesn't she?" Natalie asked.