"Good!"

Nick had been trying to strike a lighter note. Did the woman really think he could run someone out of town? "I'm sure I'll locate him soon," he began more seriously. "Everyone involved in this case knows not to talk to him."

"No, don't talk to him."

She was certainly adamant about no one talking to Lindstrom, he thought. What was she afraid he'd say? "He won't be a problem for long, Mrs. Farley."

Nick wished he believed that last sentence. He hung up the phone and rubbed his eyes. Too little sleep since this mess started. Even when he slept, he didn't really sleep. He dreamed of Meagan lying white and frail in a hospital bed connected to blinking, beeping machines as her lively gaze dulled to emptiness. Last night he'd dreamed of Natalie St. John sitting at a table in a dark room. A big, mirrored ball twinkled overhead and a band played. He'd walked over to her table and asked her to dance. She'd smiled sadly and lowered a lacy shawl to expose her neck. "I'm sorry," she'd said. "I love this song, but as you can see, someone has slit my throat."

"Sheriff?"

"Damn!" Nick shouted, startled out of a half-sleep and a return to the horrible dream about Natalie. "What is it, Hysell?"

"Some kid from the Lakeview Motel insists on talking to you. I told him you were busy, but he wouldn't spill his no doubt earth-shattering information to me."

"Okay, Ted. He's a good kid, just a little overeager. I'll take the call."

He lifted the receiver and spoke. An ebullient voice announced, "Hey, Sheriff, it's Wade Hanley at the Lakeview."

He hadn't even caught the kid's name earlier in the day. "So, Wade, has Lindstrom come back?"

"No. Haven't seen him."

"What did you need to tell me that you couldn't tell Deputy Hysell?"

"Something I remembered a few minutes ago. I didn't think Lindstrom was here last night, but I saw a woman leaving his room around ten, so he must have been."

"A woman? Anyone you know?"

"Yeah. That's why I didn't want to tell Hysell. I remember her from when I was in the hospital. The woman was Dee Fisher. I've heard she's Hysell's girlfriend. At least she used to be. Did they break up?"

"Not that I know of," Nick said with interest. "What else can you tell me about her visit?"

"Nothing. I just saw her coming out of his room to a car. She was alone. She looked awful-scared or mad or something. All worked up."

"Has she been back today?"

"No."

Nick suddenly recalled telling Natalie that perhaps this was not Lindstrom's first visit to Port Ariel. If he were having a woman make calls for him, it could be someone he'd gotten to know here. "Got another question for you, Wade. Has Lindstrom ever stayed at the motel before?"

"Gotta think on that one a minute. You know during school I don't work as much, don't see as much. I don't remember him especially, but…"

"But?" Nick prompted.

"But there's something kind of familiar about him. First time he came in the office I thought I might have seen him before."

"Think on it some more. And thanks, Wade. You've been a big help."

"Hey, I'm lovin' all this mystery. I'm gonna stay up all night and see if Lindstrom comes back."

Hysell burst into the office just as Nick was hanging up and frowning over this latest development. "I know you don't think much of our tech department, Sheriff, but they did some pretty good work at the St. John house." Ted slapped down a report on Nick's desk. "No fingerprints except Natalie's, the doctor's, that woman he's seeing, and a cleaning lady who comes in once a week. I guess St. John doesn't entertain too much. The blood in the hall was cow blood. Sort of watery like it might have come from a package of beef. Not too creepy. The skull's a different matter."

Ted lapsed into one of his dramatic pauses that drove Nick wild. One day he'd snap, draw his gun, and shoot the deputy. Then he'd be arrested and thrown in his own jail. Until that day he would force himself to smile placidly and ask the expected questions. "What about the skull, Hysell?"

"It's human. Male." Ted leaned over the desk, flipped through the pages of the report, and emphatically tapped his fingers on a photo of the skull. "According to the M.E. about fifty years old."

"Is it the skull of a fifty-year-old male or a fifty-year-old skull?"

"Huh? Oh, he didn't say. Anyway, there's not a bit of dirt on it. He said it was a fine specimen-almost antiseptic. His word."

"Interesting."

"Just 'interesting'? Sheriff, it was once somebody's head" Ted said portentously.

"Most human skulls were."

"Yeah, but you don't find them laying around everywhere. Who do you suppose dug this up?"

"I don't believe anyone dug it up." Nick held the photo of the skull under his desk light and looked at it closely. " 'Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.' "

After a moment Ted said carefully, "Sheriff, you think you know who this person was? Some guy named Yorick?"

Nick exploded into laughter. Ted recoiled, stung. "Sorry, Ted, I'm so tired I'm giddy. I was quoting the little bit of Shakespeare I know."

"Oh, Shakespeare," Ted said disdainfully. "I never liked him myself. He took forever to say anything. I mean, why didn't he just say it instead of talking in circles? I think he must have been getting paid by the word."

"So you don't read Shakespeare's sonnets to Dee?"

Ted relaxed and smiled. "She'd kick me all around the room if I tried anything so sissy. Besides, I only know one poem. 'The Charge of the Light Brigade.' Had to memorize it in eighth grade and I never could get rid of it."

Ted made the poem sound like a bad cold he couldn't shake. " 'Charge of the Light Brigade' isn't too romantic. Better to stick with flowers and candy."

"Yeah. Maybe I should try some flowers," Ted said unhappily. "She might like flowers."

Nick looked at him sharply. So Ted already sensed there was trouble in Paradise. Did he know the trouble involved Jeff Lindstrom?

"Where's your dad tonight?" Jimmy asked.

"Out looking for that girl. Alison something. Mrs. Collins was talking on the phone and she said Alison was crazy as a loon. I read about loons in the encyclopedia. The article didn't say anything about loons being crazy."

"I told you not to read so much and who cares about loons, anyway?" Jimmy held up the Polaroid. "Got my dad's camera again. Tonight's perfect for going to the Saunders house and getting a picture of the killer."

Paige ran the toe of her tennis shoe over a clump of crabgrass. "It's kind of early."

"Yeah, but it's been a gloomy day. It's almost dark an hour earlier than usual. Besides, your dad's gone and Mrs. Collins will be jabbering on the phone for hours about this crazy Alison person. It's the perfect time." He paused. "Unless you're too scared."

Paige's blue eyes flared. "I told you I'm not scared!"

"My mom says actions speak louder than words. If you're scared, you can just stay here and I'll tell you all about taking a picture of a murderer. It won't be as exciting as being there…"

"I have a feeling I'll get caught."

"You always have a feeling you're gonna get caught and you never do." Jimmy draped the camera strap around his neck and hopped on his bike. "Are you coming or not?"

Paige looked up at the dreary, pewter sky. All day Mrs. Collins had predicted rain, but it had never come. The hours had simply spun out in gloomy endlessness. She was bored.

She wanted to please Jimmy. Getting a picture of a mad killer was the chance of a lifetime.

"Okay, I'll come," Paige sighed.

She climbed on her bike and pedaled behind Jimmy. As she passed the lighted kitchen window, she saw Mrs. Collins sitting at the table talking animatedly into the phone receiver. She'll never miss me, Paige thought.