Her skin crawled as she read the account, a clinical, facts-only report of the killing at a private school. So much was left out: the human emotion, the pain, the heartache.

Setting her jaw, she worked forward, searching the following editions, looking for information about the investigation. Unfortunately the information was limited:

Jake had been a student at Western Catholic.

Services were held at St. Ignatius.

He was survived by his parents, James and Caroline, one grandmother, Maxine Baylor, and three siblings, Bella, Naomi, and Luke.

Students, chaperones, and faculty attending the dance had been questioned, as had family and friends and acquaintances of Jake Marcott.

The murder weapon, a crossbow, had been discovered in the maze at St. Elizabeth’s and was found to have belonged to a bow hunter who had reported it missing sometime in December. The bow hunter had a strong alibi and was dismissed as a suspect.

There was information about Jake, including the fact that he played football and baseball and had been in an accident during the Christmas break in which another Western student, Ian Powers, had died.

The police were asking the public’s help in solving the crime.

The lead investigator for the “Cupid Killer,” Detective Mac Alsace, was looking into “new leads every day,” but the case had eventually gone cold and references to Jake Marcott’s death had disappeared.

Kristen printed out a few of the articles, turned off the viewer, put the microfiche away, and rubbed the kinks from her neck. She was stiff from sitting in one position and hadn’t learned much more than she already knew.

That night, she dealt with Lissa, who said in no uncertain terms that she’d never spend another night at Ross’s condo.

Real good father-daughter relationship, Kristen thought, keeping mum on her feelings.

To her surprise and Lissa’s disgust, Ross came over that evening, bringing with him five white boxes of take-out Chinese. Lissa, who had rolled her eyes upon his arrival, hadn’t been able to resist the tantalizing aromas of cashew chicken, sesame beef, and peanut sauce. They ate on the floor in the den, watching some inane music awards show on television, and Ross didn’t even remark when Lissa, after receiving a call on her cell, took her plate and phone to her room.

When she didn’t immediately return and Ross looked ready to go get her, Kristen pointed a chopstick at his chest. “Don’t,” she warned.

“But we were having dinner. Can’t she give up her calls for half an hour?”

“For God’s sake, Ross, how hypocritical can you get? How many times did your dinner get cold while you talked on the phone with some subcontractor?”

“That’s different. It was business. Important.”

“This is important to her.”

“Then we need to set some rules.” She raised an eyebrow, daring him to continue, and Ross didn’t disappoint. “No phone calls at dinner. Not for any of us.”

Kristen frowned as she chewed on a piece of tangy shrimp. “Wait a minute. So you think that we”-she rotated the chopstick in a circular motion to include Ross, herself, and the empty cushion recently vacated by their daughter-“we’ll be doing this often?”

“I’m just saying whenever we have a family dinner, some rules should be observed.”

“A little late for that, isn’t it?”

“It’s never too late.” He was serious and she caught his meaning, felt the atmosphere in the room shift a bit.

“Wait a minute. We’re talking about dinner together as a family, right? Nothing more.”

“What more do you want?”

She felt her damned cheeks flame. “Don’t do this, Ross, okay? Don’t start that talking-in-circles thing you do. Let’s just play it straight. If you’re talking about you and me getting back together, if you think that we shouldn’t go through with the divorce, then you’re wrong.”

“You haven’t filed yet.”

“I know.” She stared at the fire, while on the television in the background some girl of about seventeen, dressed in next to nothing, was belting out a song as if her life depended upon it. “It’s a big step.” She sighed and shook her head. “I want you to know that when I took my wedding vows, I…I meant them.”

“So did I.”

Kristen felt overwhelmed. She should never have started wading into this river. The current was too damned dangerous and was bound to pull her under.

Her cell phone rang and she immediately started to get up.

Quick as lightning, Ross’s hand clasped over her wrist. She nearly dropped her plate. “Let it ring,” he insisted, gray eyes holding hers.

“But-” His hands were warm, fingertips pressed into the flesh inside her arm. How many times had he rubbed his hands up her arms as he’d kissed her? How many times had they tumbled so easily into bed? Her pulse beat unsteadily.

“New rule, remember?”

“I didn’t agree to any rule. You know how I hate them.” Would he please release her? The feel of his skin against hers was way too distracting.

The phone blasted again.

“It could be important. My mom-”

“Feeble excuse, Kris. Your mom is healthy as a horse.”

“How would you know?” She tried to pull her arm away, but he held on tight.

“She called me a couple of weeks ago. Is interested in the condos on the river. Is hoping I’ll give her a deal.”

“Oh, God…”

“You know Paula.”

Kristen inwardly groaned. Ever since selling the bakery, Paula Daniels had fancied herself an investor. Ross was right, she was always trying to finagle a good deal.

The phone rang again and Kris gave up, flopping back against the couch. “Okay,” she said in surrender and Ross loosened his grip. “You win. Again.” She ignored the warm spot where his fingers had touched her pulse, refused to stare into his seductive gray eyes another second. Damn, what was she thinking? Of kissing him? Of making love to him? Now that would be a mistake she couldn’t dare risk. Ross Delmonico had always had a way of turning her inside out when it came to sex.

Using a key she’d had made two decades earlier, Jake’s killer unlocked the door at the bottom of the outside stairwell and moved inside. It was dark and smelled of dust, dirt, and mold. As she closed the door behind her and slid the lock into place, she heard the steady drip of rainwater that had seeped through the cracks of the old school and the scratch of tiny claws against concrete, no doubt rats and mice who had found homes in this little-used storage space that held old, forgotten relics of St. Elizabeth’s.

A shame they were planning to tear the old place down.

The wrecking ball was scheduled for sometime next year and by that time, all of her work would be done.

And work it was.

Silently and familiarly, using the tiny beam of a small penlight, she dodged broken benches and desks, lab tables and outdated, now rusted, physical education equipment to reach a long-forgotten closet with an old combination lock she’d installed herself-just to be on the safe side. She held the lock in her palm, turned it over, saw the initials scratched on the back, and smiled to herself.

J.M.

Big as life.

A bell tolled and she froze, then smiled as the peals echoed through the campus, just as they did at each hour of the day. She rotated the dial to the combination. The lock sprang and she was inside her own little chamber, her private place in the universe.

Once the door was closed behind her, she flicked her lighter to the wick of an old kerosene lantern. As the lamp began to glow and her eyes adjusted, she saw the fruition of her years of labor, the perfect room for what she’d planned for so long.

She’d done her work over the years, gathering items at garage sales, estate sales, the local thrift shop run by the parish, St. Vincent De Paul stores, and, when all else failed, resorting to stealing the most valued items. Then she’d lucked into an unexpected bonanza. A few years after Jake’s death, the interior of St. Elizabeth’s had been remodeled and old desks, equipment, lockers, tables, and the like had been sold at an auction.