Annabelle had to admit she’d changed while with him. Jonathan DeHaven, though he would forever be firmly ensconced on the conservative side of life, had inched a little toward her, perhaps enjoying life in a way he never could’ve imagined before. He was a good man. And she was sorry he was dead.

She angrily swiped at a tear that fell far too easily down her cheek. The emotion was unusual and unwelcome. She did not cry anymore. She was not close enough to anyone to weep over death. Not even her mother’s. It was true she’d avenged Tammy Conroy, but the daughter had also made herself rich in the process. Would she have done one without the other? Annabelle couldn’t say for sure. Did it matter? Well, she had nearly 17 million reasons parked in a foreign bank account that said it didn’t.

She watched as a gray Nova rattled up to the curb in front of DeHaven’s house. Four men got out: the oddballs from the cemetery who’d said that Jonathan’s death had no official cause. Well, she’d said her good–byes to Jonathan and would now walk through the house, for once without the wretched eye of Mama DeHaven following every swing of her daughter–in–law’s irreverent hips. And then she would be on a plane out of here. Annabelle didn’t want to be on the same continent when Jerry Bagger discovered he was $40 million poorer and erupted on a greater scale than his fake volcano ever had.

The burn of the lava could easily reach D.C.

She slid out of the car and walked toward the house and a life that could have very well been hers if things had worked out differently.

Chapter 30

They were all in the book vault after Annabelle had been given a brief tour of the main floor of the house. Caleb didn’t open the small safe behind the painting. He had no intention of letting anyone else see the Psalm Book. After she’d seen the collection, they went back upstairs, where Annabelle walked though the elegant rooms with probably more interest than she cared to show.

“So you’ve been here before?” Stone said.

She looked at him blankly. “I don’t remember saying whether I had or not.”

“Well, you knew Jonathan lived on Good Fellow Street. I just assumed.”

“People shouldn’t assume so much, they’d be better off.” She continued to look around. “The house hasn’t changed much,” she said, indirectly answering his question. “But at least he got rid of some of the uglier furniture. Probably after his mother died. I don’t think that would’ve been allowed until Elizabeth drew her last breath.”

“Where did you and Jonathan meet?” Caleb asked. She ignored this question. “He might’ve mentioned your name, but I don’t know what it is,” he persisted, drawing a warning look from Stone.

“Susan Farmer. We met out West.”

“Did you marry out there as well?” Stone interjected.

He was very impressed because she didn’t even flinch. But she didn’t answer him either.

Stone decided to play his ace. He pulled the photo out of his pocket. “We were told that Jonathan’s marriage had been annulled. Since you don’t like people making assumptions, I’m deducing from your tone about Elizabeth DeHaven that she was the instigator of that action. He kept this photo. The woman bears a remarkable likeness to you. My experience is that men don’t keep photos of women for just any reason. I think your case was special.”

He handed the photo over to her. This time he got a reaction. As Annabelle took the picture, her hand, rock–steady all these years, shook a bit, and her eyes opened a smidgen wider and appeared a little moist. She said wistfully, “Jonathan was a very handsome man. Tall, thick brown hair and eyes that just made you feel good about yourself.”

“And can I say you’re as lovely now as you were then,” Reuben added magnanimously, edging closer to her.

Annabelle didn’t seem to have heard Reuben. She did something she hadn’t done in a long time: She smiled, genuinely. “This was taken on the day of our wedding. It was my first, and only, marriage.”

“Where were you married?” Caleb asked.

“Vegas — where else?” she said, her gaze holding fast on the photo. “Jonathan was in town for a book convention. We hooked up, hit it off and were married. All in a week’s time. Pretty crazy, I know. At least that’s how his mother saw it.” She ran her finger along Jonathan’s frozen smile. “But we were happy. For a time anyway. We even lived here for a while with his parents after we were married, until we found a place to live.”

“Well, it is quite a large house,” Caleb said.

“Funny, it seemed far too small back then,” she remarked dryly.

“Were you out in Vegas for the book convention too?” Stone asked politely.

She handed the photo back, and Stone put it back in his jacket pocket. “Do you really need an answer to that question?”

“All right. Have you been in contact with Jonathan over the years?”

“And why would I need to tell you if I had?”

“And there’s no reason for you to,” Reuben piped in, scowling at Stone. “In fact, that’s getting a little personal.”

Stone was obviously put out by his smitten friend’s traitorous comment but said, “We’re doing our best to figure out what happened to Jonathan, and we need as much help as we can get.”

“His heart stopped beating and he died. Is it that unusual?”

Milton explained, “The medical examiner apparently couldn’t determine the cause of death. And Jonathan had just had a full cardio checkup at Johns Hopkins. He didn’t have a heart attack or anything else, apparently.”

“So you think someone killed him? Who could possibly have a problem with Jonathan? He was a librarian.”

“It’s not like librarians don’t have enemies,” Caleb said defensively. “Indeed, I’ve been around some colleagues who can get pretty mean–spirited after they’ve had a few glasses of merlot.”

She looked at him incredulously. “Yeah, I bet. But no one’s going to pop someone because they got fined for an overdue book.”

“Let me show you something,” Stone said. “It’s up in the attic.”

When they arrived there, Stone said, “That telescope is pointed toward the house next door.”

Reuben added, “Yeah, it was looking into the owner’s bed —”

Stone cut in. “I’ll explain, Reuben, if you don’t mind.” He raised his eyebrows and glanced at Annabelle.

Reuben said, “Oh, right. Yeah, go ahead and explain, Oliv — I mean, it was Frank, right? Or Steve?”

“Thank you, Reuben!” Stone snapped. “As I said, the telescope is pointed at the house next door. It’s owned by the head of Paradigm Technologies, one of the largest defense contractors in the country. The man’s name is Cornelius Behan.”

“He likes to be called CB,” Caleb added.

“Okay,” Annabelle said slowly.

Stone looked through the telescope, sweeping his gaze along the side of Behan’s house, which stood across a sliver of grass from DeHaven’s. “I thought so.” He motioned for Annabelle to take his place. She focused the telescope’s eyepiece on the spot where he’d been looking.

“It’s an office or a study,” she reported.

“That’s right.”

“You think Jonathan was spying on this guy?”

“Perhaps. Or he might have inadvertently seen something that led to his death.”

“So this Cornelius Behan killed Jonathan?”

“We have no proof. But strange things have been happening.”

“Like what?”

Stone hesitated. He had no intention of telling her about his being kidnapped. “Let’s just say that there’re enough questions here to make us look further. I think Jonathan DeHaven deserves that.”

Annabelle studied him for a moment and then took another look through the telescope. “Tell me about this CB guy.”

Stone briefly gave her a sketch of Behan and his company. Next he mentioned the murder of the Speaker of the House, Bob Bradley.

Annabelle again looked skeptical. “You don’t think that’s connected to Jonathan? I thought terrorists had claimed responsibility.”