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started to get impatient, the ornate double doors to the main house swung open and Quinn Buckley appeared. Taylor hadn’t seen Quinn in a very long time. If she had spent any time paying attention to the upscale magazines of Nashville, she would have recognized Quinn Buckley for herself in an instant. But all she could see was Quinn’s sister’s face. Whitney Connolly floated at Taylor and she had to shake her head slightly to realize that it wasn’t her. As she climbed the stairs to the front door and Quinn came into clear focus, she could see some of the minute differences between the two women. Quinn wasn’t as curvy as Whitney, her mouth, though generous, wasn’t as full and pouty. Taylor caught herself wondering just how much plastic surgery Whitney Connolly had undergone over the years.

Quinn Buckley had the look of her sister, that was for sure. But where Whitney Connolly had come across the television screen as well put together, Quinn Buckley oozed class and money. In her low-slung jeans and cowboy boots, Taylor felt slightly frumpy, an L.L. Bean figure next to a Lladró figurine. Noting Quinn’s perfectly highlighted coif, she instinctively reached to smooth her own ponytailed blond hair, then caught herself, straightened to her full five foot eleven and strode purposefully the rest of the way up the stairs to the door. Quinn extended a small, well-manicured hand to Taylor as she reached the top of the steps. “Lieutenant Jackson?”

Even her voice was different from Whitney’s. It was softer, slightly higher pitched and definitely had more of a southern flavor to it. How two women could be so much alike and yet so different was amazing. All the Pretty Girls

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Taylor took Quinn’s hand and nodded. “I am. How have you been, Mrs. Buckley? I don’t think we’ve seen each other in several years. I’m so sorry we have to meet again under these circumstances. I was a fan of your sister.”

Quinn’s face closed for an instant, then she smiled graciously. “Of course. Please, won’t you come in?”

She turned and led the way into an oversize foyer with dual staircases creeping up either wall. Taylor felt a quick pang. Her parents’ home had been set up just the same, and she remembered sliding down the curved balustrades. Quinn caught her staring and gave her a questioning look.

“Reminds me of…well, never mind.” Taylor had gotten that look before, and it caused a moment of heat to flare up in her chest. Like she’d never been inside a fancy home. Please. She almost burst out laughing at the slightly imperious look Quinn was giving her. Among her former peers and their parents, Taylor always got the same reaction. Her parents had money, and yet she’d chosen police work instead of the privileged life that Quinn Buckley had obviously built for herself. Some of them just couldn’t understand that money didn’t mean anything to her.

“Yes, I see. Would you mind following me? I thought we could talk in the study.” Quinn turned to her left and entered a huge, beautifully appointed room. The rich scent of leather tickled Taylor’s nose, and she caught the fleeting tang of lemon oil. As she got farther in the room, she nearly gasped aloud. A study, my foot. This was one of the most beautiful libraries she had ever seen. Wall-to-wall bookshelves, warm furniture, oh, she 206

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could get lost in here for years. It didn’t have the coldness and sterility Taylor had sensed from the rest of the first floor. This was a comfort room, a getaway room. Someplace to literally let down your hair and get cozy. She looked at Quinn and noted her lips twitching in amusement.

“I assume you’re a reader?” Quinn walked over to one of the walnut shelves and plucked a book at random. “I am, too. Whitney was once, but she stopped enjoying it when she was in her teens. Me, I can’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon than curled up in a chair losing myself in a good book.”

“I’m the same way, but I don’t have such a wonderful place to do it. This room is amazing.”

Quinn gave her the first genuine smile Taylor had seen. “It’s mine. I encourage the rest of the family to allow me my privacy when I’m in here. It’s my own little escape from the rest of the world.”

She sounded so weary that Taylor felt sorry for her. She’d just lost her sister, and here was Taylor, scoping out the room like a kid in a candy store. She got herself back under rein and turned to Quinn, her features carefully aligned to project the appropriate amount of grief and professional concern. She wondered briefly why Quinn would bring the police into her sanctuary—it seemed out of character. Quinn didn’t strike her as the chummy type.

“I truly am sorry about Whitney. My captain told me you mentioned she’d been trying to get a hold of you?”

Quinn sank into a chair, pulling up her feet and curling them under her, like a cat. “Trying is understating it a bit. She must have called twenty, twenty-five All the Pretty Girls

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times in the past day. My cell phone, my home phone, she left messages at the country club.”

Ah, Taylor thought. Belle Meade Country Club. The social denizen’s favorite Nashville campground.

“If you don’t mind me asking, where were you?”

Quinn gave her an unreadable look, then stood and walked around the room, touching things as if to reassure herself that they were still among her possessions. “I was just…out and about, getting ready for dinner, running errands. Nothing special. I have a great many responsibilities, and I have a tendency to run around quite a bit. Sometimes I forget to charge my cell phone, sometimes I forget to check my answering machine. And Jake was in town, so I certainly wasn’t going to answer the phone. My husband is out of town quite a bit and I try to make time for him when he’s here. So we had a nice dinner, and went to bed early. This morning I went out for a walk and didn’t bring my phone with me. By the time I got back and noticed that all the calls I’d received were from Whitney, it was too late. She’d already been in the accident.”

Quinn’s voice caught and she turned to the French doors. Taylor gave her a moment to compose herself, then asked a question.

“Mrs. Buckley, were you and your sister close? Did you talk every day, once a week?”

Quinn had recovered her composure. “No, Lieutenant, we weren’t terribly close. Strange for identical twins, but we just grew apart as we got older.” There was a gleam in her eye, either tears or a memory, and Taylor made a mental note to find out why they’d grown apart. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, I’m being horribly rude. 208

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Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea? I think I’ll have a Diet Coke, if that’s okay with you.”

“Soda would be wonderful, thank you.”

Quinn turned to the desk and picked up a small crystal bell. Taylor almost laughed aloud, it just seemed so incredibly pretentious. Quinn rang the bell and a moment later a young woman with flowing black hair and liquid brown eyes came into the room.

“Sì, Sigñora Quinn?”

Quinn gave her a warm smile that belied the master/servant nature of their relationship. “Gabrielle, possiamo avere due Coca Lights, per favore? Grazie. ”

Gabrielle disappeared and Quinn turned back to Taylor. “She’s wonderful. Italian girl, family’s from Florence. She wanted to come and work in the States to improve her English and take a few classes, we needed someone to look after the twins and handle a few things around the house. She’s acting as their au pair officially. They just love her. They can speak Italian better than I can now. Not that I’m fluent.”

This explanation came out fast and furious. Taylor got the feeling that Quinn was hiding something. Interesting. And twins? Taylor knew Quinn had children, but she hadn’t thought to ask how many, boys or girls. Sometimes such pleasantries borne of politeness slipped her by. Quinn gracefully answered the unspoken question.