For years Joanna had been privy to the entire Davis Insurance Agency book of business. Milo Davis handled all kinds of insurance-property/casualty, life, health, disability, and group. The Buckwalters as well as the Buckwalter Animal Clinic had been full-service customers.

Closing her eyes, Joanna tried to remember the Buckwalters’ several bulging files. One of them-the one with the orange tag on it-had dealt with nothing but life insurance. It seemed to Joanna that there had been several policies, whole-life and term insurance both. There had been some insurance on Terry, but since Bucky had been the professional and the major source of income, the bulk of the coverage had been on him.

But what kinds of face amounts? Joanna wondered. Probably no more than two hundred thousand or so. Maybe three hundred on the outside. Combined with whatever pittance Reggie Wade was paying for the veterinary practice, that would give Terry Buckwalter a fairly nice piece of change to go out into the world as a single woman. It wasn’t a huge amount, but it would have provided years of security if she didn’t blow the whole wad on something or someone stupid.

And then Joanna thought of Peter Wilkes. Was this really about Terry Buckwalter trying to break into the pro tour circuit, or was it something far more sinister? In her mind’s eye Joanna saw it as one of the old story problems from arithmetic.

Life-insurance proceeds plus sale of property equals cash equals motive for murder. That’s it, she thought. It has to be. Bucky Buckwalter was killed for the money. The question is, was it Terry, was it Peter Wilkes, or was it both of them acting together?

Shoving the gearshift into drive, Joanna pulled of her parking place and headed for the Buckwalter Animal Clinic. In a way, solving a murder case was very much like playing a complicated game of tag.

And the cops are always it.

It wasn’t until Joanna pulled up to the entrance to the Buckwalter Animal Clinic that she realized she didn’t know what she was doing there. Posted on the upright at the end cattle guard was a hand-lettered sign that announced: “Closed Until Further Notice.”

Joanna hesitated. She had already turned on her turn signal to go back onto the highway when she noticed there were four vehicles parked beside the building: Terry Buckwalter’s T-Bird, Bebe Noonan’s Honda, Bucky’s van, and a U-Haul truck.

Helen Barco’s right, Joanna told herself. Terry’s already sold the place, and she’s moving out.

Rumbling across the iron rails of the cattle guard, Joanna drove into the lot and parked in an empty space between the truck and the two cars. Her tires had raised a cloud of rust colored dust on the graveled lot. She waited long enough for the cloud to settle before opening her door.

As soon as she stepped up to the building entrance, she heard the sound of raised voices. The front door had been propped open, most likely to allow for carrying things in and out. Even had the door been closed, Joanna probably could have heard what was being said inside. Terry Buckwalter was literally screaming at Bebe Noonan. With one hand poised and ready to knock, Joanna stood listening.

“But what am I supposed to do?” Bebe Noonan was saying.

“Do!” Terry Buckwalter exploded. “Get rid of it and act like it never happened.”

“But it did. You don’t mean-”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Terry shot back. “And if you don’t, you can’t expect me to be responsible. You’ve got no right. It isn’t mine, now is it! I made that decision a long time ago. If you had a brain in that head of yours, you’d do the same damned thing.”

“But I want it.” Bebe’s response was a wail of anguish. “I want it!”

“Have it then!” Terry stormed. “Keep the damned thing. Do whatever the hell you want. But don’t come crying to me for financial support, because I’m not paying. Do you understand me? Not one thin dime. Now get the hell out of here. Go on. Get! Before I do something we’ll both regret!”

Joanna stepped aside as a tearful Bebe Noonan burst out through the open door. Looking neither right nor left, she raced to the Honda. Falling into it, she turned on the engine, wound the car into a gravel-spattering reverse, and then tore out of the lot. Not knowing what to do next, Joanna stood there and watched, replaying the words she had just heard.

Have it then, Terry had said. Keep the damned thing. Joanna knew at once that it wasn’t a thing the two women had been discussing-it was a baby. Bebe Noonan’s baby.

Moving into the doorway, Joanna stepped into the clinic’s reception area and pulled the door shut behind her. A stony-eyed Terry Buckwalter was sitting behind the counter.

“Belle’s pregnant then?” Joanna asked. Wordlessly, Terry Buckwalter nodded. “And Bucky’s the father?”

Terry shrugged. “That’s what Bebe says. I’ve got no reason to call her a liar. She says she’s going to sue me for child support. Like hell she is. He wouldn’t let me have a why should she?”

The bitterness, anger, and betrayal in Terry Buckwalter’s voice were enough to take Joanna’s breath away. “What do you mean, wouldn’t let you?” she repeated.

“When I got pregnant, Bucky told me that if I went through with having the baby, I’d be on my own,” Terry replied. “That raising it would be my responsibility, not his.”

“He couldn’t have done that.”

“Yes, he could, and he would have, too,” Terry said. “So I did what he wanted. I had an abortion.”

“You were already married?” Joanna asked.

“Yes.”

“And he still made you do that-abort the baby?”

“Yes.”

Behind the counter, Terry Buckwalter opened a desk drawer and began sorting through the items she found there-tossing some into a box and some into the trash while leaving the rest. For a space of almost half a minute, Joanna could think of nothing to say. She was too busy remembering Andy’s delighted grin when she had told him she was pregnant. Pregnant and unmarried. Roe versus Wade was a history by then. Joanna could have opted for an abortion, but there had never been any question of what to do. They had married and lived, reasonably happily, for as long an ever after as had been granted to them.

“That shocks you, doesn’t it,” Terry Buckwalter said quietly.

Across the distance of the counter, their eyes met briefly. In the space that followed, Joanna noticed that Helen Barco’s lay-old haircut still looked terrific, although the makeup job didn’t quite measure up. No doubt Terry had used all the same products Helen had applied, but Terry’s inexpert hand hadn’t achieved the same results. Still, she had tried, Joanna realized. She had put on makeup just to come across the backyard footpath to start packing up the clinic.

“I guess it does shock me,” Joanna admitted. “I didn’t think…”

“Husbands were like that?” Terry asked. “It depends on the raw material, doesn’t it,” she added with a derisive snort. ‘Some people marry Eagle Scouts. Others don’t.”

Sheriff Joanna Brady had come to the clinic on an investigative mission, thinking that she would catch Terry Buckwalter in the act of doing something wrong, something incriminating. Instead, they were talking together in a nakedly unguarded way that had everything to do with hurt and loss and grief and nothing at all with murder. In that room, littered with half filled packing boxes, they were simply two women comparing the jagged pieces of their broken hearts.

“How long has Andy been gone?” Terry asked.

“A little over four months,” Joanna said.

“I’m sorry,” Terry said. “Sorry for you. But you have to understand, my marriage has been over a lot longer than that. I did my grieving a long time ago.”

“You knew about them then?” Joanna asked. “About Bucky and Bebe?”