I felt a tiny bit of relief at her response. I don’t do well with conflict. “Anyway, I could use some regrouping myself. And I’m hungry. What about you, Mike?”

Kara said, “There’s actually food in the fridge. How about a turkey and avocado sandwich? Hummus and pita bread?” She smiled a smile that had all of John’s charm and more.

I almost lost it seeing John’s smile so unexpectedly, but I took a deep breath, lifted Syrah from my lap and set him on the floor. I stood. “ Turkey sounds great. You, Mike?”

“We have two big cases, and I have to get up to speed. But thanks for the offer. I’ll leave Candy here, though. For protection. I’ll find out who did this to you, Jillian. I promise.” He held out his hand to me.

I took it, and he drew me close, gave me a half hug. Awkward, yes, but much appreciated.

Candace reappeared a minute later, and when Baca told her she was staying with me, she didn’t protest.

She asked him to send over her laptop, case notes and the one thing she could not be without-her evidence-collection kit.

But her reaction to his instruction to watch over me was puzzling. Instead of bristling over being left here while two murder investigations continued, rather than fuming about being stuck in my house with Kara, whom she seemed to dislike, she’d calmly requested her necessities.

That didn’t make sense.

After changing out of her damp uniform and into a pair of my jeans and a T- shirt, Candace joined Kara and me at the kitchen table. I really wanted to know why she didn’t put up a stink when Baca told her to stay with me. But now was not the time.

We were all hungry, and Kara and Candace acted as if their tense interaction earlier had never happened. We finished off the deli turkey that Kara had bought-with a little help from Merlot. I chose to forego the avocado, but Candace piled her sandwich with not only avocado but cheese and spicy mayo. If I’d had a tub of lard, she probably would have spread that on the whole-grain bread. She’d had a busy week and obviously needed all those calories.

After Candace had a decent meal in her tummy, she played nice with Kara, asking her about her former job.

Kara said, “I’m a journalist and just left my position as a columnist in Houston.”

“What kind of column?” Candace asked.

“Pop culture,” she said. “My current interest is social networking-Twitter, Facebook, the online dating trends, issues like that.”

“You don’t write about celebrities, then?”

“Only if it involves social commentary,” Kara said. “I have written some pieces that touched on the music scene. The Tejano influence, for example, and rap music.”

“No Britney? No American Idol?” Candace said.

Where was she going with this? I wondered.

“Idol is of interest, of course. There are cultural implications. But I stay away from anything too… well… tabloid.” Kara examined her fingernails and seemed downright bored.

Uh-oh. Maybe attitude hadn’t left the building after all. It had just taken a different form.

“Isn’t that a sorry shame?” Candace said. “Those supermarket rags are my favorite. I love celebrity stuff. If you wrote for the Enquirer or one of those types of newspapers, then you’d be the celebrity.”

I knew that it was Candace’s mother who loved the Enquirer. Candace thought tabloids were trash and always made fun of the stories her mother believed to be one hundred percent true. So where was she going with this?

“Those tabloids aren’t newspapers,” Kara said.

“Coulda fooled me.”

I noted the smile playing at Candace’s lips as she stood and began to clear the remnants of our late lunch. She’d gotten under Kara’s skin and now seemed satisfied. I resisted the urge to say something. I wasn’t sure why Candace didn’t like Kara, but I also wasn’t sure how Kara would react if I got in the middle of their verbal sparring.

Candace said, “Rain’s let up. After we clean up, time for me to see if our bad guy left any evidence on your back porch that hasn’t washed away. Darn it all if I don’t hate rain.”

She put the condiments away while I started filling the dishwasher. Kara retreated, saying she wanted to record notes on what she’d learned about the murders. After she was gone, Candace whispered, “Did your husband raise that spoiled brat?”

“What makes you think she’s spoiled?” I said.

“Intuition,” Candace said.

“John did let her have everything she wanted-and I warned him that wasn’t the greatest idea,” I said. “He was trying to make up for Kara losing her mother and for him working long hours. I guess, most of all, for not giving his daughter the attention she needed when she needed it the most. But he had no clue how to raise a teenage girl.”

“She was in college when you two married?” Candace said.

“A freshman at the University of Texas. A little late to set limits, and besides, it wasn’t my place. I hope you’ll cut her some slack, because I don’t think she’s over losing John or her mother.”

“But you’re getting there,” Candace said. “You actually criticized John, and you’ve never done that before.”

I picked up the sponge and wiped down the table’s mosaic-tile top. “He was no saint, and neither am I.”

“I took a grief-counseling course. To teach me how to say the right things to folks who’d lost loved ones. I recall that teacher telling us that once you stop idealizing the person who died, you’re on your way to accepting the loss.”

“Oh, I believe I’m accepting the loss, all right.” I walked over to the sink and dropped the crumbs I’d cleared from the table into the disposal. I told her about the kiss Tom and I shared last night.

Candace shoved my shoulder and said, “No way.”

I winced. I was beginning to feel sore all over after what had happened earlier. And I still had scratches and cuts from crawling over barbed wire.

She realized what she’d done and immediately apologized, then glanced toward the door. “Wish my stuff would arrive. I need to take pictures of your injuries. Did you know you’ve got bruises on your neck?”

My hand went to my throat. “No. And I don’t think I own a turtleneck.”

“You don’t need to hide what happened to you, Jillian. It’s not your fault.”

“I guess you’re right, but before another minute passes,” I said, “I have to know why you’re willing to stay here with me. There’s something else going on.”

“I thought you understood, especially after what we just talked about,” she said. “I have to keep an eye on Kara. I can smell trouble a mile away, and she’s trouble. So while I’m protecting you, I’m watching her like a hawk. I don’t want her all up in my business, and that’s exactly where she wants to be.”

“She’s not dangerous. She’s looking for answers, just like we are,” I said.

“Answers that I need to find, not her,” Candace said.

She seemed upset that I was defending Kara, but before I could reassure her, the doorbell rang.

When I answered, with Candace right beside me, Billy Cranor stood bearing gifts: the evidence kit with the camera, the laptop and a file folder. He stepped inside and brought Candace’s prized possessions into the living room.

“Heard some butthead came around threatening you, Ms. Hart,” Billy said. “Wish I’d been here.”

I smiled. “I wish you’d been here, too.”

Billy set Candace’s things on the end table, and of course his appearance brought cats out from under the dining room table to investigate. They knew Billy and found him far less fascinating than Candace’s belongings. But though Merlot and Syrah were all over that evidence bag, Chablis didn’t come up from the basement to visit. She sure must have loved cuddling with her adopted kittens.

“Long time no see, Candy.” Billy laughed. “What’s it been? Two hours?”

She smiled and fixed a few wayward strands of blond hair over her ear. This was her fireman-calendar fantasy man, but he always treated her like a sister. And that bothered her. “Kind of you to drag my stuff around town. I appreciate it.”