The dog was also waiting-anticipating-every muscle tensed, sniffing the air, sampling a breeze and catching the scent of a man.

The deputy rounded the side of the house. This was his day off-no uniform, no star, no gun. "You weren't real clear on the phone, Hannah." Dave Hardy was unshaven and surly for being called out of bed on a morning when he had planned to sleep late. Eyes hidden behind dark glasses, he walked down the path and stopped at the edge of the freshly dug hole. "What're you up to?"

"Oh, I thought we'd bury Horatio today."

He turned toward the two animals, the red Irish setter, the dead one stuffed in a pose of sleep, and the live yellow dog drawing close to Hannah's side. Dave inclined his head to look down at the gaping hole. "You could toss ten mutts down there."

"It is deep. That surprised me, too." She cocked her head to one side. "Now that I see it, I think maybe Oren dug this pit for you."

The deputy stiffened. Like a man made of wood, all of one piece, he turned around to face the house, no doubt checking the back windows. He slowly revolved to take in the meadow and the surrounding woods. When he looked her way again, the housekeeper could see herself, two tiny Hannahs reflected in his dark lenses.

"Oren knows you killed his brother." And now she repeated the words she had said to him on the telephone. "How fast can you run, Dave?"

The man forced a smile. "The way I heard it, Josh died because he saw Ad Winston murder that lady tourist. Ad just killed the wrong woman is all-a woman with the same color hair as his wife."

In the spirit of a helpful correction-no anger-she said, "You murdered the wrong woman." Her hands dipped into the deep pockets of her denim dress, and her fingers wrapped around old photographs. "Millard Straub paid you to kill his wife."

Dave stood up a bit straighter and rolled back his shoulders. "Nobody could've mistaken that tourist for Mrs. Straub. Her hair was the wrong color."

"That tourist could've been bald for all it mattered. She wore a yellow rain slicker. The hood covered her hair when you came up behind her and caved in her skull with a rock."

The deputy's head snapped back, as if she had slapped him.

Hannah pulled a photograph from her pocket. It was only an old shot of Horatio in his puppy days, but it would do for a prop. She stared at this image and focused on the memory of another photo destroyed long ago. And then she told her first lie. "This is a picture of you, Dave."

He removed his dark glasses, wanting her to see his eyes, and there was a warning note in his voice. "Don't tell me that came from the film in Josh's camera." Oh, no, said his smirk-he knew better.

"You mean the roll Josh shot in the woods-the day you killed him? No, you ripped out that film. You had to jerk it free from the spool… and you tore it."

He lost his smirk. The sunglasses dropped from his hand.

The yellow dog was deadly quiet, lips drawing back to show his fangs.

Hannah held up the photograph, only showing Dave the back of it. "This one's from a roll Josh finished before you murdered him. I found it hidden in his sock drawer. Oh, that boy and his secrets."

Dave stood on the lip of the pit, legs bent, ready to jump it, but the dog crouched low to change his mind. Then Hannah startled him with magic, the minor trick of a second picture finding its way out of a pocket to materialize in her free hand. "This one's a shot of you following Evelyn Straub at a street fair." She fanned out the back sides of three more photographs, and-more magic-the three became one. "Here's a picture of you turning around to see Josh with his camera pointed right at you. And don't you look mad? The boy was following you. So you couldn't kill Evelyn then. Not that day."

With no sudden movements to set off the dog, Dave edged along the side of the pit to get at her. His sunglasses were crushed underfoot. His right hand was on the rise.

To rob her or beat her?

The deputy froze. His eyes were on the crouching dog, its bared teeth. So quiet. There would be no bark of warning. "Hannah, I was just a kid that summer. Nobody's idea of a hit man. Why would-"

"You were perfect for the job, a bully all your life. And there's nobody in this town who hates women more than you do. Who would know that better than Millard Straub? You worked in his hotel every day after school. He was a lot like your father-the meanness, the cruelty-almost like a second daddy"

"I hated that old man."

"But you loved his money. He paid you to spy on his wife, didn't he? That's how he knew she was cheating on him. But Millard never tried to cut Evelyn out of his will. No need. He just hired himself a killer-a boy who'd work cheap."

"Nobody paid me to-"

"I bet you would've done it for free, but you were paid. Millard kept a wad of cash in the hotel safe. That money disappeared when you left town. Evelyn thought you stole it, and that's what she told the sheriff, but Millard dropped the charges that same day."

More pictures appeared in her hands, and Hannah spread them like playing cards. She stared at them but did not see them. She was calling up memories of other photographs. "Here's one Josh took in the locker room the night you went after him. My, you look angry. You didn't want him following you around anymore. You had places to go, a woman to kill."

Dave folded his arms. His smile was twitchy. "Hannah, those pictures are worthless."

"You think so?" She shook her head. "The first time I saw them, I wanted to burn them." And she had burned them-all but Oren's homecoming present. She had not been able to part with the photograph of the two brothers. "It's all here," she lied, thumbing through her pack of props like pages in a book. "Like a story. The boy only had one reason for following people. Josh wanted a shot of your secret, and that's all his brother ever needed to know. When Oren was a boy, I was so afraid he'd see these pictures and beat you to death. He almost killed you back in high school- that fight in the gym."

She stuffed the photographs in her pocket and sighed. "Well, the damage is done. He's seen them all… and now he's crazy dangerous. I tried to warn you."

"Hannah, where is Oren?"

"Behind you."

There was no time for Dave Hardy to turn his head. A shove to his back sent him sprawling, arms waving, falling.

He landed on his feet, crouched knee-deep in water, shoes sloshing and sliding. The close sides of the pit were slimed with mud. Dave reached up to grab a wet tree root, and it slicked through his fingers. Footing lost, he slumped down a muddy wall, legs folding until his kneecaps were higher than his chin and poking out of the brown water. His clothes were soaked, his face and hair splattered. Looking upward, all he could see was a crude square of blue sky, and he yelled, "I could've broken my damn legs!"

Oh, God, the water was cold. His teeth clicked, his body shook.

Rising to his feet was slippery work in this dank, narrow space, and the wet blue jeans weighed him down. Twice, his shoes shot out from under him before he managed to stand. Flattened back against a wall, he craned his neck. All he could see was the high mound of earth piled near the hole. He stretched out both hands but could not reach the top. He jumped for the edge, and the mud sucked off his shoes and socks. But he had glimpsed the back of Oren Hobbs as the man steeped a shovel into the dirt pile.

Hannah's head leaned into the bright blue square above, and her voice was fearful. "You should've run. I warned you." She drew back as a spade of earth rained down on him.

"Hey!" Dave brushed loose dirt from his clothes. The rest turned to mud in his wet hair. He raised his face to yell again, and another load from the shovel filled his mouth with soil. He spat it out and wiped his eyes. "Knock it off!" Hands raised to ward off the next spray, he had his first look at Oren's face-so cold. What lifeless eyes-eyes of a machine that could lift a shovel and-