"It ain't right," Earleen said. "We got some psychopathic killer running loose, and not a woman in the county can feel safe."

"No, it ain't right. But we're going to stop him. You can take that to the bank."

"Matthew says serial killers're different." Josie sucked on the straw. "He says they can look and act just like regular people. It makes them hard to catch."

"We'll catch this one." He leaned closer. "I figure I should tell you, Josie, since you'll be finding out soon anyway. Looks like Darleen was killed right there, right by the pond."

"Sweet Jesus." Earleen was torn between excitement and terror. "You mean to say he did it over to Sweetwater?"

"We got reason to think so. I don't mean to scare you, Josie, but you want to be mighty careful."

She took a cigarette from the pack on the counter and her fingers shook lightly. "I will be, Carl. You can take that to the bank."

Slowly, she blew out a stream of smoke. And she intended to find out exactly what they knew the minute she could get Teddy alone.

There were reporters camped out in her yard. Caroline had stopped answering the phone. Invariably, it was another inquisitive newsman or -woman on the other end. To distract herself, she took out the scrapbook she'd found in her grandmother's trunk.

Caroline could see most of her own life on those pages. Her parents' wedding announcement clipped from the Philadelphia and Greenville papers. The studied, professional photographs taken at the wedding where her mother had worn an heirloom bridal gown-from the Waverly side. The card announcing the birth of Caroline Louisa Waverly. She'd been named for her paternal grandmother.

A few photographs, again professionally done, of the proud parents with their little bundle of joy. Then, of Caroline alone, one studio portrait for each year of her life.

No snapshots, she noted, no out-of-focus or candid shots, except for the few her grandparents had taken themselves on her brief visit all those years ago.

Newspaper clippings marking her musical career, showing her at six and twelve and twenty, and the years between and after.

It was one of the few things her grandparents had had of her, Caroline thought as she set the book back inside the trunk. Now it was one of the few things she had of her grandparents.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, and drew deeply of the scent of lavender and cedar that wafted from the trunk. "I wish I'd known you better."

She reached in and took out a cardboard box. Inside, wrapped in tissue, was a tiny christening gown trimmed with white ribbons and yellowing lace.

Perhaps her grandmother or grandfather had worn it, Caroline thought as she ran her fingers over the soft white lawn. Surely her mother had.

"You saved it for me." Touched, she brushed her cheek over it. "I couldn't wear it when my turn came, but you saved it for me."

Carefully, she wrapped it back into its bed of tissue. One day, she vowed, her child would wear it.

Useless raced out of the room to stand at the top of the steps, then raced back again as someone hammered on the door. Caroline set the box back in the trunk, then took out a pair of bronzed baby shoes. She smiled over them.

"Don't bother, Useless. It's just one of the idiot reporters."

"Caroline! Dammit, open up before I have to kill one of these jackasses."

"Tucker." Jumping up, she ran downstairs with the dog at her heels. "Sorry." As she unlocked the door, she could see the reporters crowding behind him, thrusting out their mikes, snapping pictures and shouting questions.

She dragged Tucker in by the arm, then planted herself in the doorway.

"Get off my porch."

"Ms. Waverly, how does it feel to find yourself living a real life murder mystery?"

"Ms. Waverly, is it true you came to Mississippi to mend a broken heart?"

"Did you really collapse in-"

"Is it true you killed-"

"Were you acquainted with-"

"Get off my porch!" she bellowed. "And get off my land while you're at it. You're trespassing, the lot of you, and we have laws down here. And if one of you so much as sets a toe over my boundary line without invitation, I'll shoot if off." She slammed the door, threw the bolt, and started to turn when Tucker scooped her up in a quick circle.

"Honey, you sounded just like my mama did when she got her dander up." He kissed her before setting her on her feet. "You're losing the Yankee in your speech, too. Pretty soon you'll be saying 'y'all' and 'fix'n to' just like a native."

She laughed, but shook her head. "I will not." She touched a hand to his cheek. He hadn't shaved, but most of the fatigue had drained out of his eyes. "You look better than you did this morning."

"That's not saying much, seeing as I looked like death warmed over this morning. Felt like it, too."

"You didn't sleep."

"I caught an hour in the hammock this afternoon.

Felt like old times." He drew her close again, but this time when he kissed her it was slow and easy. "So does that. I sure wish you'd lowered your standards of respectability and shared my bed last night. I still wouldn't have slept, but I'd've felt better about being awake."

"It didn't seem right, with the house full of your family, and-"

"And the police poking 'round the pond half the night," he finished. Turning away, he walked into the parlor and glanced out of the window. "Do something for me, Caro."

"I'll try."

"Go up and pack what you need, and come back to Sweetwater with me."

"Tucker, I told you-"

"You stayed last night."

"You needed me to."

"I still need you." When she said nothing, he spur around. "This isn't the time for poetry and romance And I'm not asking because I want you in bed with me I'd stay here with you if that was all."

"Stay anyway."

"I can't. Don't ask me to choose between you and my family, Caroline, because I can't."

"I don't know what you mean."

"If I go home without you, I'll be eaten up with worry over you. If I stay, it'll be the same for Josie and Delia and the rest." He pulled her back to him, held her close. Then, restless, he yanked away to pace the room. "He's still out there somewhere, Caroline. And he was at Sweetwater."

"I understand that, Tucker. I know he left the body there."

"He killed her there." Eyes filled with turmoil, he turned back. "He killed her there, in sight of my house, by the trees where I fished with Cy only days ago. A tree my mother planted. Burke told me enough, maybe too much. I'm going to tell you. I don't want to, but I'm going to so you understand that I've got to go back there, and I'm not going without you."

He took a long, measuring breath. "He staked her out on the ground under the tree. They found the holes where he'd staked her hands and feet. And the blood the rain didn't wash away. I saw what he did to her. I'm not likely to forget what she looked like when I helped pull her out of the water. I'm not likely to forget it was done where my mother planted a willow tree, where I used to play with my brother and sister, across the water from where I kissed you the first time. I'm not likely to forget any of that. He's not going to touch anything else that's important to me. Now I'm asking you to get what you need and come with me."

She stepped forward to take the hands he'd balled into fists. "I don't need much."