The sketches for the most part were only fair, and only a few of the oils were interesting-but some of the watercolors were extraordinary. Like Nuala, she thought, they were warm and joyous, and filled with unexpected depths. She especially loved a winter scene in which a tree, its branches laden and bent with snow, was sheltering an incongruous ring of flowering plants, including snapdragons and roses, violets and lilies, orchids and chrysanthemums.

Maggie became so engrossed in the task that it was after five-thirty when she hurried downstairs just in time to catch the phone that she thought she heard ringing.

It was Liam. “Hey, this is my third attempt to get you. I was afraid I was being stood up,” he said, relief in his voice. “Do you realize that my only other offer tonight was my cousin, Earl?”

Maggie laughed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear the phone. I was in the studio. I guess Nuala didn’t believe in extension telephones.”

“I’ll buy you one for Christmas. Pick you up in about an hour?”

“Fine.”

That should give me just enough time for a soak in the tub, Maggie thought as she hung up. It was obvious the evening air was turning cool. The house felt drafty, and in an odd and uncomfortable way it seemed to her she could still feel the chill of the damp earth she had touched at the graves.

When the water was rushing into the tub, she thought she heard the phone again and quickly turned off the taps. No sound of ringing came from Nuala’s room, however. Either I didn’t hear anything, or I missed another call, she decided.

Feeling relaxed after her bath, she dressed carefully in the new white evening sweater and calf-length black skirt she had purchased earlier in the week, then decided that a little care with her makeup was in order.

It’s fun to dress up for Liam, she thought. He makes me feel good about myself.

At quarter of seven she was waiting in the living room when the bell rang. Liam stood on the doorstep, a dozen long-stemmed red roses in one hand, a folded sheet of paper in the other. The warmth in his eyes and the light kiss that for a moment lingered on her lips gave Maggie a sudden lift of the heart.

“You look spectacular,” he told her. “I’ll have to change the plans for the evening. Obviously McDonald’s won’t do.”

Maggie laughed. “Oh dear! And I was so looking forward to a Big Mac.” She quickly read the note he had brought in. “Where was this?” she asked.

“On your front door, madame.”

“Oh, of course. I came in through the kitchen earlier.” She refolded the piece of paper. So Neil is in Portsmouth, she thought, and wants to get together. Isn’t that nice? She hated to admit to herself how disappointed she had been when he hadn’t called last week before she left. And then she reminded herself of how she had chalked it up as another indication of his indifference toward her.

“Anything important?” Liam asked casually.

“No. A friend who’s up for the weekend wants me to call. Maybe I’ll give him a ring tomorrow.” And maybe I won’t, she thought. I wonder how he found me.

She went back upstairs for her handbag, and as she picked it up she felt the extra weight of the bell. Should she show it to Liam? she wondered.

No, not tonight, she decided. I don’t want to talk about death and graves, not now. She took the bell out of her purse. Even though it had been there for hours, it still felt cold and clammy to her touch, causing her to shiver.

I don’t want this to be the first thing I see when I get in later, she thought as she opened the closet door and put it on the shelf, pushing it back until it was completely out of sight.

• • •

Liam had made a reservation in the Commodore’s Room of The Black Pearl, a toney restaurant with a sweeping view of Narragansett Bay. “My condo isn’t far from here,” he explained, “but I miss the big house I was raised in. One of these days I’m going to bite the bullet and buy one of the old places and renovate it.” His voice became serious. “By then I’ll have settled down and, with any luck, will have a beautiful wife who’s an award-winning photographer.”

“Stop it, Liam,” Maggie protested. “As Nuala would have said, you sound half daft.”

“But I’m not,” he said quietly. “Maggie, please start looking at me with different eyes, won’t you? Ever since last week, you haven’t been out of my mind for a minute. All I’ve been able to think about is that if you had walked in on whatever hophead attacked Nuala, the same thing could have happened to you. I’m a big, strong guy, and I want to take care of you. I know that such sentiments are out of fashion, but I can’t help it. It’s who I am, and it’s how I feel.” He paused. “And now that’s entirely enough of that. Is the wine okay?”

Maggie stared at him and smiled, glad that he had not asked for a further response from her. “It’s fine, but Liam, I have to ask you something. Do you really think a stranger on drugs attacked Nuala?”

Liam appeared astonished at her question. “If not, who else?” he asked.

“But whoever did it must have seen that guests were expected and yet still took time to ransack the house.”

“Maggie, whoever did it was probably desperate to get a fix and searched the place for money or jewelry. The newspaper account said Nuala’s wedding ring was taken off her finger, so robbery must have been the motive.”

“Yes, the ring was taken,” Maggie acknowledged.

“I happen to know she had very little jewelry,” Liam said. “She wouldn’t let Uncle Tim give her an engagement ring. She said that two of them in one lifetime was enough, and besides, both of them had been stolen when she lived in New York. I remember her telling my mother after that happened that she never wanted to own anything except costume jewelry.”

“You know more than I do,” Maggie said.

“So except for whatever cash was around, her killer didn’t get much, did he? At least that gives me some satisfaction,” Liam said, his voice grim. He smiled, breaking the dark mood that had settled over them. “Now, tell me about your week. I hope Newport is beginning to get under your skin? Or better yet, let me continue to give you my life history.”

He told her how, as a child, he had counted the weeks in boarding school until it was time to go to Newport for the summer, about his decision to become a stockbroker like his father, about leaving his position at Randolph and Marshall and starting his own investment firm. “It’s pretty flattering that some gilt-edged clients elected to come with me,” he said. “It’s always scary to go out on your own, but their vote of trust led me to believe I’d made the right decision. And I had.”

By the time the crème brulée had arrived, Maggie was fully relaxed. “I’ve learned more about you tonight than I knew from a dozen other dinners,” she told him.

“Maybe I’m a little different on my home territory,” he said. “And maybe I just want you to see what a terrific guy I am.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m also trying to let you know what a substantial guy I am. Just so you know, in these parts, I’m considered quite a catch.”

“Stop that kind of talk right now,” Maggie said, trying to sound firm, but unable to suppress a slight smile.

“Okay. Your turn. Now tell me about your week.”

Maggie was reluctant to really go into things. She did not want to destroy the almost festive mood of the evening. It was impossible to talk about the week and not to speak of Greta Shipley, but she put the emphasis on how much she had enjoyed her in the time she had spent with her, and then she told him about her blossoming friendship with Letitia Bainbridge.

“I knew Mrs. Shipley, and she was a very special lady,” Liam said. “And, as for Mrs. Bainbridge, well, she’s great,” he enthused. “A real legend around here. Has she filled you in on all the goings-on in Newport ’s heyday?”