“As a matter of fact, I am,” Maggie admitted.

Mr. Stephens stood at the door. “That bed should be opposite the windows, not where it is now.”

Maggie felt helpless. “I’m planning to put it there.”

“Who was going to help you?”

“I thought I’d just start yanking. I’m stronger than I look.”

“You’re kidding! You don’t mean you were going to try to shove this rock maple around yourself? Come on, Neil, we’ll start with the bed. Where do you want the dresser moved, Maggie?”

Neil paused only long enough to say, “Don’t take it personally. He’s like this with everyone.”

“Everyone I care about,” his father corrected.

In less than ten minutes the furniture had been rearranged. As she watched, Maggie planned the way she would redecorate the room. The old wallpaper needed replacing, she decided. And then the floor would have to be refinished, and then she would get area rugs to replace the faded green carpet.

Nesting again, she thought.

“Okay, that’s it,” Robert Stephens announced.

Maggie and Neil followed him down the stairs as he said, “I’m on my way. Some folks coming over for a drink later. Neil, you’ll be up next weekend?”

“Absolutely,” Neil said. “I’m taking Friday off again.”

“Maggie, I’ll be back with the other locks, but I’ll call you first,” Robert Stephens said as he headed out the door. He was in his car before Maggie could even thank him.

“He’s wonderful,” she said as she watched his car disappear.

“Incredible as it may seem, I think so too,” Neil said, smiling. “Some people, of course, find him overwhelming.” He paused for a moment. “Were you at your stepmother’s grave this morning, Maggie?”

“No, I wasn’t. What makes you think that?”

“Because the knees of your slacks are stained with dirt. I’m sure you weren’t gardening in that outfit.”

Maggie realized that, with Neil and his father here, she had shaken off or at least suspended the profound uneasiness caused by finding the bell on Greta Shipley’s grave. Neil’s question quickly brought back the old concern.

But she couldn’t talk about it now, not to Neil, not to anyone, really, she decided. Not until she had found some way to determine whether Earl Bateman was responsible for the placement of the bells.

Seeing the change in her face, Neil confronted her. “Maggie, what the hell is the matter?” he asked, his voice low and intense. “You’re mad at me and I don’t know why, except that I didn’t phone you in time to get this number before you left. I’ll kick myself for that for the rest of my life. If I had known what had happened, I’d have been here for you.”

“Would you?” Maggie shook her head, looking away. “Neil, I’m trying to work a lot of things through, things that don’t make sense and may be the product of my overactive imagination. But they’re things I’ve got to work through myself. Can we leave it at that for now?”

“I assume I have no choice,” Neil said. “Look, I’ve got to be on my way. I have to get ready for a board meeting in the morning. But I’ll call you tomorrow, and I’ll be here Thursday afternoon. You’re staying until next Sunday?”

“Yes,” Maggie replied, adding to herself, And maybe by then I’ll have some answers to my questions about Earl Bateman and about these bells and…

Her thoughts were interrupted as, unbidden, Latham Manor Residence jumped into her mind. “Neil, last night you said that you and your father were at Latham Manor yesterday. You were looking at a two-bedroom suite for your clients, weren’t you?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Nuala almost took that suite. And didn’t you say that another woman would have taken it but couldn’t because she lost her money in a bad investment?”

“That’s right. And he stung another client of Dad’s who was on Latham’s waiting list-Cora Gebhart. And that’s something else I intend to take care of this week. I’m going to investigate the snake who roped both of them into making those investments, and if I can find anything at all to hang on Doug Hansen, I’ll turn him in to the SEC. Maggie, what are you driving at?”

“Doug Hansen!” Maggie exclaimed.

“Yes. Why? Do you know him?”

“Not really, but let me know what you find out about him,” she said, remembering that she had told Hansen she would not discuss his offer. “It’s just that I’ve heard of him.”

“Well, don’t invest money with him,” Neil said grimly. “Okay, I’ve got to go.” He bent down and kissed her cheek. “Lock the door behind me.”

She didn’t hear his footsteps on the porch stairs until the decisive click of the dead-bolt lock signaled that the house was secure.

She watched him drive away. The front windows faced east, and late afternoon shadows were already filtering through the leaf-filled branches of the trees.

The house felt suddenly quiet and empty. Maggie looked down at her cream-colored slacks and pondered the streaks of dirt Neil had questioned.

I’ll change and go up to the studio for a while, she decided. Then tomorrow morning I’ll clean out the closet floor and move my things into Nuala’s room. There were so many questions Maggie wished she could ask Nuala. Refining her features in the clay would be a way of communicating with her. And maybe I’ll be able to think through my fingers what we can’t talk about together, she thought.

And she could ask questions that needed to be answered, like, “Nuala, was there some reason you were afraid to live in Latham Manor?”

Monday, October 7th

58

Malcolm Norton opened his office on Monday morning at the usual time, nine-thirty. He passed through the reception area where Barbara Hoffman’s desk faced the door. The desk, however, was now cleared of all Barbara’s personal belongings. The framed pictures of her three children and their families, the narrow vase in which she had kept seasonal flowers or a sprig of leaves, the orderly pile of current work-all of these were missing.

Norton shivered slightly. The reception area was clinical and cold once more. Janice’s idea of interior decorating, he thought grimly. Cold. Sterile. Like her.

And like me, he added bitterly as he crossed into his office. No clients. No appointments-the day loomed long and quiet before him. The thought occurred to him that he had two hundred thousand dollars in the bank. Why not just withdraw it and disappear? he asked himself.

If Barbara would join him, he would do just that, in an instant. Let Janice have the mortgaged house. In a good market, it was worth nearly twice the amount of the mortgage. Equitable distribution, he thought, remembering the bank statement he had found in his wife’s briefcase.

But Barbara was gone. The reality of it was just beginning to sink in. He had known the minute Chief Brower left the other day that she would leave. Brower’s questioning of both of them had terrified her. She had felt his hostility, and it had been the deciding thing for her-she had to leave.

How much did Brower know? Norton wondered. He sat at his desk, his hands folded. Everything had been so well planned. If the buy agreement with Nuala had gone into effect, he would have given her the twenty thousand he had gotten by cashing in his retirement money. They wouldn’t have closed on the sale for ninety days, which would have given him time to sign a settlement with Janice, then float a demand loan to cover the purchase.

If only Maggie Holloway hadn’t come into the picture, he thought bitterly.

If only Nuala hadn’t made a new will.

If only he hadn’t had to let Janice in on the change in the wetlands preservation laws.

If only…

Malcolm had driven past Barbara’s house this morning. It had the closed look that houses get when the summer residents lock up for the winter. Shades were drawn on every window; a smattering of unswept leaves had blown onto the porch and the walk. Barbara must have left for Colorado on Saturday. She had not called him. She just left.