"She hasn't appeared in anything significant since Henderson County , and that's been off the air for a couple of years. With all the twenty-year-old pop-tarts in the news, I guess she's considered a senior citizen by Hollywood standards," Joy observed dryly.

"I think you're right," Sam agreed. "We're also trying to locate her parents to see if she's talked to them. I've already spoken to the guy in California who investigated Alison Kendall's death, and he says there's no indication of foul play there. But I'm not satisfied. When I told Rich Stevens about the lunch table girls, he put in an order to get the files on all the deaths from the police who handled the investigations on each of them. The oldest goes back twenty years, so it may take the rest of the week to get everything. Then we'll go through the files with a fine-tooth comb and see if anything jumps out at us."

He waited while Joy jotted some notes in her book. "I want to go to the Website of the local papers where the so-called three accidents occurred and see if there were any questions raised in them at the time about the deaths. The first was in the car that went off the road into the Potomac; the second was the one who disappeared in the avalanche at Snowbird; the third was killed when the plane she was piloting crashed. Alison was the fourth. Finally, I want to see what was written about the supposed suicide of the girl from that lunch table.'

He anticipated Joy's next question. "I have their names, the dates, and where they died listed here." He pointed to a typewritten sheet on his desk. "You can copy it. Then I want to find what the Internet will spit out about Robby Brent that might be helpful. I warn you, Joy. Even with two of us working on this, it will take a lot of time to get it done."

He got up and stretched. "When we're finished with all that, I'm going to call the widow of a certain Dr. Connors and tell her that I need to pay her a visit. He was the doctor who delivered Jean Sheridan's baby. Jean met Mrs. Connors the other day and had the distinct feeling that she was holding back some information, something that made her very nervous. Maybe I can get it out of her."

"Sam, I'm good at getting stuff from the Internet, and I'm probably one hundred times faster than you at it. Let me take over doing the research, and you visit the doctor's wife."

"The doctor's widow," Sam said, and then he wondered why he had found it necessary to correct Joy. Maybe it was because Kate had been on his mind all day. I'm not Kate's husband, he thought. I'm her widower. There's a difference of day and night.

If Joy was annoyed at the correction, she did not show it as she picked up the list on the table. "I'll see what I can find. Talk to you later."

Dorothy Connors had been reluctant to meet with Jean, and when Sam phoned, she adamantly insisted that she had no information that would be helpful to him. Realizing that he had to be tough with her, he finally said, "Mrs. Connors, I have to be the judge of whether or not you can assist our investigation. I want no more than fifteen minutes of your time."

Reluctantly, she agreed to let him come to see her that afternoon at three.

His phone rang as he was straightening the top of his desk. It was Tony Gomez, the police chief of Cornwall. They were old friends. "Sam, do you know this kid Jake Perkins?" Tony asked.

Do I? Sam thought as he rolled his eyes in the general direction of heaven. "I know him, Tony. What about it?"

"He's been going around town taking pictures of homes, and I have a complaint from a couple of people who thought he might be setting them up for a robbery."

"Forget it," Sam said. "He's harmless. He has delusions of being an investigative reporter."

"It's more than a delusion. He says he's working on the Laura Wilcox disappearance as your special assistant. Can you verify that?"

"My special assistant? For God's sake!" Sam began to laugh. "Throw him in jail," he suggested. "And when you do, try to lose the key. I'll talk to you, Tony."

73

"Jean, I had a very good reason for inquiring at the desk about whether or not you had received a fax," Mark said quietly as he joined her in the coffee shop.

"Then explain it to me, please," she said, her tone equally subdued.

The waiter had placed her at the same table where they had sat for several hours the day before. But today the warmth and sense of developing intimacy that had characterized their earlier meeting was missing. Mark's expression was troubled, and Jean knew that she was conveying to him the doubt and mistrust of him that had been building in her mind.

Lily-Meredith -is safe, and I am going to meet her soon, she thought. That was the essential, the alpha and omega of what mattered right now. But receiving the hairbrush in the mail last month, then the threatening faxes, and finding the rose on Reed's grave – each and every incident had torn her apart with worry.

I should have had that last fax by mid-afternoon yesterday, Jean remembered as she looked across the table at Mark. She felt as if they were taking each other's measure, seeing each other today in a different light. I thought I could trust you, Mark, she thought. Yesterday you were so sympathetic, so understanding when I told you about Lily. Were you only mocking me?

Like her, he was wearing a jogging suit. His was dark green and seemed to make his eyes seem more hazel than brown. The expression in them was troubled. "Jean, I'm a psychiatrist," he said. "My job is to try to understand the workings of the mind. God knows you've been going through enough hell without my adding to it. Frankly, I was hoping you would continue to hear from whoever is sending those messages to you."

"Why?"

"Because it would be a sign that he or she wants to stay in touch. Now you've heard from Laura, and you're satisfied that she wouldn't hurt Lily. But the point is that she communicated with you. That's what I was looking for yesterday. Yes, I was troubled when the desk clerk said that nothing had come in. I was worried about Lily's safety."

He looked at her, and his expression of concern changed to astonishment. "Jean, were you thinking that I'd been sending those faxes to you, that I knew the one you got late yesterday should have arrived earlier? Were you really entertaining that thought?"

Her silence was his answer.

Do I believe him? Jean wondered. I don't know.

The waiter was standing at the table. "Just coffee," Jean said.

"I seem to recall that on the phone you told me you haven't eaten all day," Mark said. "Back at Stonecroft you liked grilled cheese and tomato. You still like that?"

Jean nodded.

"Two grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches and two cups of coffee," Mark ordered for both of them. He waited until the waiter was out of earshot before he spoke again. "You still haven't said anything, Jeannie. I don't know whether that means you believe me or you don't believe me or you're not sure. I admit I find that pretty damn disappointing but certainly understandable. Just answer me this: Are you still satisfied that Laura has been sending those faxes and that Lily is safe?"

I am not going to tell him about the call from Craig Michaelson, Jean thought. I can't afford to trust anyone. "I am satisfied that Lily is safe," she said cautiously.

Mark obviously realized that she was being evasive. "Poor Jean," he said. "You don't know who to trust, do you? I can't say I blame you. But what are you going to do now? Just wait here indefinitely until Laura surfaces?"

"At least for the next few days," Jean said, intent on being as vague as possible. "What about you?"