She found Joan’s house without difficulty and was invited in to a cozy kitchen where the smell of lasagna permeated the air.

Joan had a file folder sitting on the kitchen table already. Briana’s hands shook slightly as she opened it. Inside was a copy of the arrest report, mug shots of her uncle, looking younger and more disheveled than she’d ever seen him, and his companion.

The hooker was a blowsy woman with long bleached hair and too much lipstick, as though she’d reapplied it for her mug shot.

But the third photo was the one she’d really come to see. It was still a little blurry, but there was no doubt that the startled-looking man was her uncle, and the woman peering up from his lap was the blond hooker.

“You’re sure this is all…accurate?” she asked Joan’s husband, Tom.

“Believe me, we’re very careful about libel at the Sentinel, especially when a public figure’s involved. My paper wouldn’t have run that story if we weren’t certain it was true. And while there were a few letters to the editor from Councilman Thomson, lambasting the paper for its scurrilous reporting, he never sued for libel. Never even threatened it, because he knows the story is true.”

“But we keep this file well hidden, just in case,” Joan added.

Briana felt the last of her hope that her uncle might still prove to be innocent fall away.

“You seem awfully interested in this story about the councilor,” Tom said, gazing at her with the sharp speculation of a reporter whose newshound nose is twitching. “Any particular reason why Mayor Patrick O’Shea’s assistant is researching Cecil Thomson? The same Cecil Thomson who’s blocked the mayor’s efforts for more funding?”

Darn it. She’d been so all-fired determined to get to the truth that she’d forgotten to be discreet. Thinking up a good reason for her interest was not an easy task.

She shook her head. “This has nothing to do with the funding crisis. I’m working on a…” What? “Well, an ad hoc ethics committee. I wanted to research recent scandals involving local politicians.”

“Interesting timing, looking for dirt on Councilman Thomson right when he and your boss are pitted against each other.”

“The two things are not related,” she insisted. “Please, I need you to keep this meeting off the record.”

“Any reason why I should?”

What could she offer him in return for his silence? Nothing he’d care about.

Her gaze fell on Joan, who was watching with interest. “I can’t explain right now, but what I’m doing will probably mean the end of Cecil Thomson’s career,” she said, her voice shaking a little at the knowledge that this was true. “It’s personal.”

Joan stared at her for a moment and nodded. “Tom won’t print anything.”

“Now, wait just a minute!” her husband said.

“Remember,” Joan said, turning to him and jabbing him in the chest, “I gave you that picture and the story on a silver platter. If I tell you not to blab about a social visit Ms. Bliss paid to me, not you, then you don’t blab.”

The reporter didn’t look happy with his wife’s logic.

Hoping to prevent him going off half-cocked, Briana said, “How about this? If Councilman Thomson quits because of my investigation, you’ll be the first to know.”

“A scoop, huh?” he said with a wily grin.

“Yes. A scoop.”

“Okay. Deal.” He stepped forward and shook Briana’s hand. “I expect you to keep your word.”

She smiled sadly. “Don’t worry. I work for a man who believes fiercely in truth and honesty. I won’t let you down.” She wished the same could be said of herself in reference to Patrick.

Her last stop of the evening was the one she least wanted to make.

After parking outside her aunt and uncle’s house, Briana walked up the path and rang the doorbell.

From inside, she heard the muted sounds of a television program, which meant they were probably both home and not entertaining. Good.

Her aunt opened the door and smiled with delight. “Briana, what a nice surprise. Come in, dear. Have you eaten? I’ve got some fresh tuna and salad left from our dinner.”

“Thanks. I’m not hungry. I’d like to talk to you and Uncle Cecil.”

“Why, whatever’s happened?” her aunt asked, looking at her searchingly. “Honey, do you feel all right? Did that awful Patrick O’Shea do something to upset you?”

Briana wanted to laugh hysterically and had to force herself to calm down. “Please, I really need to talk to Uncle Cecil.”

“Well, sure, honey.” Looking concerned, Aunt Irene walked her into the living room, snapping on a light and making sure the drapes were closed tight. Then she went to fetch Uncle Cecil.

He walked in a couple of minutes later. “Why, Briana, what’s this-”

She glared at him, letting everything she now knew and thought about him show in her eyes. “How could you betray Aunt Irene and me? How could you?”

Uncle Cecil flinched, then glanced away, his ruddy complexion darkening. With a sigh, he lowered his bulk heavily into a chair.

“It’s time you stopped lying,” Briana told him. “To your wife, to me, to everybody.”

“Lying? Why, Briana, whatever is the matter? Cecil?”

“I’m going to tell Patrick O’Shea everything,” Briana said. “I came here tonight, first, out of courtesy and out of loyalty for all you’ve done for me in the past. But tomorrow I’m going to tell my boss how I took the job of his admin assistant in order to trap him into an indiscretion and ruin his career.” The words almost choked her and she felt the first tear blur her vision. Resolutely she blinked it back. “He’s an honest, decent man, Uncle Cecil. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Oh, Cecil, what have you done?” her aunt asked.

He rubbed a hand over his face and looked suddenly older and smaller somehow. “Sit down, dear,” he said gently to his wife. Then he turned back to Briana.

“How did you find out?” he said.

“I knew after I’d only worked for Patrick for a little while that he was incapable of the kind of deceit you accused him of. So, because I believed in you, because of my loyalty to you, I decided to investigate myself and find out who’d spread those awful lies about you.”

Her voice was rising, she couldn’t seem to help it, and the tears were only held at bay by the force of her will.

Her uncle didn’t answer, so Briana continued. “I tracked down the source of that story in the newspaper. I interviewed the arresting officer, and he told me how, after you were arrested, you called your friend, Chief Conway, the police chief of the time. He made sure no charges were ever laid. He even managed to dispose of the photographic evidence of your misconduct.” She was starting to sound like a legal textbook, but she didn’t care. “You were good friends, you and the chief, back in the eighties, weren’t you?”

Her uncle still said nothing, merely stared down at his hands, clasped between his knees.

“Even after I interviewed the arresting officer, I still wasn’t a hundred percent convinced.” She sniffed. “I saw the picture. With nothing blacked out.”

He flinched at that.

“Chief Conway destroyed the photo that the arresting officer included in his report, but he didn’t know there was a second photograph. Officer Carlton kept it for all these years.”

“But-but those were lies, Cecil. It was all a lie!” Her aunt began to weep, and for a moment Briana felt guilty for the pain she was causing. But she wasn’t the one causing pain, she reminded herself. Uncle Cecil had used her to try to cover up his own wrongdoing. That’s where the pain was coming from.

“I’m sorry, Irene,” Uncle Cecil said at last.

The cry grew into the wail. “You were unfaithful to me?”

Uncle Cecil buried his face in his hands and his voice wasn’t quite steady when he said, “It was after you miscarried that last time. We both went through a rough time.”

Miscarried? Briana had never heard anything about that. Her aunt and uncle had never had children, but she’d assumed that was by choice. When her aunt began to cry, great wrenching sobs, she wished she were a million miles away.