"That towel over his hand," said Hannah. "It's covering a brown paper bag."

Oren watched the man walk out the front door. A moment later, the bartender returned with his towel draped over one shoulder. Back at his station, he served Mrs. Winston, who must be a regular, for he never bothered to ask for the lady's order. He set her glass on a cocktail napkin and walked away without a word.

"Sarah will only stay for one drink," said Hannah. "She'll leave a hundred-dollar tip under her glass. Then she'll go outside and find a bottle in a brown paper bag sitting on the front seat of her car."

"Okay," said Oren, "that's illegal as hell. Maybe this is a stupid question, but-"

"Why break the law? You wonder why Sarah doesn't just go to a liquor store-much cheaper, no risk. Well, no store in this county will sell her a bottle. Addison saw to that. He likes to control her liquor supply."

Hannah looked down at her wristwatch. She always wore a watch these days. When had time become so important to her?

"Right about now," she said, "Ad and Isabelle think she's passed out upstairs in her room." Hannah looked up at him and smiled. "You can learn a lot from a séance. Evelyn tells me that the Winstons' maid shows up at the cabin once a week, and that girl really appreciates a sympathetic ear. She hates Addison, bad-mouths him all the time."

Mrs. Winston slowly circled in and out of his sight as the bar revolved. When Oren saw her face in a shadowed profile, there was Josh's patron and friend, the most beautiful woman ever to set foot in Coventry. Revolving into better light, she became an aging barfly.

Hannah lined up another shot with her pool cue. "Sarah lost her license years ago, drinking and driving. Keep one eye on her glass so you'll know when she's leaving. That bottle waiting in her car? She'll try to empty most of it on her way back home. That means jail if she gets stopped by the law tonight. Or worse-she'll wrap her car around a tree."

"So we're going to offer her a ride home, is that the plan?"

"Well, not quite-but close. On your way to the Winston lodge, you'll stop at the turnout on Bear Creek Road. That'll be Sarah's idea, not yours. A lady shouldn't have to drink alone, so mind your manners. Don't forget to wipe the bottle after you take a swig. With any luck, Isabelle will never hear about the nice long talk you're going to have with her mother."

Wouldn't it be easier if you just told me what Mrs. Winston was going to say?"

"You haven't heard a word I said tonight."

You bet I have. You don't miss a thing, Hannah, and that's a gift I could use right now. So just spell it out for me."

"I tried that once with the judge. It didn't work so well." "When you told him to send Josh away?"

"If I'd never warned him, he would've grieved for a while and then moved on. And he would've had one boy left to raise. You never should've left town, Oren."

"He sent me away."

"And now that old man lives with guilt. He thinks he could've saved Josh… if he'd only listened to me. He would've been better off if I'd just kept my mouth shut."

"How did you know Josh was in danger?"

"Same way you did. That boy had a dangerous hobby, catching secrets in a camera." Hannah laid down her pool cue. "I heard you yell at him one day out in the yard. You tried to make him stop, but that was never going to happen. If the judge had sent him away, Josh would've died in some other town, and the old man would still blame himself. I should never have interfered, but I was more arrogant then."

"You were right to try, Hannah."

"No, I should've let life play out the way it was meant to." She lightly squeezed his arm. "If you'd stayed with Josh that day, it would've happened some other time. Your brother was fated to die when no one was around to save him. Cold logic, Oren. A murder can't happen any other way." She stared at the revolving bar. "Sarah's almost done with her drink. Almost time."

"Do you know who killed Josh?"

"What do you take me for? A damn psychic?" Hannah plucked the car keys from her pocket. "I'm going home. Now you can tell Sarah Winston that you're stranded without a ride. She'll let you drive her car, and she won't die-not tonight."

The BMW was a beautiful machine, bright red with a black ragtop-the stuff of dreams in his teenage car-crazy days. Oren watched from the distance of two parking spaces, confident that the lady would never be able to thread her key into the car's ignition.

He walked toward the convertible, calling out, "Ma'am? Mrs. Winston?" Stepping up to the driver-side door, he said, "You might remember me."

She looked up at him with a smile that was warm and wide. "Oren Hobbs. You still look so much like your brother."

"I wonder if I could get a ride as far as your house?"

"Of course you can. Get in, and I'll drive you all the way home."

"I noticed you were having a problem starting it. Could be the ignition. Want me to give it a try?"

"How gallant. An officer and a gentleman."

"I'm not with the Army anymore."

"So I heard, and there's nothing wrong with my ignition, but you'd never insinuate that I was drunk. Henry Hobbs did a good job of raising his boys."

The lady stepped out and did her best to walk in a normal fashion as she rounded the BMW to the passenger side. Oren followed and leaned in to open her door. Mrs. Winston smelled of whiskey and roses. Her daughter had been wearing that same rose perfume on the day she had kicked him in the shin. Keys in hand, he slipped behind the wheel, and they were off.

They had traveled no more than a few miles when he saw a pair of high beams coming up fast in the rearview mirror. The car behind him was weaving all over the road as it gathered speed, and there was no turnout in sight. Around each blind curve was the chance of a wreck with an oncoming car, but the vehicle behind him was a sure thing-close to climbing up the BMW's back end. Oren pressed down on the accelerator and rounded a hairpin turn with only two wheels on the ground.

"Don't be scared," he said to Mrs. Winston. But she was slow to understand what was happening. In the rearview mirror he caught sight of more headlights behind his pursuer. When he made a sharp left onto Bear Creek Road, they all followed him.

Up ahead, he saw the generous turnout carved into the shoulder. He Pulled into it, slamming on the brakes and shooting out one hand to keep Mrs. Winston from hitting the dashboard. At least twenty vehicles whizzed Past them to careen around the next curve.

"Ma'am? I don't suppose you have a cell phone."

"No. You'd have to drive twenty miles before you found a town with a cell-phone tower."

So much for their long conversation over a shared bottle of liquor. A caravan of drunks posed the problem of sudden death for anyone in their path tonight. He put the sports car in gear. "We have to find a phone."

The reporter's rental car was the last vehicle to travel up the driveway.

Dave Hardy sat in his pickup truck, counting money, five hundred dollars. He should have asked for more. An exclusive tip like this one was worth an easy thousand. One ear cocked toward his open window, he listened to the innocent racket of crickets and night birds. It made him smile to think that he'd been paid something for nothing-a better deal.

After a short stop at a gas station, the sheriff's office had been alerted to a runaway pack of drunks on wheels. And the smell of gasoline on a summer night was almost as sexy as the rose perfume.

They were under way again, Oren and Mrs. Winston, and there was not another car in sight. The road belonged to them. The convertible's top was rolled down, and the sky was banged with stars. The lady's hair was flying in long blond tangles, and the radio played vintage rock 'n roll at the top of the volume dial.