“I understand. Alicia came to me before she died. She was very upset-anxious, frightened. I couldn’t make sense of much of what she said.” Quinn squatted and plucked up a dandelion, then stood up, tossing it into the pile Maura had made of her weeds. “I can’t help but feel I could have done more to save her.”

“I wonder if there’s anything Don and I could have done too.”

“Please, Maura. I knew Alicia for a long time. I won’t pretend we didn’t have our problems in recent months.” Quinn brushed the dirt off her hands. “It’s possible there’s more going on here than any of us wants to believe. I think that’s why you and Don are heading to North Carolina.”

Maura sighed, nodding. “It’s as if things are bubbling under the surface.” She stared out at the water a moment. “We suspect that Alicia and Oliver Crawford were having an affair.”

“Alicia and Crawford?”

“Well, we can’t be sure, of course, but we saw him here several times. He came alone, without his usual entourage.”

Quinn tried to picture Alicia and Oliver Crawford as a couple. Alicia had always gone for powerful men-but Crawford? Quinn couldn’t see it.

“We could be wrong,” Maura added quickly. “But he did come here alone-we were surprised he was alone, especially after what happened to him over the winter. The kidnapping and everything.”

“Maybe he just feels safe in Yorkville. Do you know if he ever stayed overnight?”

“Oh, no. I’m sure he didn’t. Perhaps affair is too strong a word.”

“Did Alicia ever meet him at Breakwater?”

“We think she would kayak over there. She’d pretend to go into the marsh, but you know Alicia had no interest in bird-watching or nature walks.” Maura’s face had reddened. “I’m not condemning either of them. If she found some happiness in the weeks before her death, then that’s a good thing.”

“When did you first see Crawford over here?” Quinn asked.

“Mid-March. The second or third weekend Alicia started to stay out here.” She smiled faintly, her color subsiding somewhat. “Truly, Quinn, we don’t like to spy on our neighbors.”

“You don’t? That’s no fun.” Quinn tried to lighten the mood. “I spy on you and your husband all the time. One morning, you’ll be having coffee on your porch. Another morning, he’ll be watering the garden and you’ll be taking a walk-”

Maura laughed, finally relaxing again. “We worked hard to be able to lead such boring lives in retirement.” But she fumbled with her garden gloves, avoiding Quinn’s eye. “We didn’t tell Special Agent Kowalski or the local police any of this. If they’d asked, of course we’d have told them what we saw, but otherwise-” She shook her head. “It’s just gossip among friends.”

Kowalski and the locals would want to know, Quinn thought. So would the undercover marshals in town. “Maura, I can’t keep this secret. I think you know that.” She glanced at her friend and neighbor and smiled gently. “That’s why you told me.”

“Don and I have been fretting over what to do for days. It doesn’t feel like such a betrayal of Alicia to tell you. We know you have to do what you feel is right.” She shrugged, looking as if a burden had been lifted from her. “We see what we see.”

“Alicia was burned out-”

“She was more than burned out, Quinn. I’ve been thinking about what we saw of her over that last weekend and what you say she was like when she came to you in Washington. It’s pure speculation on my part.” Maura hesitated. “Let me just say that I wouldn’t be surprised if she was on something that didn’t agree with her. When I was a nurse, I saw a lot of that sort of thing.”

“What do you mean, Maura? When Alicia was in college, she was prescribed an antidepressant. She had a negative reaction. She told me about it when I first knew her. She said she’d never go on antidepressants again.”

“Then I must be wrong. I should mind my own business.”

But when Quinn pressed her, Maura explained in detail what she knew about antidepressants and the kind of reactions, although rare, she’d seen during her years as a nurse.

When she returned to her cottage, Quinn didn’t call T.J. Kowalski right away. She didn’t flag down Diego Clemente’s boat or charge up to the motel and have Buddy Jones go find him.

Instead, she dressed for the open house, again trying to imagine Alicia Miller and Oliver Crawford romantically involved-but she just couldn’t do it.

Another question, another loose end, another problem.

She waited until she was in her car, on her way out of the village, before dialing Brian Castleton’s cell-phone number; she hadn’t bothered erasing it from her call list.

He picked up on the first ring. “Quinn, my God, it’s good to hear your voice. How are you doing? I’ve been thinking about you.”

“I’m okay.”

“I’m really sorry about Alicia.”

“I know-it’s a tough one. Brian, Alicia told you about her reaction to the antidepressant she took in college, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, I remember the whole story.”

“Did you ever tell anyone?”

“Me? No, why would I? She repeated it not long ago. I think she was more matter-of-fact about it-not the reaction, but having suffered from clinical depression. She accepted it as a treatable illness, not an a sign of personal weakness. Attitudes have changed.”

“Was anyone else there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, the new guy. Steve Eisenhardt.” Brian, an experienced reporter, immediately turned suspicious. “Why? What’s going on? Eisenhardt stopped by yesterday and asked to borrow a car. He said his was in the shop and he couldn’t get a loaner. It was kind of weird, but what the hell.”

“You loaned him a car?”

“Shouldn’t I have? Am I never going to see it again?”

She gave him T.J. Kowalski’s number and suggested Brian call him.

“That’ll teach me to do anyone a good turn.” He spoke with a touch of dry humor. “You want to tell me what’s going on? You’re more tight-lipped than the FBI, I swear, but I’m here to help.”

“I’m attending an open house at the Crawford compound out here on the bay this afternoon.”

“Oh, yeah? Call me if there’s anything you need.”

“Let’s hope it’s just a regular garden party. Thanks, Brian. If I hear anything about Steve, I’ll let you know.”

After she hung up, Quinn realized that any lingering animosity between them had dissipated-and so had any attraction. They’d both moved on.

She dialed T.J. Kowalski, and not surprisingly, he didn’t like one thing she had to tell him.

“Special Agent Harlowe.” His tone was mildly sarcastic, but not angry or mean-spirited.

“The Scanlons are leaving soon, so if you want to talk to them-”

“I’ll handle it.”

“Can you still check Alicia’s blood for antidepressants?”

Kowalski ignored her. “Where are you right now?”

“In my car.”

“On your way back to Washington?”

She came to a four-way stop and waited for two boys with a mutt on a leash to cross in front of her. Normalcy. “I’m on my way to the Crawford compound. I’ll be one of dozens of guests. It’ll be fine.”

“That’s probably what your great-grandfather said before the avalanche hit him.”

Quinn smiled. The kids had reached the other side of the road. “I’ve got to go. You wouldn’t want me to have an accident because I was talking to the FBI on my cell phone.”

“I’m in Yorkville. Call me if you get into trouble.”

“Thanks,” she said, meaning it, and hung up, tossing her phone onto the seat.

She wondered if Kowalski would consider almost letting Huck Boone, aka Huck McCabe, undercover deputy U.S. marshal, make love to her, getting into trouble.

If he knew, Kowalski would find a reason to lock her up for sure.