She stepped past him into the library, all dark leather and wood, with framed black-and-white photographs on the walls. A stuffed owl stared at her from a shelf of vintage books.

“The original owner of the house was an amateur bird-watcher,” Crawford said behind her. “He left a number of stuffed birds here, but, fortunately, far more watercolors, many of which he painted himself.”

“Any good?”

“Not particularly, but I enjoy them nonetheless. They have an honesty and simplicity that I can appreciate.” He stood in front of a window overlooking a white lilac. “You and Gerry just got here, didn’t you?”

“Yes-but we didn’t come together.”

“No, of course not.”

Quinn heard the wry tone in his voice. “It’s funny how rumors get started, isn’t it? People get an idea in their heads, and suddenly they start thinking it’s reality. For instance, what was your real relationship with Alicia Miller?” she asked candidly.

“So, you’ve obviously heard rumors.” He dropped onto a leather club chair and crossed his legs, swinging one foot as he stared out the open window, the sounds of his party faint, the smell of the lilac in the air. “Alicia and I were friends. I was very fond of her. She was like a little sister to me. We got to know each other over the past month.”

“You weren’t having an affair?”

He didn’t seem surprised or offended by the question. “I won’t say it didn’t cross my mind, especially at first. But, no, we were not having an affair. Since my kidnap and rescue, the thought of romance, frankly, hasn’t appealed to me. I could feel normal around her. I like to think she could feel normal around me.” He sighed heavily, but his expression didn’t change. “But I couldn’t save her.”

“You knew she was troubled?”

“Yes. Yes, I knew.”

Quinn heard footsteps in the hall and turned, just as Huck materialized in the doorway. His gaze fell on her, his jaw set hard. He shifted his attention to his boss. “I’m sorry, Mr. Crawford. None of us saw her come inside.”

He held up a hand. “It’s not a problem, Mr. Boone. Quinn and I are friends. Go ahead, Quinn. You can continue. I have nothing to hide from you or anyone else. As I told the FBI and local police, Alicia’s moodiness started shortly before her death. She’d been unhappy for a while, of course, but the irrational talk-the kind of behavior you reported she exhibited when she came to you in Washington -” He paused as if in pain. “Let’s just say she went downhill very fast.”

“I think I know why,” Quinn said, avoiding Huck’s eye. “Alicia had a very bad reaction to an antidepressant back in college. My neighbor here in Yorkville is a retired nurse. She’s pretty sure she recognized the symptoms.”

“Why would she take a medication when she’d already had a bad reaction to it? What doctor would prescribe that if he knew her history?”

“I’m not sure a doctor gave it to her. I told the FBI.”

“Special Agent Kowalski?”

“I suggested they check their blood sample for antidepressants, in particular SSRIs.”

“SSRI?”

“It stands for selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor.” She smiled faintly. “I wrote it down. SSRIs are the most commonly prescribed antidepressants. According to Maura, my neighbor, tricyclics are more likely to be lethal in overdose, but SSRIs can produce a temporary increase in anxiety. Most of the time it’s mild and goes away after a few days. In rare cases, the anxiety and agitation can be very severe and frightening.”

“As with Alicia.” Crawford sat forward, intent on what Quinn was saying. “This is all news to me.”

“I’m not a doctor, and neither is Maura-she emphasized that to me. Most people do well on antidepressants and don’t have this kind of severe, unpleasant reaction. Depression is a treatable illness.”

“Alicia’s bad reaction in college was to some kind of SSRI?”

Quinn nodded. Huck hadn’t made a sound in the doorway. “I don’t know which one,” she said. “Alicia told me that she had reacted very badly and refused to touch any kind of antidepressant. If depressed, she would try alternative therapies. Psychoanalysis, exercise, meditation-but not medication. She was adamant about it.”

“Then you’re suggesting she didn’t know what she was taking.”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Quinn said.

“Who else knew about her reaction? Presumably her doctor, and her family-any other friends, colleagues? Besides yourself, that is.”

Quinn shifted in her chair. “I did not provide Alicia with any kind of medication, with or without her knowledge. Not even a vitamin. I don’t know anyone who would.”

“No, of course not.” He exhaled, adding simply, “I miss her.”

“Do you know anything about the car that picked her up in Washington?”

“It wasn’t me.”

“One of your security people?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Quinn noticed his pained look. “I don’t mean to sound as if I’m interrogating you. I understand you’d visit her at the cottage-”

“Mr. Crawford,” Huck interrupted, “I can take Miss Harlowe out of here.”

He shook his head. “No, no. It’s all right. Quinn’s been through a terrible ordeal herself, losing a friend.” Crawford got to his feet, and took a few steps, as if he just needed to move. He had a lost quality about him. “I walked through the marsh to your cottage, without security. You’d think I wouldn’t risk it, given my recent history. But Yorkville’s so small-and I’ve been coming here for years. I couldn’t imagine anything bad happening here. Maybe it’s me. My fault she died, that is. I’m bad luck.”

Quinn let her shawl fall off her shoulders. “Did she think of you as a brother?”

“She’d never say. She wasn’t one to open herself up to that kind of emotion. She protected herself, hated to be vulnerable.” He stopped pacing, looked at Quinn. “You believe we were having an affair, don’t you?”

“Oh, God-Oliver!” Sharon Riccardi burst past Huck into the library, her bare arms red with mosquito bites from last night’s trip through the marsh. If she was embarrassed over her behavior, she gave no indication. “I am so sorry. Boone, why didn’t you get her out of here?”

“I asked her to stay,” Crawford said. “It’s all right, Sharon. Quinn and I have been having a nice chat.”

“It’s not all right.” Hands on hips, Sharon swung around to face Quinn. “You were invited here today because we believed you needed a break after what happened to your friend-we all needed a break and some closure. We assumed you’d act appropriately, not sneak around in private areas.”

Quinn thought Huck might say something in her defense, but he didn’t. “One thing just led to another,” she said.

Sharon Riccardi wasn’t mollified. “You need to bury your friend and leave the rest of us in peace. Oliver, you trust me to make difficult decisions, and I’m making one now. It’s time Miss Harlowe went home.”

Joe Riccardi appeared in the doorway and stood next to Huck, who still hadn’t moved or said anything. “What’s going on?”

Sharon stiffened. “Miss Harlowe is leaving.”

“I’ll see to it she gets home.” Huck calmly inserted himself between the Riccardis and Quinn and took her by the elbow. She felt the tickle of shawl fringe on her arm and remembered last night.

“I can find my own way out,” she said quickly.

Shaking her head, Sharon addressed Huck. “Take her back to her cottage in her car. That way we know she gets there safely. I’ll send Glover for you.”

Oliver Crawford rose, sweeping Quinn’s shawl up from where it had dragged on the floor. “I hope our discussion eases your mind.”

“It doesn’t, really, but thanks for your time.”

Keeping one hand on her elbow, Huck ushered Quinn past a dumbfounded, almost ashen Joe Riccardi. She wondered if he’d take the hit for her sneaking into the house, and felt a pang of regret. Just because he was married to ice-cold Sharon didn’t mean he’d escape her ire.