Sarah tightened her hands into fists and sank against the wall. “It can’t be-Nate, it just can’t be the man I saw in the park, the man I saw in Amsterdam-”

“Tell me what happened at the museum, Sarah. Everything. Start to finish.”

“Nothing ‘happened.’”

“You flew in from Scotland, Rob flew in from New York?”

She stared at an old framed map of Tennessee on the wall opposite her.

“Rob was there first?” Nate prodded her.

She nodded. “He got there a few days ahead of me. I came in for the weekend. I was finishing up my documentary and totally preoccupied, but we don’t get many opportunities to be together as a family. I felt I had to seize the moment. I arrived on Friday. Saturday morning, we did a canal tour like every other Amsterdam tourist. Saturday afternoon, we went to the museum. Rob and Dad don’t linger. My mother and I do. Especially my mother.”

“Where were you and Rob staying? With your parents?”

“Yes. They’ve rented an apartment on one of the canal streets.”

“They went on the canal tour with you?”

“That was the whole idea. We did everything together. It was a great few days. Amsterdam’s a beautiful city, especially in the spring.”

“Then lunch?”

He wasn’t in a mood for distractions. Sarah stood up from the wall. “We had Dutch pancakes at a restaurant near the museum.”

“Recognize anyone there? Did your parents talk to anyone?”

“No. No, I don’t think so. We walked over to the museum from the restaurant. It was fairly crowded-we just did the Dutch collections. We didn’t run into anyone or speak to anyone until we got to The Night Watch.”

Nate leaned against the wall, studying her. He bit off a sigh. “Sarah-Christ-”

“As I’ve told you, Rob and my father had already moved ahead to the antique Delftware.” She spoke briskly, stating the facts. “My mother can take forever with a painting. The crowds got to me, and I wandered into an adjoining collection. That’s when the man I thought I recognized in the park spoke to me.”

“What did he say?”

“He just talked about the painting. Something about how he was surprised that the old paintings of Amsterdam didn’t look all that different from the new paintings of Amsterdam. I think he was trying to be funny. Then he left. I moved on to another painting. I was getting a little impatient for my mother to join me so we could go find Rob and my father. I finally went back to The Night Watch and found her talking to another man.”

“Nicholas Janssen,” Nate said softly.

“I didn’t know. He was handsome, well dressed, silver haired. I didn’t think much of it.”

“Did he see you?”

Sarah shook her head.

“Your mother-”

“She didn’t mention him. I didn’t mention him. There was no reason.” She looked off, remembering that day. “My mother was a little distracted, but nothing that concerned me. She wasn’t sweaty or upset or put out-or excited and happy. I assumed she’d met an acquaintance.”

“What did you do after you caught up with your brother and father?”

“We finished up at the museum and walked back to my parents’ apartment on one of the canals. It’s a long walk, but it was a beautiful afternoon. We took our time. My father does well, but his stamina isn’t what it used to be.”

“How old is he?”

“Seventy-eight. And my mother’s fifty-six.” With a burst of energy, Sarah moved into the kitchen. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong. My mother is not having an affair with Nicholas Janssen or anyone else.”

Nate followed her without comment.

She turned on the water in the sink and filled a teakettle. “The people who make judgments about my parents based on their age difference don’t know them. They’re devoted to each other. It doesn’t mean my mother’s not aware that she’s more than twenty years younger than my father and likely to outlive him.”

“Back to Janssen. Did your mother ever mention him? He was in the news when he skipped out?”

“No. And I didn’t see the news reports on him, or didn’t remember them if I did.” She set the kettle on the stove, her movements tense, jerky. “Given the number of people my parents know, it’s probably to be expected one’s turned out to be a fugitive.”

“Your mother’s attractive?”

His question took Sarah by surprise, but she tried not to be defensive. “Yes, I think so. Other people do, as well. What’s that got to do with anything?”

He eased onto a stool, those blue eyes never leaving her. “Probably nothing.”

“Anyway, you’ve seen pictures of her. There are some on the mantel and there’s one in your room.”

“Three. As far as I can see, she’s downright beautiful. Collins will get a sketch together of the men who attacked Juliet. They must be close to completing something on the guy you saw in the park. We’ll see what happens.”

“Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

He shook his head. “Any of those fried pies left?”

“One.”

“We can split it.”

“Damn right, Deputy. I don’t get fried apricot pies that often.”

He got to his feet and came around to her at the stove, caught her by the elbow. “Your parents will be all right. So will Rob. So will you.”

“You can’t know that.”

He smiled, the incisive eyes not so hard now. “Why the hell not?” He kissed her softly, reminded her of their lovemaking yesterday before dinner. “Good thing I’m off duty.”

“There’s no such thing as an off-duty fed. Rob says that all the time.”

“Think he already knows about us? The twin thing.”

She liked the way he said “us,” as if yesterday, the night before, had meant something to him. She got two mugs out of the cupboard. “If he knows, he’d have checked himself out of the hospital bed by now. He’d drag his IV down here with him if he had to. He’s never wanted to introduce me to his marshal buddies.”

“Now you can understand why.”

“Nate-” She broke off, setting the mugs on the counter. “I’ve learned to take things one step at a time with my parents. They’ve always got a pot boiling. Nicholas Janssen could be a red herring.”

“Joe Collins will want to know what he and your mother talked about.”

“They talked for two seconds at a public museum. It’s not as if she can be accused of harboring a fugitive.” Sarah lifted the lid off a canister and dug out a couple of tea bags. “Conroy probably discovered the connection between Janssen and my mother and figures he can tie it back to the president.” She stopped still, sighing. “That weasel. That has to be what he’s up to.”

“Didn’t President Poe go to Vanderbilt with your mother?”

“They were in the came class.”

“Does your mother have a college yearbook around here?”

Sarah hesitated, then nodded. She abandoned the tea bags and retreated to the living room, pulling all four of her mother’s college yearbooks off a high, dusty shelf in the living room. She dumped them onto the coffee table and sat on the couch, Nate beside her, and flipped through the pages of the one from her mother’s freshman year.

About halfway through, she found one small candid shot from a philosophy class with all of them together: Betsy Quinlan, John Wesley Poe and Nicholas Janssen.

Sarah scanned each of the other three yearbooks, but there were no pictures of Janssen in any of them, including the one from what should have been his senior year.

“He must have dropped out,” Sarah said.

But Nate was already dialing Joe Collins’s number in New York.