“Like last year’s weirdoes don’t count?” Konnie snorted. “Whenever!”

“Not that I know of. I have to say there was a rumor… it was just a rumor… she might’ve been seeing… well, having sex with some older men. And maybe there was some money involved. I mean, they were paying her.”

If Konnie felt anything about this he didn’t show it. “You have any idea who? Where?”

“Some kids at this place called the Coffee-”

“-Shop. They been trying to close that piss hole down for a year. Well, I can poke around there. Ask some questions. Now, was she in any cults or anything?”

“No, don’t think so.”

“You or Bell in anything like that?”

“Me?”

“All right, your wife.”

“Ex,” Tate corrected.

“Whatever. She did that sort of stuff”

“It was strictly softball with her. No Heaven’s Gate or Jonestown or anything like that. Bett wouldn’t even put up these Indian posters because they had reverse swastikas on them. Nothing to do with Nazis; she just thought it was bad karma.”

“Karma,” Konnie scoffed. “Any relationships of yours go south in a big way recently?”

“I-"

“‘Fore you answer, think back to every one of them twenty-oneyear-olds you promised diamonds to and then ran for the hills.”

“I never proposed to a single one,” Tate said.

“Never proposed to marry ‘em, maybe.”

“You don’t get Fatal Attraction after three dates. That’s about the longest term I went.”

“Sad, Tate, sad. How ‘bout Bett?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t think so.”

“Any relatives acting squirrelly? Might’ve wanted to take the girl and run?”

“Only relative nearby’s Bett’s sister, Susan. Outside of Baltimore. She’d never do anything to hurt her. Hell, she was always joking about adopting Megan.”

This got Konnie’s attention. “Adopting her? You sure she’s not involved in this? Maybe she went over the edge, decided to get herself a daughter.”

“Imagine Bett but fifteen pounds lighter. She couldn’t kidnap a bird.”

“But she could’ve hired somebody to. She could have a wacko boyfriend.”

“I just can’t see it, Konnie.”

“Gimme her name anyway.”

Tate wrote it down.

“Okay, how ‘bout any business associates of either of y’all? Clients? Or the bad guys? Other than Sharpe.”

“Bett’s got this interior design business. I don’t think her clients’re the sort for this kind of thing. Me, all I’ve been doing are wills, trusts and house closings-except for the Liberty Park case.”

Konnie grunted. The detective got a call. Grabbed the phone. Nodded. Slammed it down. “Interesting… That was the lab. Only her prints and yours on the bone. And mine, yours and hers on the letter.

But… there were some smudges on the bone that might’ve been from latex gloves. Can’t say for certain, But that starts rue wondering. Think it’s about time to do a Title Three."

“A wiretap?”

“Yours and your wife’s phones both.”

“Ex.”

“You keep saying that. Broken record. That’s in case you get a ransom call.”

“I thought this wasn’t a case.”

“It’s becoming one. Tell me again what happened this morning at your place. I mean exact.”

Tate remembered this about Konnie: he was a working dog when it came to dredging for evidence and hammering on suspects and witnesses. Only exhaustion would slow him down-and even then it never stopped him.

Tate gave another recap of the events.

“So you never actually saw her at your house?”

“No,” Tate said. “I got back home about ten A.M. from the office then got suited up and went to check on a busted pipe.”

“The sharecroppers there?”

“No. Not on Saturday. I never saw anybody at all. Just the lights go out around ten-twenty.”

“All of ‘em?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t you think that was funny?”

“No. Megan doesn’t like bright lights. She likes candlelight and dimmers.”

This gave Tate a burst of pleasure-proving to Konnie that he knew something about the girl after all.

“It was dark as pitch this morning,” the detective mused. ‘With all that rain. Most people’d want some light, you’d think. ‘Less they didn’t want to be seen from the outside.”

“True.”

“And shit, Tate, wait a minute. Why’d she go to your place at all?”

“To leave the letters and get the backpack.”

“Well, doesn’t she have any suitcases or book bags at your wife’s? Sorry your ex’s. Your dee-vorced spouse’s.”

“Sure she does. You’re right. Most of them are there, as a matter of fact. And she had her book bag with her at Amy’s. And a lot more clothes and makeup at Bett’s place than mine.”

The cop continued, “You and Megan hardly ever saw each other.” “True again.”

“So you wouldn’t go into her room much, would you?” “Once a month maybe.”

“So why’d she leave the letters there? Why not at her mother’s?” That would’ve made more sense, true. The detective added, “And hell, why go to the house and leave some letters this morning around the time you were going to meet her? I tell you, if I was going to leave a note to diss my folks and run I’d leave it someplace they weren’t going to be. Don’tcha think?”

“So he made her write ‘em and planted them himself. Whoever he is.”

“That’s what I think, Counselor… Here’s what I’m gonna do. Order some serious forensic work and then have a chat with the captain. Guess what? This’s just become a case. And in a big way.” Konnie pulled a drumstick from the bag and charged down the hall.

Tate returned home.

No messages and no one had called; the caller ID box was blank.

Twelve hours ago he had wanted Megan and Bett out of his life again. He’d gotten his wish and he didn’t like it one bit.

So Brad had left Bett. He didn’t know what to make of that. Why? And why now? He had a feeling that whoever was behind Megan’s disappearance was behind this too.

Then his thoughts segued to Belize, the trip he and Bett had planned to take. A second honeymoon. Well, a first honeymoon technically-since they’d never taken one after their wedding.

He looked out over the dark sky; at the spattering of a million stars. Tate laughed to himself. What a kick if they’d run into each other. He wondered how Bell would have reacted to Karen. No. Cathy.

Probably not well.

Not a jealousy thing so much as a matter of approval. She’d never liked his taste in women.

Well, Tate didn’t either, now that he looked back at his lovers over the past ten years.

Belize…

Was there actually a possibility that he and Bett might take that trip together still-after they found Megan?

Whatever happened with Brad, the presence of a fiancé didn’t seem as insurmountable as simply the concept of Tate and Bett taking a trip together. At one time their joined names had been a common phrase among their friends. But that was a long, long time ago.

Yet-this was feelings again, not Cartesian logic-yet somehow he believed that they’d get along just fine. The fight today had been as bad as any they’d had fifteen years ago. And yet there’d been a reconciliation. This astonished him. That never would have happened in the past.

He sighed, sipped his wine, looked out at the Dalmatian nosing about in the tall grass. Thinking now of Megan.

But even if husband and wife were to get together again, what would the girl come home to? And more important… who was the person coming home?

Was the girl’s drinking and the water tower incident more than just a onetime fluke? Was that the real Megan McCall, a bitter young woman who slept with men for money? Or was there another person within her? One Tate didn’t know well-or maybe one he hadn’t even yet met?

Tate Collier felt a sudden desperation to know the girl. To know who she was. What excited her, what she hated, what she feared, What foods she liked. What clothes she’d pick and which she’d shun. What bad TV shows she’d want to watch.