Zoe went very still, her face draining slightly of its color. She looked pale even against the pretty pink of her sweater. "Betsy, I take your point. Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Stricken by her own behavior, Betsy covered her mouth and gasped against her hand, then blinked back tears. "I'm sorry. I had no right. You and your family have gone through so much this year. I should be more understanding, at least more diplomatic."

"Forget it." Zoe gave her a weak smile and got to her feet. "What happened last year was difficult for you, too. And your larger point's well taken-I don't want to go off half-cocked, either."

"It's just that you haven't been here every day, with the police, the questions, the little invasions of privacy. It all adds up. Maybe your coming back like this, the break-ins, the time of year, have made some of us-me- realize that we're ready to move on, as difficult as that is to say when your father's murderer is still on the loose."

"I understand."

But her words were choked, clipped. Betsy moved toward the door, anxious to be out of there now, feeling embarrassed. What made her think she had a right to tell Zoe anything? She and Zoe weren't friends. They were just people from the same hometown, people who'd both loved an old woman now dead for a year.

"It's a beautiful afternoon for a walk," she said lamely.

"I'm glad you came." Zoe had to clear her throat to get the words out, but she sounded sincere despite her ashen look. "Tell Luke I said hello. I've seen Kyle already. He's awfully excited about the documentary he's doing on Aunt Olivia, isn't he?"

Betsy nodded, relieved that Zoe apparently wasn't going to hold what she'd said against her. "Obsessed is the word, I think. Luke will want to see you. Why don't you come out to the boat tomorrow night and have dinner with us? We'll be heading south soon. I'll get together some friends. It can be your welcome-home party."

"Thanks, Betsy, but you just warned me off."

"I know. I put it all so badly. Forgive me. I got carried away." She glanced into the front room past the dining table to the big window that looked across the porch to the Atlantic, quiet, shimmering in the afternoon light.

"I haven't been in here since the memorial service. It's brought back all my own fears. When Olivia said she knew-" Betsy swallowed, shifting her gaze back to Zoe. "It was bone-chilling."

"You handled the situation well, Betsy. She was a very old woman and didn't have long to live." Zoe folded her arms on her chest, and Betsy could see she was shaking, just a little. "Dinner would be lovely."

Betsy sagged in relief, as if her muscles couldn't hold the tension any longer. "Wonderful. Luke's into wines. I'll see to it he opens a good bottle for you. Bring-bring your FBI agent, if you want."

Zoe managed a small smile. "He's not my FBI agent, but I'll invite him. Thank you."

Betsy nodded and fled, nearly stumbling in the driveway, which would have been just perfect. She'd have to explain skinned knees to Luke. But she didn't fall, she reminded herself, and when she made it down to Ocean Drive, she slowed her pace and felt almost calm. Should she find Teddy Shelton next, tell him not to stir up trouble? To disappear and forget that Luke had hired him?

What were they up to, the two of them?

She shook her head, as if she were arguing with herself. Teddy was Luke's problem. She had an excuse to see Zoe, none at all to track down a creep like Teddy Shelton. She'd met him last summer and had heard rumors that he'd served time in prison. Luke was so naive about people-he'd have no idea. And Betsy knew she could do only so much to protect him.

J.B. walked into the kitchen after Betsy O'Keefe left and helped himself to a cider doughnut. He felt much better now that he'd done the kissing and then had a chance to kick himself and get over it.

Zoe didn't move from her position in the entry doorway. "Thinking about going after her and saying no to dinner, after all?" "You eavesdropped?" He sat at the table. "Overheard." He bit into his doughnut. "I see you changed out of your robe." "Don't go there." He smiled without remorse. "I don't have to, do I?

You're already there. And will be for a while, I suspect." "You know, McGrath, as houseguests go-" "You could do worse." He finished his doughnut in two more bites and dusted the cinnamon sugar off his fingers. "There's something I should tell you before the Castellane kid figures it out. My ancestors settled here in the 1600s. I think George Sutherland was the first one. Sutherland Island's named after him."

He could see he had her attention. She eased out of the doorway but still was stiff, preoccupied. "How distant are these Sutherland ancestors?"

"Not very. My grandmother was a Sutherland."

She kept her reaction under control, but he could see her shock in her eyes. "Posey Sutherland? The woman Kyle just happened to mention this morning?"

"She was my grandmother. John Lester was my great-grandfather. An SOB as far as I can tell."

Zoe shot into the kitchen and grabbed the last doughnut, but didn't take a bite as she leaned back against the counter and shook her head. "Forget it. I don't believe a word you're saying. You made that up after you heard Kyle mention her name. You're just trying to distract me because Betsy read me the riot act. You're incorrigible." She bit into her doughnut. "I'm talking to Bruce. He and the guys really should toss you overboard."

J.B. ignored her. "Posey eloped with my grandfather, Jesse Benjamin McGrath, and moved west with him. Her father-"

"John Lester," Zoe supplied, dubious but apparently willing to let him keep digging this hole for himself.

"Right. John Lester disowned her. She died when my father was seven. Jesse became a lawman in western Montana and was gunned down chasing bank robbers during the Depression."

"I see. What about your father?" "He became a guide in western Montana. He died in

February. He didn't marry until he was in his forties, and my mother died when I was a baby. So, it was just the two of us. Me and my old pop. He loved Montana. It was where he belonged. Do you ever wonder about that, Zoe? Where you belong?"

Zoe's expression softened, and she set her half-eaten doughnut on the counter and took a small breath. "You're telling the truth, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you know your grandmother and Olivia were friends?"

He nodded.

"How, if she and your grandfather both died when your father was just a little boy-"

"I have letters," he said. "From your great-aunt to my grandmother."

She stared at him. "Letters? Letters Aunt Olivia wrote?"

"Letters a very young woman wrote to a friend who'd run off with a stranger and never came home. Olivia and Posey." His voice caught with unexpected emotion. "They were both just kids."

"My God. I had no idea."

"I didn't bring the letters with me. They're still in Montana." He leaned back in his chair, his eyes on Zoe as she steadied herself, one hand on the edge of the counter. "Olivia had no use for Posey's father or her husband."

"Hence, Mr. Lester McGrath."

"It was hers and Posey's secret."

Zoe shook her head in amazement. "I had no idea. Olivia was almost seventy when I was born-she'd already lived a big chunk of her life. And your grandmother had been dead for years. How did she die? What happened to her?"

"Some kind of fever. It wasn't an easy life for her in Montana."

"Do you think she was happy?"

"I only have Olivia's view of things. She had her doubts, but I gather my grandmother kept insisting she was happy. But I think she was also aware of what she'd given up to be with my grandfather, to follow his dreams."