"Yes, I would." "

I thought Rocky'd see you're here and come into the house, but he gets so involved he may not have noticed. I don't usually bother him while he's working, but he's been out there long enough. Let's go."

We got up, leaving the peas, and went out the back door. Three boys raced around the yard, yelling. One of them was waving a stick at the other two, but no one seemed to be in actual danger.

"All of those yours?" I asked.

"Only two." She pointed. "That one's Evan, and that one's " Noah. They're both six. Evan is seven minutes older."

I bet they're a handful."

She laughed. "Justin's the tall one in the red shirt. Belongs to the neighbor down the road. He might as well be mine, though, as much time as he spends here."

The shop was in what I'd thought was a barn. No horses, just horsepower. Inside, the concrete floor was pristine. Three cars awaited Rocky's attention, and the fourth hunkered over a pit in the middle of the floor.

"Dang it!" a male voice said from somewhere. "Gabi, that you? Grab that clutch spring compressor and bring it over here."

She smiled at me and went to an array of tools on a bench along one wall, searching with her eyes. "I don't see it. Oh, wait a minute, here it is." She hefted an awkward and arcane-looking contraption and walked around to the far side of the pit.

"Hey honey," Gabi said. "Ariel's friend from the co-op is here."

Rocky came around from the other side of the car, eyebrows raised. He was about five-ten, with dark, prematurely thinning hair and a hooked nose. Muscles roped through his arms and across his bare chest and abdomen.

"Hiya," he said, holding out a grimy hand. Then he flushed, pulled it back and began wiping it on a greasy rag. "Sorry. Occupational hazard."

"No problem," I assured him. Fishing in my oversized tote bag, I found the sympathy card. "I brought the paintings Ariel had on display at the co-op. And this." I held out the envelope.

He took it, carefully drew out the card, and opened it. He looked at it for a long time. His eyes moved from one signature to another, and back again. At last he looked up, and his face was wet.

"I didn't know she had so many friends. Thank you."

I swallowed, feeling like a big, fat liar. "You're very welcome."

A quick glance at Gabi. She was focused on her husband, face pinched with distress.

"Ariel was the artistic one," Rocky said. "She was the one in the family who got all the talent. I just know how to fix things." He looked at the ground and shook his head, smiling.

I was at a complete loss as to what to say; any response was bound to come across as insincere. For the gazillionth time I wished I was better at prevarication.

Luckily, Gabi stepped in. "You're a better mechanic than your sister was an artist, and you always were."

"Don't talk about her like that, Gabi." Grief laced the words. He turned to me. "She was a wonderful artist. And she was just as good as me at fixing cars and stuff. We were restoring that '69 Cougar there, together." He gestured to a maroon street rod in the corner. "Hadn't had much of a chance to work on it in the last year or so. She couldn't come up to visit much, and I only work on it when she's here."

We all spent awhile looking at the half-finished vehicle on blocks, pieces and parts arranged precisely on the tarp around it. I had a sudden flash that the car would become a mechanical shadow of Miss Haversham. I saw it a hundred years in the future, in exactly the same place, rusted, covered with dust and cobwebs, waiting for Ariel to come back and help her brother put it together again.

Rocky walked a couple steps away, as if unable to look at the Cougar anymore. The movement shook me out of my daze.

"I had no idea Ariel was mechanically inclined," I said.

His small smile didn't reach his eyes. "She didn't look like that kind of girl, she was so little and pretty, but she could take an engine apart and put it back together, have it running like a kitten in no time."

"Was it just the two of you?" I asked. "Any other brothers or sisters?"

"Nope. Just us. For years we only had one another, after both of our parents were killed in a car wreck."

"That must have been horrible. How old were you?"

"I was twenty-one," Rocky said. "Ariel was sixteen."

Right. She'd mentioned that when she more or less said Chris should just get over Scott's death. "That must have been especially difficult for her, so young," I said.

"It was hard on both of us. But I took care of her, and we got through it." The last words were clipped, and he moved farther away.

His nerves were already raw, and in my enthusiasm to understand Ariel I'd apparently overstepped the bounds of tactful behavior once again.

"I'm sorry," I said.

He smiled and shook his head. "That's okay. It's kind of hard to talk about right now, is all."

"Of course."

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then opened them again as if making a decision. "Do you know who found her?"

Oh, God. "Um, yeah."

He waited.

"I'm afraid it was me."

His eyes widened. "Oh!"

SIXTEEN

WELL, I HAVE TO tell you, I'd be hard pressed to find a more awkward moment than that. We both looked anywhere but at each other.

Finally, Rocky said, "Well, maybe it's not good to speak too much of the dead."

Not quite what I'd been hoping for this trip, but understandable. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy, and it was obviously too soon to quiz him about his sister.

"A police detective came yesterday, with all kinds of questions. Horrible questions. I can't do it anymore." He mopped his face with the grimy rag. "I mean, how could anyone have done that-" His voice cracked, and he turned away.

"I'm so sorry," I said yet again.

He nodded, silent.

Gabi indicated the door with a jab of her chin. Once she and I were outside again, she said, "He doesn't like people to see him so upset."

"Of course," I said. "Maybe you could help me unload Ariel's art, and I'll be on my way."

"Why don't you take it back to the co-op and sell it and then send us the money," Gabi said, her voice laced with bitterness.

I'm sure my surprise showed on my face.

"She owed us a lot," Gabi said in a confiding tone.

So much for not speaking about the dead.

"Well," I said. "You might be able to sell one of the pieces. There's a note on one of them from someone who's interested in buying it."

Rocky's voice came from behind us. "I want that art. Every single piece if it. Just show me where it is."

Gabi shook her head and walked toward the house. I led him around to my truck and opened the topper. I reached for a painting.

"I'll take care of them. You go ahead in the house and have Gabi get you something to drink," he said.

I didn't mention his wife had already plied me with cider, but obediently turned around and walked toward the front steps.

"Miz Reynolds?"

I turned.

"I'm sorry if I sounded rude. I want you to know how much I appreciate you driving these all the way up here."

"No problem at all," I said. I watched him fumble with one of the large canvases for a moment, but couldn't think of anything to say that would make any difference at all. I turned and went into the house.

I found Gabi sitting back at the kitchen table, working away on the pile of pea pods. Her face was red, her hands a blur.

I sat down and reached for another handful. "I'm sorry if I upset your husband."

"Oh, heck. I'm the one upset him, not you. I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut about that sister of his, even now. He wouldn't stand for it when she was alive, either." Her expression was strained with worry. "I guess now we'll never see that money."