"I knew I didn't have much time. I ran to the house and grabbed my camera. I snapped the pictures of the car plates. After that I went back into the house and phoned the cops. It took all of maybe two minutes. Then I ran back out to see if I saw anyone, but I didn't. Then I went back to the garage to be with Sally." He said this last part softly, his head down.

"You're sure you didn't see anyone?" asked Sean, who was sitting across from Frank.

"If I had I would've done something about it. As it turns out, when my friend ran the plates the car parked at the very end of the street was Doug Reagan's. I didn't believe that he'd been invited to a teenager's birthday party. I confirmed that with the invitation list. It was the only vehicle unaccounted for. The other's were people either at the party or who lived on my street."

"Nifty piece of detective work," noted Sean. "But why didn't you tell the police?"

"Yeah, Pop," added Bobby. "Why?"

Michelle was staring at her father with a mixture of anger and sympathy. The latter finally won out. "He obviously wanted to work the angle to make sure he was right. So he wouldn't waste everyone's time," said Michelle.

Frank looked at his daughter. Michelle thought she could see a glimpse of gratitude on his features.

"So you believed Reagan was involved. How about Rothwell?" she asked.

He said, "I never liked her. There was just something off about her. Call it cop's instinct. After Sally was killed I started doing a little digging on the pair. Turns out that in Ohio about twenty years ago two people very closely resembling Rothwell and Reagan, but using different names, were charged with using a power of attorney to embezzle millions from a retired CEO. Then the old man was found dead in his bathtub one morning after his children started getting suspicious. The pair skipped town and were never heard from again. I don't think that was the only time they did it. I found a couple of other similar instances that I believe they were involved in, but no one could ever build a case. People like that, that's how they make their living. A dog doesn't change its spots."

"So her story of her husband being a retired CEO who she lived the good life with was bullshit?" said Michelle.

"It's easy to make up a past, particularly these days," added Sean. "She comes here as a wealthy widow who has traveled the world and sets up shop. Who can prove otherwise?"

"So her 'recent' steady Doug Reagan has actually been working with her for decades? Preying on old, rich people," said Bobby.

"I believe so, yes," answered his father. "But I had no real proof."

"But why target Mom?" asked Michelle. "It's not like you two are rolling in dough."

Frank Maxwell looked uncomfortable. He stared down again, his hands clenching the Styrofoam cup tightly. "I don't think they were targeting us. I think… I believe your mother enjoyed Doug Reagan's company." He paused. "And he enjoyed hers." He fell silent and no one in the room apparently wanted to interrupt that quiet.

He continued. "He'd been everywhere, done everything, knew everybody, at least so he said. Stuff Sally had never been exposed to. He was handsome and wealthy and moved in certain circles. He was charming. He had a way about him. I was just a cop. I couldn't compete with that. Hell, I could understand why she'd be intrigued." He shrugged, but Michelle could tell that her father couldn't really understand his wife's infatuation at all.

"And Rothwell found out about it?" said Sean.

"Donna Rothwell is not the sort of person you ever want to cross," said Frank tersely. "I didn't know her all that well, but I knew her kind real well. I notice things other people don't. Just the cop's eye again. I'd seen how she looked sometimes when she wasn't the center of attention, or when lover boy was paying some woman more attention than he was her. She was obsessive, she was controlling. And she couldn't admit to anyone, much less herself, that she wasn't in control. And that made her dangerous. Even on the golf course she was competitive beyond all reason. Would get pissed off if she was losing."

Michelle said, "That must be why she made up that lie about letting Reagan play in the golf tournament with Mom. She didn't want to admit that it was done without her permission."

"Or being so adamant that your mother was not seeing another man," said Sean.

Michelle added, "So she planned to kill Mom because she was fooling around with Reagan. She made a dinner date with her, obviously knew about the pool party next door and all the noise. She slipped into the garage and waited until Mom came out…" Michelle's voice trailed off for a moment. "What did she use? To kill her?" she asked Bobby, who had a cluster of tears in his eyes.

He drew a deep breath. "Golf club. A newfangled putter. That accounted for the weird shape of the head wound. The police found it in her car trunk. Still had trace on it. She went after you last night with a club too. Except it was a driver."

Michelle rubbed her arm and leg where the bruises were large and purple. "Lady has a natural swing," she said wryly. "But why come after me?"

Her father answered. "Reagan was at the country club last night. I know because I was too. I was following him. He saw you by the trophy case. He overheard you talking to the man about Donna. He must've put two and two together. Did you notice in the picture in the trophy case?"

"That Donna was a lefty? Yeah, I did."

"So then he slipped away, made a phone call, certainly to Rothwell, and hightailed it off."

"To your house?"

Frank said, "I wasn't sure about that because I stopped following him and started following you. But it ended up there because they were planning to ambush you."

"Why?"

"Why? Because you were getting closer to the truth."

"No, I mean why did you start following me?"

"Because I was worried about you. Because there was no way in hell I was going to let that scum hurt you. Guess I failed at that."

She reached out and touched his arm. "Dad, you saved my life. But for you I'd be at the morgue right now."

These words had a remarkable effect on her father. He put his face in his hands and started to cry. His children rose and knelt next to him, holding him.

Sean rose too, but he didn't join them. He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

CHAPTER 64

QUARRY SAT in the library at Atlee counting his remaining cash. Two years ago he'd done something he never thought he would. He had sold some of his family's heirlooms to an antiques dealer to help finance what he was doing. He hadn't gotten anywhere near what they were worth, but he wasn't in a position to be choosy. He put the cash away, pulled out his typewriter, slipped on gloves, wound the sheet of paper in, and commenced the last letter he would ever compose on this machine. Like the others he had thought through each word.

The communication after this one would not be through letters. It would be far more direct. He finished and called Carlos in. The wiry little man was staying at the house while Daryl pulled guard duty at the mine. He had a task for Carlos to perform. And after his fight with Daryl he'd decided to keep his son closer to home.

Carlos wore gloves too, as instructed by Quarry. He was going to take one of the pickup trucks and drive north and then out of state to mail this last letter. The man didn't ask any questions; he already knew what was expected. Quarry gave him money for the trip along with the sealed envelope.

After Carlos left, Quarry locked the door to the library, stoked up the fire, lifted the poker, plunged it into the flames, got it hot, rolled up his sleeve, and added the third line to the mark on his arm. This was a slash perpendicular to the long burn, but on the left side of it. As the skin sizzled and puckered under the touch of the red-hot metal, Quarry sank back in his old desk chair. He didn't bite his lip since it was all bandaged up and swollen from his fight with Daryl. He cracked open a bottle of Beam, winced as the alcohol burned his cuts, and watched the rise and fall of the flames in the fireplace.