One of his students had taken a personal interest right back.

Someone had rolled a body into the arboretum.

Someone else had deposited handcuffs where I would find them; killed a rat; left a painted Ken doll on my car hood.

"Overall," I said, turning to Marshall, "it would be hard to top last week."

"We can give it a shot," he suggested, and was surprised when I laughed.

"Let me tell you what happened last Monday night," I said, and for the first time I told Marshall what I'd seen when I was out walking.

"You saw the murderer?"

"I saw the person dumping the body."

Marshall thought my story over. "I can understand why you didn't want to tell the police," he said finally. "With your cart being used. And since they didn't arrest anyone yet, you might be putting yourself in danger."

"How so?"

"The killer might think you had seen more than you actually saw," Marshall said. "At least, killers always do in the movies. They're always coming after the person they think knows something, whether or not it's true."

"Yeah, but that's the movies. This is Shakespeare."

I suddenly realized what I'd said and I laughed. Marshall looked at me warily; I had to explain.

"Lily, I think the sooner the police arrest someone for this, the better it'll be for you."

"No argument there."

"Then we can concentrate on finding out who's playing these tricks on you and Thea."

There was something in his voice that alerted me. "Has something else happened to her?" I asked.

"She called me about six this morning. Someone came to the back door and spray-painted ‘Bitch' across it."

"Is that so." Marshall looked a little surprised at my lack of horror.

"So, Marshall, did you come over here to enjoy my company or see if I was gonna walk back up in my yard with a spray can in my hand?"

Marshall closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Lily, I think if you were mad at Thea, you would challenge her to fight, or ignore her for the rest of your life. I can't imagine you sneaking around in the dark spray-painting a woman's back door."

But I wasn't so sure he believed that down to his bones. Hadn't there been a moment, a flicker, of something else—of relief—when I challenged him?

I sank down in the armchair and looked at him intently. "I don't know if I'm at fault, if I'm being overly prickly, or if Thea has undermined your confidence in your own judgment so much that you can't trust your own instincts."

Marshall was not quick to respond, and I was glad. I wanted him to think about this.

"Maybe both," he said finally. "Come on, it's almost time to work out."

As I pulled on my ancient gray sweatpants and a dark blue T-shirt, I pondered the fact that he was quite willing to have sex with me even though he hadn't exactly given me a rousing vote of confidence. Did that mean he was so delighted with his returned virility that he just didn't care whether I was tormenting his wife?

Dealings between men and women are all too often like picking through a minefield, I thought with some disgust. Marshall was out in the living room waiting for me. He'd walked over in workout clothes, blue sweatpants and a maroon Body Time T-shirt.

It was strange that I could stand in the hall and watch Marshall stretch that wonderful body and feel a wave of lust, that I could love the way he didn't flinch at the horrible story I'd told him. But still, I drew back from him from time to time.

This was one of the times.

We didn't talk much on the way to Body Time in my car, but the prospect of doing something I enjoyed with Marshall, who also enjoyed it, made me feel more relaxed.

Janet Shook was on the treadmill when we entered. Her eyes widened. She clearly was adding two and two in her head. I waved casually. Marshall exchanged a few words with Derrick, who'd opened for him, and then we mapped out our workout. It was legs days— not my favorite—but doing legs was not so bad with company.

It was very convenient and pleasant having Marshall there to take the weights on and off and spot for me; it was equally pleasant being able to return the favor.

People who before had only nodded to me came up to speak, since I was with Marshall. Of course, everyone knew him. And I found that they knew who I was, too: They all called me Lily. Though my scratched face got some sideways glances, no one mentioned Norvel Whitbread.

This, too, was pleasant, but I found that after greetings had been exchanged, I had nothing to say. I just listened as they chatted with Marshall. Marshall is a kind of community clearing house. Everyone who approached him had some piece of gossip or news to relate and seemed to feel free to speak in front of me. I wondered why.

I found, as the second gossiper in a row referred to it, that I had a reputation for being closemouthed. It surprised me to think that people thought of me at all, but I should have remembered: In small towns, there is no such thing as an invisible life.

Despite twinges in my side, I had finished leg-pressing three hundred pounds when Brian Gruber, an executive at the mattress-manufacturing plant that was one of Shakespeare's larger employers, drifted by in the course of his workout to murmur quietly in Marshall's ear. Marshall listened grimly, doing a lot of curt nodding. This was so definitely a man-to-man talk that I did an extra set so they could finish. After all, Marshall had said my quads needed work.

When I was through, I just lay there and panted. Brian wandered away to do bicep curls while Marshall added a twenty-five to each side of the leg press for his set, looking thoughtful and grim. He didn't meet my eyes as I made way for him. I reached for my sweat towel and began dabbing at my forehead.

Damned if I was going to ask.

Marshall slid into position. He put his feet up on the push board, aligned them carefully. He pushed a little, taking the pressure off the relief bars, which he flipped to the side simultaneously. Then he bared his teeth in a snarl of effort and began his set. Maybe he was trying to make me feel equal; three hundred was my top weight, and I knew Marshall could do double that. I waited stonily till his set was over and he'd flipped the bars back into place. He beckoned to me to crouch down where he lay.

So, here came the bad news.

"Brian just heard that Thea's been telling everyone at her church that she's going to put me through the wringer as far as property goes. But he also told me the same thing you did—that she'd been having overnight company, which'll count against her in court."

"You've been having company, too." I watched his face go blank.

I stood up and covered my face with the towel as though I was bathed in sweat, when in fact I'd cooled down. I had to get my indifferent face back on. I felt a strong inclination to pick up my workout bag and leave without a word, but that would be cowardly.

I shifted so my back was to the leg press, and I stared at a pretty teenager who was having the time of her life showing Bobo Winthrop how hard it was for her to bench-press two ten-pound dumbbells.

Bobo looked over at me, his eyes widening as he took in my marred face. His mouth formed the words You okay? I nodded. Then the girl on the bench said something to claim his attention. I looked in another direction so Bobo wouldn't meet my eyes again and feel obliged to come over to talk to me.

I felt hands on my shoulders, and I twitched like a horse trying to dislodge a fly.

"So, I'll just have to find some other toehold," Marshall said calmly. He began to take off the twenty-fives he'd added.

"Leave them on," I said. I slid into position, braced my feet, flipped the braces to the side, and began to push.

I managed five reps before I could tell that serious pain was just around the corner.