"I've got to read Murdered in Plain Sight as soon as possible," I said. "It might have clues to whatever you saw her working on. I'd better try to get in touch with Brainert, too. And if he doesn't know anything, he might have contacts at Dr. Lilly's home or at her university. Someone must know more."

"That seems very logical to me," Fiona said, "and I know you have to get going. But do take a quick look at the top of the lighthouse before you leave. I doubt there are any clues up there, but it may be your last chance in a long while to see the view. We're booked solid for months. I've even got people on a waiting list to take over Dr. Lilly's remaining reservation time, now that she's… well, now that she's gone."

I headed for the spiral staircase. Behind me, Fiona compulsively straightened up the pillows on the couch while Seymour studied the nautical paintings on the walls.

"Hey, Fiona, I actually like these. They remind me of the Hornblower series. Any of them for sale?"

Fiona exhaled with obvious annoyance. "It took me months to find exactly the right local artwork for this room. Why in the world would I want to sell it to you?"

"Name your price for the set."

"All right, one million dollars."

"Sounds fair for a set of paintings rendered by a nobody. So I'll tell you what, how about I write an IOU?"

"An IOU from Seymour Tarnish! That's rich. Why don't you just lose the check and tell me it's in the mail?"

Their voices grew fainter as I moved up the spiral staircase, one hand on the iron railing. At the top of the tower, I found a cozy space with wicker chairs and a matching table. The glass chamber was warm and stuffy, but I popped one of the windows and the stiff sea breeze quickly cooled things down. I looked around but found nothing. If Dr. Lilly spent time up here, she hadn't left anything behind.

My elbow bumped something-an antique brass telescope on a swivel base. For the heck of it, I considered peering through the lens, but I really didn't want to waste too much time, so I turned, ready to descend the spiral staircase again… and that's when I caught sight of him.

A man was ascending the rocky steps that led from the shoreline below to the high bluff where the lighthouse sat. When he reached the top of the cliff, he paused in surprise at the sight of our golf cart on the isolated trail.

The trespasser scratched his dark head, staring at the cart. He seemed puzzled for some reason.

Was it possible this man was our burglar, returning to the scene of the crime? Maybe Fiona's maid had scared him away and he was hiding out until the place was deserted again. At the very least, he could be a witness to something that had happened here earlier!

The antique telescope was set up for a view of the ocean, which meant I had to kick-slide the heavy tripod across the floor so I could get a better look at the stranger. It was tough work, but by the time the man furtively crossed the trail, I'd gotten my first good view. I'd simply hoped to be able to describe the man to the police at some later date. I didn't expect to recognize him!

It was Dr. Randall Rubino, carrying the same beige canvas backpack over his shoulder that he'd been holding in my bookstore earlier. He was wearing the same clothes, too-only now he was actually wearing his yellow J. Crew jacket, probably to ward off the stiffening wind coming off the ocean.

I took a closer look at his bag. It seemed more stuffed than ever-so stuffed it actually bulged.

I froze with a thought.

I hear you, said Jack. That pack just might be filled with cassette tapes and Dr. Lilly's missing computer and manuscript.

As I spied on the doctor, he crossed the trail and entered the thick woods. He must have found an easy path into the brush, because Rubino quickly vanished from sight, even from my high vantage point.

But I couldn't let him get away. If he was carrying the stolen stuff, I had to catch him red-handed. And this was my chance!

I bolted down the spiral staircase so fast my low heels set the wrought-iron structure to wobbling. Standing near the picture window, Fiona Finch grinned like a proud parent.

"So, how did you like the view? Spectacular, isn't-"

I raced to the front door without a word, thrusting Seymour aside to get there.

"Yo! Pen? What's up?"

"Follow me! Important!" I cried.

In seconds, I was outside and down the flagstone path. Once through the trellis, I ran to the spot where I thought Dr. Rubino had entered the woods.

"Slow down, Pen!" Seymour called, huffing and puffing far behind me.

I found a path immediately, right near one of the Finch Inn's PRIVATE PROPERTY! NO TRESPASSING! signs that were posted all over the area, and followed it for perhaps twenty or thirty yards. Then it forked into two paths leading off in opposite directions.

Stymied by the fork, I looked for footprints, or any sign of Rubino's passing. I saw nothing.

Then I heard Seymour again. "Pen! Where are you?"

"Over here!" I yelled back. "I'm at the fork, just keep following the trail!"

I couldn't wait around for Seymour to catch up. Dr. Rubino already had a good head start. Even if I picked the right path, I'd have a hard time catching up with him.

"I'm going left!" I yelled to Seymour. "you go right!"

Then I took a deep breath and plunged down the left-hand path. I proceeded along for five minutes. It was still, cool, and dark under the canopy of trees-a little too dark, I thought, looking up. Through a break in the leaves, I saw clouds gathering. The wind had picked up, too, swishing the branches over my head.

I pressed on. The path wound around a deep ravine strewn with fallen trees. There was another fork and I thought I saw footprints down the right-hand trail, so I took it.

" Seymour!" I yelled behind me. "If you can hear me, I'm taking the right path on the second fork!"

As I ran forward, I began to hear a rumbling vibration. It was faint at first, but it quickly grew louder. "What's that?"

An engine, dollface, Jack replied in my head. A big one.

I recalled Fiona's complaint about dirt bikers, and realized I was probably smack-dab in the middle of a popular trail. I was stuck here, too. Thick thorn bushes had grown high between rows of giant oaks in this area of the narrow path, so there was nowhere to go but forward, or back. But I couldn't tell which direction the bike was coming from, only that it was getting closer.

Within seconds, the rumble became a roar. Bouncing off the trees, the mechanical growl seemed to come from everywhere.

Get out of the way! Jack yelled in my mind.

Instead of listening, I turned. Eyes wide, I spied a motor-cycle barreling right at me along the path. Like a doe caught in a Hummer's headlamps, I froze, paralyzed!

I said move!

I'm not sure what happened in that final, critical second. But I must have instinctively leaped aside just as the big, Darth Vader of a motorcyclist reached me because I narrowly avoided getting run down. As the bike and the biker roared past me in a cloud of dirt; however, I wasn't able to avoid the stout tree trunk. Slamming headlong into the rough bark, I saw an explosion of searing white light.

After that, everything went blacker than noir.