"Go ahead," he said. "Take a dip. It's spring fed."

"In your dreams, Stevens."

"I didn't say skinny-dip. You, Ms. Chauvin, have a dirty mind."

"Actually, I don't think I'm the one with the dirty mind." She stood and crossed to the water's edge. Kneeling, she splashed water on her face, soaking her shirt in the process.

She glanced down at the now-transparent fabric. So much for modesty. Hell with it, she decided, unbuttoning the clinging fabric.

"Don't look," she ordered, glancing at him over her shoulder.

He rested back on an elbow. "Depends on what I'm going to miss."

"Hunter," she warned, narrowing her eyes at his cheesy smile.

"All right. No peeking, scout's honor."

She waited until he had dutifully turned his head, then peeled off her blouse.

"Very pretty."

She whirled around, wet blouse to her chest. "You looked."

"Of course I did." He laughed. "Can't stop a bird dog from hunting."

"Or a snake from striking."

He laid back, hands folded behind his head and gazed up at the blue sky. "Your honor's safe, doll. Most bathing suits reveal more than that bra, pretty as it is."

He had a point. She soaked her blouse in the chilly water, then draped the dripping fabric across her shoulders. The water sluiced over her shoulders and breasts, leaving trails of goose bumps in their wake.

She made her way back to where he rested. To his credit, he didn't look at her.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

She hesitated, reluctant to ruin the warm, relaxed mood with talk of murder, then asked anyway. "Wondered if you could tell me anything about the St. Claire murder."

He didn't act surprised by her question. "What do you want to know?"

"The Gazette didn't say how she died."

"It's pretty grim."

"I think I can take it."

He tilted his face toward hers. "A sharp object was repeatedly inserted into her vaginal canal. Tore her insides to shreds. She bled to death."

Avery hugged herself, suddenly cold. "Who was she?"

"Dad knew her. Party girl. Heavy drinker. Spent a little time in jail."

Anyone whose actions fell outside what was considered right, moral or neighborly was singled out.

A woman like Elaine St. Claire fit that description. But she was also the kind who put herself in dangerous situations.

"They have any suspects?"

"Just me."

"Funny."

"I'm not laughing." He lay back again, draping an arm across his eyes. "Dad and Matt, in their infinite wisdom, are looking no further than the first to the scene."

"I find that difficult to believe."

He shrugged. "Could just be me, still chafing under Matt's interrogation. Wondered where I'd been that day between the hours of four in the afternoon and eight that night."

"And where were you?"

"Working on the novel. Nobody but Sarah for an alibi."

She didn't know what to say so she said nothing.

"Why so interested?" he asked.

Good question. How did she answer it? She decided on blunt-ness. "You have any doubt my dad killed himself?"

He sat up at that one. Looked at her. "Where did that come from?"

Ignoring the question, she tipped her face to the sky, then returned her gaze to his. "You'd become friends. Spent some time with him. Do you have any doubt he took his own life?"

For a long moment, he said nothing. When he spoke, his tone was heavy with regret. "No, Avery. I'm sorry."

A knot of tears clogged her throat. She pressed on. "Why?" He looked at her. "Talking about this isn't going to change anyth-"

"Why, Hunter? Tell me."

"All right." He sat up. "I hadn't been back in Cypress Springs a week when your dad looked me up. I appreciated it. A lot. He didn't ask too many questions, didn't make me explain why or justify my actions. He did it for me, but I think, for himself, too. He needed somebody to talk to.

"Anyway, it worked for both of us and we started meeting every Friday morning for coffee. Then, one Friday, he didn't show. So I went by the house, found him still in his pajamas. All the blinds drawn. He insisted he had simply overslept, but he was acting… strange. Different."

"Different? What do you mean?"

"Jumpy, I guess. He didn't look me in the eye. After that, our meetings became sporadic. Our conversations…less comfortable. He began talking a lot about the old days. When your mom was alive and you were home. Never about the future, rarely about the here and now."

Hunter let out a long breath. "It should have rung a warning bell, but it didn't. I'm sorry," he said again.

She shook her head, as much in denial of his words as of the tears burning her eyes. "He lost a bedroom slipper that night, on his way out to the garage. The arson investigator told me that."

He didn't comment and her cheeks heated. "I think that's significant, Hunter. Walking in one shoe isn't natural. The path between the house and garage would have been cold, the stepping stones rough. He would have stopped and slid it back on."

"Avery," he said gently, "I hate that he did this, too. I know it hurts. I know-"

"No, you don't know. You can't know what I feel." Tears choked her; she fought them. "On fire, he crawled toward the door. He didn't want to do it, Hunter. He didn't."

"Avery, hon-" He made a move to take her into his arms and she jumped to her feet. "No," she said, more to herself than him. "No, I will not cry. No more."

She hugged herself, staring at the shimmering surface of the pond. In the tree behind her a couple of squirrels played tag. Sarah growled, low in her throat.

"Who would want your dad dead, Avery?" Hunter asked quietly. "Everyone loved him."

She couldn't take her gaze from the diamond-faceted surface of the water. "Not everyone. I got a call, this woman…she said Dad had gotten what he deserved. That I would, too."

"Who, Avery? What woman?"

"Don't know." Cocking her head, she moved toward the water. The surface was broken by a large, odd shadow. "She wouldn't identify herself and I didn't recognize her voice."

"Has she called again?"

"No." Avery reached the pond's edge, stopped and frowned.

"Most probably a crank," he said. "Someone with an ax to grind. Or someone in desperate need of attention. Even Cypress Springs is home to mentally unstable people."

"What's that?" She glanced over her shoulder at him. He was staring with unabashed admiration at her butt. Her cheeks wanned even as she motioned him to come. "Look."

He stood and ambled over, Sarah at his heels. She pointed. "A shape just beneath the water. See? Its edges are silvery."

He bent closer, then looked at her. "I think it's a car."

"A car?" She turned back to the pond. Made a sound of surprise as the shape that had caught her eye suddenly became clear to her. "I think you're right."

"One way to find out." He stripped down to his jogging shorts, then waded in. She watched as he took a deep breath, then dived under.

A moment later, he surfaced. "It is. And a fine car at that. A Mercedes coupe." She frowned, something plucking at her memory.

"I'm going to take another look."

Hunter went under again. Sarah began to bark. This time when he reappeared he swam back, then climbed out. "I think we better call Dad."