"Yeah," Sara answered, washing her hands. She turned off the faucet, smiling when it didn't leak. The sense of accomplishment lifted some of the weight off her shoulders.

Cathy smiled her approval. "If that medical thing doesn't work out, at least you'll have plumbing to fall back on."

"You know, that's what Daddy told me when he drove me to college the first day."

"I know," Cathy said. "I could have killed him." She took a sip of coffee, eyeing Sara over the rim of the cup. "Why didn't you go home?"

"I worked late and I just wanted to come here. Is that okay?"

"Of course it's okay," Cathy said, tossing Sara a towel. "Don't be ridiculous."

Sara dried her hands. "I hope I didn't wake you up when I came in."

"Not me," Cathy answered. "Why didn't you sleep with Tess?"

Sara made herself busy straightening the towel on the rack. Tessa lived in a two-bedroom apartment over the garage. In the last few years, there had been nights when Sara had not wanted to sleep alone in her own house. She generally stayed with her sister rather than risk waking her father, who invariably wanted to discuss at great length what was troubling her.

Sara answered, "I didn't want to bother her."

"Oh, bullshit." Cathy laughed. "Good Lord, Sara, nearly a quarter of a million dollars to that college and they didn't teach you to lie better than that?"

Sara took down her favorite mug and poured herself some coffee. "Maybe you should've sent me to law school instead."

Cathy crossed her legs, frowning. She was a small woman who kept herself trim by doing yoga. Her blond hair and blue eyes had skipped over Sara and been passed on to Tessa. Except for their matching temperaments, anyone would be hard-pressed to tell that Cathy and Sara were mother and daughter.

"Well?" Cathy prompted.

Sara couldn't keep the smile off of her lips. "Let's just say Tess was a little busy when I walked in and leave it at that."

"Busy by herself?"

"No." Sara barked an uncomfortable laugh, feeling her cheeks turn red. "God, Mother."

After a few moments, Cathy lowered her voice, asking, "Was it Devon Lockwood?"

"Devon?" Sara was surprised by the name. She hadn't been able to see exactly who Tessa was wrangling around with in bed, but Devon Lockwood, the new plumber's helper Eddie Linton had hired two weeks ago, was the last name she was expecting to come up.

Cathy shushed her. "Your father will hear."

"Hear what?" Eddie asked, shuffling into the kitchen. His eyes lit up when he saw Sara. "There's my baby," he said, kissing her cheek with a loud smack. "Was that you I heard coming in this morning?"

"That was me," Sara confessed.

"I got some paint chips in the garage," he offered. "Maybe we can go look at them after we eat, pick a pretty color for your room."

Sara sipped her coffee. "I'm not moving back in, Dad."

He jabbed a finger at the cup. "That'll stunt your growth."

"I should be so lucky," Sara grumbled. Since the ninth grade, she had been the tallest member of her immediate family, just inching past her father by a hair.

Sara slid onto the stool her mother vacated. She watched her parents as they went through their morning routine, her father walking around the kitchen, getting in her mother's way until Cathy pushed him into a chair. Her father smoothed his hair back as he leaned over the morning paper. His salt-and-pepper hair stuck out in three different directions, much like his eyebrows. The T-shirt he was wearing was so old and worn holes were breaking through over his shoulder blades. The pattern on his pajama pants had faded out over five years ago, and his bedroom slippers were falling apart at the heels. That she had inherited her mother's cynicism and her fathers sense of dress was something Sara would never forgive them for.

Eddie said, "I see the Observer's milking this thing for every penny."

Sara glanced at the headline of Grant's local paper. It read: "College Professor Slain in Grisly Attack."

"What's it say?" Sara asked before she could stop herself.

He traced his finger down the page as he read. " 'Sibyl Adams, a professor at GIT, was savagely beaten to death yesterday at the Grant Filling Station. Local police are baffled. Police Chief Jeffrey Tolliver' "-Eddie stopped, muttering, "the bastard" under his breath-" 'reports they are exploring every possible lead in order to bring the young professor's murderer to justice.'"

"She wasn't beaten to death," Sara said, knowing that the punch to Sibyl Adams's face had not killed her. Sara gave an involuntary shudder as she recalled the physical findings during the autopsy.

Eddie seemed to notice her reaction. He said, "Was anything else done to her?"

Sara was surprised her father had asked this. Normally, her family went out of their way not to ask questions about that side of Sara's life. She had felt from the beginning that they were all more than a little uncomfortable with her part-time job.

Sara asked, "Like what?" before she got her father's meaning. Cathy looked up from mixing the pancake batter, a look of trepidation on her face.

Tessa burst into the kitchen, popping the swinging door on its hinge, obviously, expecting to find Sara alone. Her mouth opened in a perfect 0.

Cathy, standing at the stove making pancakes, tossed over her shoulder, "Good morning, sunshine."

Tessa kept her head down, making a beeline for the coffee.

"Sleep well?" Eddie asked.

"Like a baby," Tessa returned, kissing the top of his head.

Cathy waved her spatula in Sara's direction. "You could learn from your sister."

Tessa had the common sense to ignore this comment. She opened the French door leading to the deck and jerked her head outside, indicating Sara should follow.

Sara did as she was told, holding her breath until the door was closed firmly behind her. She whispered, "Devon Lockwood?"

"I still haven't told them about your date with Jeb," Tessa countered.

Sara pressed her lips together, silently agreeing to the truce.

Tessa tucked one of her legs underneath her as she sat on the porch swing. "What were you doing out so late?"

"I was at the morgue," Sara answered, sitting beside her sister. She rubbed her arms, fighting the early morning chill. Sara was still in her scrubs and a thin white T-shirt, hardly enough for the temperature. "I needed to check some things. Lena-" She stopped herself, not sure she could tell Tessa what had happened with Lena Adams in the morgue last night. The accusations still stung, even though Sara knew it was Lena's grief talking.

She said, "I wanted to get it over with, you know?"

All mirth had left Tessa's features. "Did you find anything?"

"I faxed a report to Jeffrey. I think it's going to help him get some solid leads." She stopped, making sure she had Tessa's attention. "Listen, Tessie. Be careful, okay? I mean, keep the doors locked. Don't go out alone. That kind of thing."

"Yeah." Tessa squeezed her hand. "Okay. Sure."

"I mean-" Sara stopped, not wanting to terrify her sister, but not wanting to put her in danger either. "You're both the same age. You and Sibyl. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

"Yeah," Tessa answered, but it was obvious she did not want to talk about it. Sara couldn't blame her sister. Knowing in intimate detail what had happened to Sibyl Adams, Sara was finding it hard to get through the day.

"I put the postcard-" Tessa began, but Sara stopped her.

"I found it in my briefcase," she said. "Thanks."

"Yeah," Tessa said, a stillness to her voice.

Sara stared out at the lake, not thinking about the postcard, not thinking about Sibyl Adams or Jeffrey or anything. There was something so peaceful about the water that for the first time in weeks, Sara felt herself relax. If she squinted her eyes, she could see the dock at the back of her own house. It had a covered boathouse, a small floating barnlike structure, like most of the docks on the lake.