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  Hannah responded to my silence with a perky, "Okay, then. Thanks."

  Then she turned and walked down the narrow sidewalk to a nondescript economy rental car and got in. I stood stupidly in the doorway, and she waved at me as she pulled away. Of its own volition, my right hand lifted in response.

  I remained rooted there for a hundred years or so, inhaling floral calm, thinking thorny thoughts, unwilling to turn around and go back inside. So I didn't. Ultimately, I walked the rest of the way out, locked the door behind me, and went to my own vehicle.

  Doppelganger.

  Wife?

  Of course Barr would have a good explanation for all this. Maybe she was crazy. I'd picked up a stalker a few months back; maybe it was his turn.

  A stalker who looked almost exactly like me, only… better.

  Sure.

  I thought about living in that little house with him. I thought again about leaving Meghan and Erin, Brodie, the chickens only recently housed in the backyard. The chicken project had been my baby. They'd only laid five eggs so far.

  What was I thinking? I could leave all that to move in with… a married man? Hardly.

  ***

  Meghan wasn't home. Erin wasn't home. There was no one to tell about Hannah except Brodie, and even he was occupied with his chicken guarding. So I did what I always do when I don't know what else to do: I worked.

  As I mixed the dry ingredients for the bath fizzies a local woman had commissioned as favors for a large bridal shower, I waited for the storm. Perhaps I was in the eye. Soon the rain would begin to fall fast and furious.

  It never did, though. The bone-crushing sadness and disappointment remained at bay.

  Instead, I got spitting mad.

  Barr would have a good explanation for Hannah? And what might that be? Was there such a thing as a good explanation for having your wife show up and leave a message with the woman you were trying to bamboozle into cohabitating with you?

  Well, I'd like to know what it was, then.

  I considered going to the police station and making a scene.

  Nah. I'd only end up looking like an idiot.

  My watch showed a few minutes before six o'clock. He'd be home in an hour or so. Why not meet him at the front door like a good little girlfriend? That had, after all, been my original plan. I'd be damned if I'd cook him dinner now, though.

  Dusting the citric acid off my hands, I went upstairs to my bedroom. Changed into my favorite pair of jeans, the ones that made my butt look reasonably small. Put on a tank top with a low-cut neckline. A pair of beaded sandals that showed off my pretty red toenails. I sprayed and scrunched my hair into something that looked downright feisty. Then I spent another ten minutes calming it down; no reason to be so obvious.

  Meghan opened the front door as I came down the stairs. Erin trailed behind her, reading a book while shuffling up the sidewalk.

  "Hey, I thought you were spending the evening at Barr's." My housemate turned and placed a canvas bag of books from the Cadyville library on the bench by the door.

  "I'm going back over there. But I won't be gone long."

  She whirled to face me. "What's wrong?" Pouncing on something in my tone. Her eyes narrowed as she took in my ensemble.

  Erin tripped on the door frame as she entered the house, eyes never leaving the copy of An Acceptable Time she held open with both hands. I glanced down as she caught herself and continued past me into the kitchen.

  "I'll tell you later," I said.

  "She's in another world. Tell me now." Refusing to be put off.

  "I'm going back to ask him about the woman who showed up on his doorstep when I was there earlier."

  "Woman?"

  "Yeah. The one who looks freakishly like me."

  She raised one eyebrow.

  "The one who says she's Barr's wife."

  The other eyebrow joined the first.

  "Gotta go," I said, brushing by her. "Jealousy calls."

  Outside, I yanked the door of the Toyota open so hard the hinges creaked.

  ***

  Okay, so I had to admit it: I was hungry. The smell of grilling meat infused the air as I sat on the front step of Barr's little house. My growling stomach did not help my frame of mind, which was good. I needed a reservoir of anger to draw from, strength to face the idea that the future I had anticipated might well be swirling down the drain. So I sat hunched around my dudgeon and waited for him to come home.

  End of June in the Pacific Northwest. Red-winged blackbirds called liquidly to each other in the wetland down the hill to the north. It would be light until well after nine o'clock, and the sky still held a high, thin blue. Only a few clouds crouched on the horizon, waiting to erupt into the crazy pastels of the impending sunset: pinks and oranges, peach and yellow, eventually morphing to red against the navy sky. The splash of colors to come reminded me of the bamboo I'd been hoping to try in my lesson with Ruth. The stuff would be like spinning clouds, so the soft colors were more than fitting. I wondered whether the woman who dyed the roving, a local named Thea Hawke, had felt compelled to imitate the sunset as she'd chosen her dyes and lovingly applied them to the ethereal fiber.

  Oh, brother, Sophie Mae. Get a grip. Stop musing about spinning and think about what you're going to say to Barr when he gets here.

  My stomach growled again. The oblique angle of the light niggled at my memory. This was the time of day that, as a child, was unavailable in the other seasons. After dinnertime, still light enough to play outside, offering the promise of packing in more activity before parental summons brought you in for bed. Innocent times. Long gone times.

  Sometimes being an adult got pretty darn old, I thought. Was there any possible way to account for Hannah's appearance out of nowhere, her looks, her wifeness? I couldn't imagine a scenario in which Barr hadn't lied to me. Just flat-out lied.

  I hated being lied to. My anger flared again, accompanied by a hot, sick feeling.

  My head jerked up at the sound of a slowing engine and tires on concrete. Barr's car door opened and cowboy boots hit the ground. He strode toward me. Slowly, I stood.

  "What a nice surprise, finding you here," he said. "You're not going to believe it, but we already have a pretty viable suspect."

  His arms encircled me, and I stifled the urge to push him away. Instead I stood quietly and waited. Barr pulled back, a puzzled look in his eyes. "Ariel was having an affair with Scott Popper. We think Chris may have had something to do with it." Regret passed over his features, and I couldn't help but remember his obvious pity for Chris at the funeral.

  Then he shook his head, and his features smoothed. He smiled down at me. "You look great, by the way. Did you do something different with your hair?"

  Chris? Had killed Ariel? Confusion nearly swamped me. "But-" I stopped myself. Concentrate, Sophie Mae, concentrate.

  "Anyway, I for one, wouldn't mind a little help from an interested citizen who might be able to get information through, uh, unofficial channels."

  Huh?

  When I didn't respond, he said, "Hey, what's wrong with you? I thought you'd be happy to be off the hook. Plus, I thought you'd jump at the chance to help out." He tousled my hair.

  I jerked away from his hand. "Knock that off. You know I hate it."

  Slowly, his arm lowered. "What's going on?"

  I started to bite my lip, then stopped myself. "I came by earlier. While I was here, your wife stopped by. Hannah. She wanted me to tell you she's staying at the Horse Acres Bed and Breakfast."

  Barr rolled his eyes. "Great. I should've known she'd come scratching at the door about now."

  Well, I don't know what reaction I'd expected, but that wasn't it.

  "You're married?" I asked, appalled.

  "What? Of course not."

  "Have you ever been married?"

  He raised his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes. "Sophie Mae, please, you have to-"

  "I don't have to do anything."

  He dropped his
hands. "You knew I was married." He actually dared to sound irritated.

  "I did not!"

  "Listen, can we go inside to fight? Or would you rather the neighbors take part?"

  Teeth clenched, I stomped into the house. He went into the kitchen and returned with two beers. Twisting the top off of one, he handed it to me and sank into his favorite TV-watching recliner. I sat on the ugly plaid couch and put the bottle on the spool from hell. It nearly tipped over on the rough surface, and I just managed to catch it.

  "I hate this table," I said.

  "Okay. We can get a new one."

  "It's the homeliest piece of furniture I've seen in my entire life."

  A flash of amusement crossed his features. "I told you about Hannah," he said.

  "Oh. Right. And when exactly did you do that? You tried in the car after we had Thai food the other night, but then we had to go chase an ambulance. And you never had the courage to 'fess up any of the times I've asked you since."

  His forehead wrinkled. "What are you… wait a minute." His face cleared. "You think that's what we needed to talk about?"

  Now I was unsure. "Isn't it?" I took a shaky sip of beer.

  "No, no. Nothing like that. Remember when I told you that ten years or so ago I was involved with a woman who works at my parents' dude ranch? That it was a mistake, and didn't work out?"

  "Sure"

  "That was Hannah."

  I gaped at him. "Involved? Getting married is `involved'? What are we then, acquaintances?"

  He sighed. "It only lasted a couple months. It was a long time ago. I wasn't trying to keep anything from you; I really did think you understood that we'd been married for a short time."

  Damn it. That took the wind right out of my sails. Barr had indeed told me about that woman. It was just possible I'd misunderstood the level of their "involvement"

  He'd neglected to mention what she looked like, though.

  "Well, you certainly do like a type, don't you." I felt bitter and defeated at the same time.

  "Type?"

  "She looks just like me. Or rather, I look like her, since I'm the Janey-come-lately. At least I used to look like her." My hand started to go to my short hair, but at the last moment I scratched my nose.

  "God," Barr said. "Sometimes I just want to shake you."

  And I just want to shoot you, I thought, but didn't say. A bolt of understanding hit me, a very personal glimmer of how crimes of passion can occur.

  "So why is she here?" I asked.

  He looked uncomfortable. "I can't be sure, but I imagine she wants to get back together."

  Great. As mad as I'd been, as much as I'd already considered that we might be done and over with, that still hit me hard in the solar plexus. "Do you want to get back together with her?"

  "Of course not, you dope. I love you."

  I took a big swig of beer and considered him. "She still loves you?"

  "Maybe. I doubt it. What Hannah loves is money. Always has."

  Another swig. My stomach gurgled. "I don't get it," I said. "You don't have money."

  Now he looked uncomfortable. "That's what I was trying to tell you."

  What the heck? I put the beer bottle back on the table, and it started to tip over again. I caught it and directed another glare at Barr.

  But he was looking out the window. "My uncle died earlier this year. It turns out he left some money to my mom and dad, my brother and sister, and me." He looked directly at me now. "A lot of money. That's what I've been trying to figure out how to tell you.

  My mouth dropped open.

  "You have a sister?" I practically shrieked the question.

  He looked startled. "Sure. Glory. She and her husband live outside of Missoula."

  "You never told me you had a sister!"

  "I didn't?"

  "No. You didn't. Any offspring around that you also forgot to mention?" I wasn't kidding. All of a sudden, it seemed like a valid question.

  He laughed. "No"

  I very pointedly did not laugh. "You can't expect me to be happy to suddenly meet some woman who says she's your wife. You can't expect me to move in with you when that same ex-wife is staying in town."

  His eyes widened. "Listen, Sophie Mae…"

  I shook my head so hard my hair whipped across my cheek. "I don't know who you are, Barr Ambrose. I thought I did, but it turns out that I don't."

  He tried again. "Listen to me." His voice was reasonable, down to earth, all the things I loved about the guy.

  Aargh.

  "Hannah must know about the inheritance from my uncle. It would be just like her to think she could get to it through me. Mom will know. I'll call her after dinner."

  "Your mother? Why would she know?"

  "I told you: Hannah works at the ranch." Barr's parents owned and operated a touristy dude ranch in Wyoming.

  "She still works there?"

  He nodded. "I'll call her tonight, too. Send her packing. Hannah showing up all of a sudden does not mean anything. You can't let this mess up our plans"

  "It's not just about your ex, you know? What about the sister I knew nothing about? What else haven't you told me?"

  He shifted in his recliner, leaning toward me. "What do you want to know? I'll tell you anything you'd like."

  I shook my head. "We've been dating for eight months, Barr. This is the kind of stuff that just comes up. If I have to know the questions to ask to get basic kinds of information like siblings and past marriages, I don't want to ask them."

  "Oh, come on, Sophie Mae. Don't be like that. I'm willing to tell you everything."

  My face grew hot, then my eyes. Don't be like that. If the phrase, we have to talk" was dreaded by most males, "don't be like that," trumped it for women. Those were words a man says to a woman who is not behaving in a way they find easy or comfortable. Oh come on. Don't be like that. It was a horribly typical way of trying to control the situation by making me feel bad for being angry.

  "Go to hell."

  He blinked. The expression on his face changed to contrition. "I'm sorry. You're right, and I'm sorry. I should have thought about the things in my past that might interest you. It's just that I'm not, anymore. Interested, I mean. Glory and I aren't close, I've moved on from the whole Hannah thing, and I'm not one to look backward. But if you want to know, I'll tell you every detail, starting with, `I was born on a stormy winter's night' and going from there."

  At least he'd apologized, and it sounded genuine. I sighed. "I'll hold you to that."

  Was I being stupid, giving in like that? I'd have to wait and see. As for Barr, he was on probation, as of now.

  "I'm going home," I said. "To eat dinner with Meghan and Erin."

  He didn't look very happy. "Are you sure?"

  "Positive"

  "Okay. I'll call you later." He knew when to back off.

  I stood up and walked to the door.

  He followed. "Are you still willing to help me?"

  "Help you what?"

  "Find out a little more about Ariel Skylark? Just get some people to gossip about her? No one seems to want to talk to us."

  "You're kidding, right?"

  "Just gossip. Nothing else. You know, no obvious questions," he said. "You can be subtle when you want to."

  "I don't get it," I said. "You hate it when I snoop. What's with the sudden change of attitude?"

  He looked nonplussed. "Well, you're pretty good at finding things out."

  I waited.

  Turning both palms to the ceiling, he said, "All right. Here's the thing. Your yarn was the murder weapon, so I can't be the lead on this case even though I have seniority over Robin in the department. So she's the lead, and she loves it. She's good at investigating, but darn it, she questions people like she's killing snakes. Especially when she's excited about getting the answers. Not a lot of finesse, you know?"

  I nodded. "Oh, yes. I know exactly what you mean."

  Detective Lane and I had had our difficulties a fe
w months back as I tried to convince her to investigate a poisoning. I admired her abilities, and liked her well enough; eventually we'd called a tentative truce. However, the more time she spent in Cadyville, the more pig-headed she seemed to become.

  "So will you put some of that Reynolds charm to work for the common good?"

  Oh, brother. Talk about charm. Sheesh.

  "Maybe," I said.

  He inclined his head. "I guess that's all I can ask for."

  He kissed me then. Despite the post-fight awkwardness, I still felt the same thrill as always. Damn.

  I opened the screen and began walking out to my Toyota. A few steps down the sidewalk, I turned around. He stood in the doorway.

  "A lot of money?" I asked.

  "Uh huh."

  "Just how much is a lot?"

  He licked his lips. "Two million," he said. "Give or take."

  The blood drained from my face. "Yeah. That's a lot," I croaked.

  "Each" He flushed when he said it, as if embarrassed. Knowing Barr, he probably was.

  "Right. Uh, well, congratulations. Bye." Dumbfounded, I walked to my vehicle, got in, and started the engine. I drove home like a zombie.

  Holy crap. No wonder Hannah was on the prowl.

  SEVEN

  I FOLLOWED THE SOUND of voices around to the backyard and found Meghan, Erin, and Ruth Black seated at the picnic table. The scent of lime-and-garlic-marinated shrimp lingered on the still-warm air.

  Meghan greeted me. "Hey there. How did it go?"

  "It was… odd," I said. "Hi, Ruth."

  "Hello dear."

  "Go get some dinner," Meghan said.

  "It smells delicious. I'm surprised there's any left."

  "There wouldn't be if I hadn't hidden yours away in the kitchen."

  I held up a finger. "Be right back."

  In the kitchen I discovered not only crustaceans grilled to pink perfection, but a pile of grilled asparagus and the remains of a gorgeous summer salad. Harvest continues late into the fall in the northwest, but can start slowly due to damp, cool springs. But lettuce, radishes, baby carrots, scallions, and various herbs were abundant in June. Meghan had added sprigs of chickweed gleaned from weeding our organic beds, a few succulent dandelion leaves, and a sprinkling of violas. I could have feasted on how pretty it was. Theoretically, at least. I added a light lemon and olive oil vinaigrette to the salad, piled shrimp and asparagus onto a stoneware plate, and returned to the group sitting in the backyard.