LITMIR.BIZ

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waist deep, then swim some laps. She set her waterproof watch for twenty minutes.

      The air was already comfortably warm, an indication that the day would be another scorcher. What had happened to those cool Montana nights?

      She waded into the lake, then laughed as chills raced along her thighs. The water hadn’t warmed up. She plunged in up to her neck, sighted a cottonwood as a marker and swam steadily up and down the shore between the deck and the tree for twenty minutes.

      Finished, she raced for the deck and the towel she’d left behind. “Oh,” she said softly upon seeing Pierce standing there in snug jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand.

      He tossed her the towel, his gaze colder than the icy water of the lake.

      “Good morning,” she said, determined to be cheerful around him. It was time to get over the past and move on.

      “That is the skimpiest bathing suit I’ve ever seen,” he told her.

      She looked at her two-piece suit. It was cut high on the legs as all of them were, but it wasn’t a string bikini or anything like that. “Surely not,” she said airily.

      Uh-oh, wrong thing to say. He looked as if he would like to choke her.

      “That outfit might be modest for the city, but around here, folks dress more circumspectly.”

      She couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing.

      Pierce glared at her.

      She laughed harder. “I’m sorry,” she finally managed to say, not at all sincerely. “It’s just that you sound so pompous and indignant, not at all like the Pierce who dared me to go skinny-dipping in the pool at my apartment building at three o’clock on a January morning.”

      He looked rather taken aback that she would bring up the passionate past, but she’d realized last night that they couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist.

      “I’m not here to discuss the past,” he informed her. “I have other things to do than watch out for you.”

      “No one asked you to look after me.”

      Gesturing toward her outfit, now hidden by the towel, he stalked toward her. “If some of the guys working here see you like that, they’ll take it as an open invitation to visit. I won’t have them distracted by a siren from the city.”

      Chelsea rubbed the end of the towel over her dripping hair. She’d never been called a siren before.

      “If it’s for my benefit,” he continued, “you’re wasting your time. I have more important things to do than get mixed up with you again.”

      Astounded at this proclamation, she stared at him. The situation was no longer amusing. Anger flamed. “Pompous and egotistical,” she murmured loud enough for him to hear. “You have changed in eight years.”

      His gaze drifted all the way down to her feet and back to her face. “You’re on my turf now. Watch yourself.”

      With that sage advice, he strode off, heading back to his house in a manner that suggested a charging bull. She leaned against the railing and frowned at his back, her temper unappeased.

      “You’d better watch yourself, too,” she called to him. “City sirens are hard to resist.”

      His shoulders stiffened, but he stalked on.

      Feeling that she’d gotten the last word in, she shivered and hurried inside to a warm shower. The day was off to a good start. She could hardly wait to see how the rest of it went.

      “I don’t believe it. Miss Martel?” Holt Tanner said when Chelsea related her findings.

      “Nevertheless, it’s true.”

      “Four months,” he repeated. “Who was the father?”

      “He didn’t leave a calling card.”

      Pierce shot a warning glance at her flippant remark. He still wasn’t very happy with her. Fine. She could live with that. In fact, it made things easier. There would be no more dreams of hot kisses and roaming hands—

      “And you can definitely rule out suicide?”

      She nodded to the lawman.

      Holt paced to the window. “I don’t want the news of a pregnancy to get out. It’s the only thing we know that the killer also knows. Maybe he’ll slip up sooner or later.”

      Chelsea was pleased that the deputy was on the same mental track with her. “He’s local.”

      “Yeah, I realized that as soon as you said she was pregnant. Do you think she was blackmailing him—demanding money for her silence?” The lawman stared into the middle distance, deep in thought.

      “Or demanding marriage,” Pierce suggested. He rubbed a hand over his face. “What else don’t we know about the mysterious Miss Martel, gruff and reclusive librarian that she was?”

      Holt turned a chair around and straddled it, his forearms crossed over the back. “I’ve been checking her records and accounts. By Rumor standards, she was rich.”

      “Harriet Martel?” Pierce was obviously startled at this new disclosure.

      Holt nodded. “She’d been investing her money for years. There’s a sizable inheritance.”

      “Who gets it?”

      “I don’t know if there’s a will. The only relatives are her sister, Louise Holmes, and Louise’s son, Colby. Gossip has it that Colby is denying his aunt would have killed herself.” Holt frowned. “The thought of murder makes people nervous.”

      “It could scare off the tourists, too. The city council is planning another event after the success of the Crazy Moon Festival last month. It’ll be a bust if no one shows up for it.”

      Chelsea listened quietly as the men discussed the case and the consequences for the small town that depended on tourist dollars for cash flow. Murder spread a wide ripple across a narrow pond in a community such as Rumor.

      Holt snapped his fingers. “In a murder case in one town, they tested every male’s DNA. We could do that.”

      Chelsea grimaced. “The perp paid another man to take the test for him, so the results didn’t do any good.”

      “Not until the man’s conscience finally got the better of him and he confessed. The perp was then tested and found to be guilty,” Holt reminded her.

      Pierce dismissed the idea. “The court would have to agree it was necessary, too, else it’s an invasion of privacy. I don’t think a judge in the county would condone widespread testing.”

      The men were silent as they sought another avenue to pinpoint the murderer.

      “Chelsea, can you help out?” Pierce asked.

      “Of course. What do you have in mind?”

      “Holt, do you mind if Chelsea looks over all the evidence? I can vouch for her discretion,” he added when the lawman shot her a troubled glance. “You can take her out to Harriet’s house and let her poke around. Maybe she’ll find an angle we’ve overlooked.” He smiled grimly. “Harriet was murdered on Saturday night, during the last weekend of the festival. Six days ago. We need this case wrapped up.”

      Holt stood. “Are you available now? I’m free this morning, but I have to present evidence at a hearing this afternoon.”

      “Yes,” she said.

      Pierce rose when she did. He glanced at his watch. “I have a council meeting shortly. Chelsea, can you join me for lunch at twelve sharp?”

      Confused by the invitation, which sounded more like a command, she agreed to meet him. “Here?”

      “At my place. I want to discuss your findings in private.”

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