LITMIR.BIZ

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had died not more than a hundred yards away. It was a frequent refrain when her mother didn’t want to be left alone in the evening.

      “That’s true. I don’t know anything about it.” And she was beginning to think it was best that way. What right did she have to probe into other people’s private grief? She ought to tell Sarah there was nothing to find and let the past rest.

      Her mother nodded, but she didn’t return to her chair. “When is that Randal boy leaving?” she asked abruptly.

      Meredith’s heart clenched at the sudden introduction of his name, although she hardly thought the man Zach was now deserved to be referred to that way.

      “I don’t know.”

      “Why not? You talked to him.”

      “He didn’t say. He has some business to take care of. I suppose he’ll leave when it’s finished.” And that was another piece of the past that she should lay to rest.

      She walked quickly to the stairs. “I really have to get to work now, Mom. We’ll talk later.” She hurried up toward the sanctuary of her room, relieved not to hear her mother’s plaintive voice behind her.

      Once the door was closed she leaned against it, closing her eyes. Strangely enough, now that she could cut loose, she no longer felt the urge to cry.

      Zach had made his feelings clear—he was glad she had refused to go away with him. So all the guilt she’d been holding tight had been unnecessary. He apparently considered that he’d had a narrow escape.

      She should be happy. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem able to convince her heart of that fact.

      Meredith crossed the room, carrying the scrapbook, and slid it into a drawer of the maple desk Dad had bought for her when she outgrew the frilly pink bedroom of her childhood. The desk, along with the maple sleigh bed and chest of drawers, had been made by an Amish furniture craftsman, and the star quilt had been a gift from Sarah’s mother, a little touch of her Amish heritage in a house that was otherwise decorated in her mother’s taste.

      As for the scrapbook, she’d study it later. Or not. Without thinking, she looked out the back window toward the dam, catching just a glimpse of the water through the trees.

      Hadn’t she already decided that poking about in the past was too hurtful? It was time she buried the events of that summer.

      Meredith reached out, automatically straightening the milk-glass vase her father had won for her at the county fair when she was ten. It had stood on her desk ever since, filled with pens and pencils. Her hand rested on the desk blotter, and she frowned. She always kept it aligned with the front edge of the desk, but now it was pushed a good two inches back.

      Still frowning, she let her gaze scan the desk surface, the bookcase, the dresser with its embroidered scarf. Her mother thought she was too methodical, too organized, as if that was a fault, or too masculine a trait. But she liked order, and she found it soothing to see things in their proper places...things like the hand mirror, which belonged on the right side of the dresser, not the left. And she’d never leave the top drawer slightly open like that, caught on a frill of lace.

      She went to the dresser, her heart thudding uncomfortably, and yanked the drawer open. Someone had been in her room. Someone had disarranged things in his or her search.

      She glanced at the window again, feeling as if a shadow had reached out of the past to touch the present.

      But that was ridiculous. She didn’t have to look very far to find out who had searched her room. No doubt it had been her mother, looking for evidence of her nonexistent affair with Zach.

      She closed the drawer firmly. Irritation burned in her, urging her to confront her mother about this invasion of her privacy.

      She fought back the indignation. Did she really want to open that subject with her mother? And did she want to deal with the inevitable consequences of a scene with her mother?

      Better to do what she always did. Better to swallow her annoyance, put on a pleasant face and deny her feelings. She was getting almost frighteningly good at that.

      * * *

      MEREDITH CHECKED TO BE SURE there was still decaf in the coffeepot, in case anyone wanted a second cup, and switched off the light over the kitchen sink. Her image, reflected in the window, disappeared, and she stood looking out at the lawn and the strip of woods beyond as dusk drew in.

      From the living room she could hear the chime of her mother’s laughter. Dr. Bennett Campbell had stopped by, and the two of them were playing a game of dominos. As good an excuse as any, Meredith supposed, for an exchange of local gossip and the mild flirtation that had gone on between the two of them for years.

      Bennett had closed down his medical practice a few years ago, but he was always ready to listen and sympathize with Mom’s complaints. He’d describe himself as a family friend, probably, but Meredith had always believed he didn’t care much for her. She was too sensible and practical, too much like her father. Bennett, ridiculously old-fashioned for his age, liked women who were frilly and flirtatious, and who at least pretended to be a bit helpless when there was a man around.

      Still, she had to be grateful to Bennett for tonight’s visit, since it removed the temptation to confront her mother about searching her room.

      A flicker of movement from outside caught Meredith’s eye, and she leaned forward for a better look. Someone had come down the drive, apparently, and was headed toward the path to the pond. A faint uneasiness touched her, moving like a breeze across her skin.

      People did come through this way, even though it involved walking across their property. She wouldn’t ordinarily say anything, but something about the way that figure drifted silently along...

      Her breath caught. She recognized the shape and the movement. It was Laura Hammond.

      What was Laura doing here? She rarely went out at night, and certainly not alone and on foot. The unease strengthened to concern. With a quick glance toward the door to the living room, Meredith slipped out onto the back porch.

      Dusk drew in earlier now, and the air had cooled down from this afternoon’s balmy seventies. She should go back for a flashlight and jacket, but something insisted she hurry. Laura was already disappearing into the trees.

      Meredith walked swiftly across the back lawn. Daylight lingered enough here to make the way easily visible, but shadows gathered beyond, where the path wound toward the dam.

      Laura had every right to go there, but at the risk of appearing a hopeless busybody, Meredith knew she couldn’t ignore this visit. Certainly Victor didn’t know Laura was heading for the spot where she used to meet Aaron, the place where Aaron died.

      The woods closed around Meredith once she reached the path. She could call to Laura, but the same impulse that had compelled her to follow also urged her to silence.

      A thought struck her, nearly taking her breath away. What if Laura was meeting someone else there, where she’d once met Aaron? Her step faltered. Well, if so, Meredith would have to hope she could slip away undetected.

      Her sneakers made no sound on the soft earth, and only the faint rustle of the weeds on either side of the path disturbed the stillness.

      A branch snapped somewhere off to her left, and her heart stuttered. Foolish. An animal, probably.

      She could see the surface of the pool now, gleaming through the trees, and she slowed, coming to a cautious halt when she reached the edge of the clearing. She drew in a breath. Where was Laura? The path didn’t lead anywhere else, but the clearing lay empty before her.

      A sound drifted through the air—a kind of tuneless humming that started and stopped. As Meredith’s eyes adjusted to the dark she spotted Laura, sitting on a log in the shadow of the big oak that overhung the dam. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, and she rocked back and forth, as if in time to some music only she could hear.

      Meredith approached slowly, trying not to startle

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