Prologue　

“She ought to be locked up!”

Deanna Moore froze, her hand on the spine of a book. Obviously she wasn’t alone in the small bookstore. The woman on the other side of the shelf must have thought the same thing, because she didn’t bother to lower her voice.

“Legally she hasn’t committed a crime,” another female voice said.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s immoral and obviously doesn’t hesitate to prey on innocent young people. If I had known how she’d betray our trust—”

“But you didn’t, Gloria. None of us did.”

Deanna squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. She knew who Gloria was.

“And two years later, poor Savannah is still paying the price.” Gloria sounded cold. “My angel’s reputation is forever linked to that woman. I can’t imagine how this will affect her. Long term, I mean.”

“There now, Gloria,” the other woman said. “Savannah’s strong. She’ll come to her senses and go to an Ivy League school before you know it. Meanwhile you just have to make sure she spends time with the right crowd. She might even get back together with Ned.”

“Oh, don’t get me started on poor Ned. He was totally humiliated, and I had to face his mother and try to explain how this monster dug her claws into my baby. You’ll never know how terrible that felt. They’re one of the Boston Fraziers.”

“I can just imagine. But you don’t have anything to worry about. You made sure that woman will never teach at this or any other Vermont school again. Everyone considers you a hero for standing up for your daughter like that.”

“I tried to do the right thing, but everybody gossiped about my sweet angel.”

Deanna grimaced at Gloria’s holier-than-thou tone. If she could only slip out of the store without facing the women…but she couldn’t show such weakness in front of Gloria Mueller, Grantville’s self-proclaimed first lady. Deanna pulled a book from the shelf and strode up to the counter where the store owner was glancing nervously at Gloria and her friend.

“I’ll take this one, please.” Deanna was happy that her voice held.

“Oh. Right. That’s…that’ll be eighteen-eighty, please.” The store owner cleared her throat and placed the book in a bag.

Deanna paid, and as she turned to leave Gloria and her friend, the new mayor’s wife, stood only a few feet away. “Excuse me,” Deanna murmured and stepped toward them.

Gloria’s eyes were slits of disgust. “You have some nerve.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Deanna made sure she sounded completely indifferent. “Remember, though, that your voice carries a long way. Discussing personal topics in a public place is a lawsuit waiting to happen. Slander can be expensive.”

Gloria gasped and clutched her purse. “Slander! If I had my way, you’d be run out of town, you—”

Deanna moved closer, her anger rising like bile. “Careful, Gloria.”

The woman next to Gloria tugged her friend aside and Deanna passed them, keeping her eyes straight ahead.

“Did you hear her? Did you hear how she threatened me?” Gloria’s voice followed Deanna out of the store.

She hurried to her car and slumped into the front seat, her knees buckling. It had taken all her strength not to show any sign of weakness. In the rearview mirror her dark blue eyes looked stormy. No wonder the two women had seemed almost afraid of her. How long will this go on? And how long can I stand it?

Chapter One　

“I have to let you go now, Mom. I need to focus on the traffic and make sure I don’t miss the sign to Grantville.” Faythe Hamilton listened to her mother’s concerns for what she called “Faythe’s moment of insanity” half a minute longer before she interrupted again. “I hear you, Mom, and I’ll think about it. Right now I need a vacation and I’ve made up my mind about taking this break.”

“Honestly, child—”

“I’m not a child. Tell Bruno hello for me.”

“Bruno? Oh, please, darling. Bruno left for Europe weeks ago. I’m seeing Chester again.”

Faythe tried not to groan. “All right. I’ll try to remember Chester. Ciao, Mom. End call.” Faythe sighed. Chester. Bruno. Who could keep track of her mother’s lovers? Two days after Faythe graduated from college, her mother had divorced Faythe’s father, and since then entertained one young lover after another. Her father followed his ex-wife’s example and traded one girlfriend for another at least once a year. Like his cars. Faythe frowned and accelerated past a dirty old Volvo.

Faythe loved to drive, and living in Manhattan didn’t allow for much of that. She was her father’s daughter in that she adored her car, a silver-gray Chrysler Crossfire, but unlike her father, she didn’t trade for a newer model every year. She was happy with the one she had, which was far from worn out.

Faythe gripped the steering wheel and changed lanes. A sign farther up the road said Grantville, 5 miles, and she took in the beautiful scenery as she approached the exit to the local road. Maple trees on fire, from the brightest yellow to the darkest red, lined the road. Billowing fields of green, and quaint villages with houses dating back to the Civil War and earlier, created a unique atmosphere. She hadn’t been to Vermont since she was a teenager, but had longed to go back ever since. The summer at her Aunt Nellie’s lakeside cabin was one of the happiest in Faythe’s life.

Nowadays, Nellie spent hardly any time in Vermont. Instead she lived in Florida all year and lent her Vermont cabin to Faythe for as long as she needed it. Usually, when Faythe took a rare few days off, she visited Nellie in Fort Lauderdale for a weekend, but this time, this long break when so much hung in the balance, Faythe needed to spend some time alone.

Her cell phone rang again, making her jump. She glanced at the display. Mom. “Ignore.” Faythe knew she ought to feel guilty for screening her parents’ calls, but she had explained to them why she needed this time by herself to figure things out. If they couldn’t understand and respect her decision, she couldn’t do much about it.

She approached a new sign. Grantville. Est. 1812. Population 8245. This number easily doubled in the summer. The lake was a popular place for water sports and fishing. Wealthy New Yorkers like Aunt Nellie kept houses here and employed one of the locals to care for them in the winter. Faythe intended to stay at least until Christmas, which would give her plenty of time to figure out her future and make plans. I might just write something.

Seeing the familiar shops along Main Street, she was transported ten years into the past. After graduating from high school, she’d stayed at Aunt Nellie’s for three months before she went to college. So many things fell into place during that magical summer, and Faythe gave her aunt all the credit.

Whereas Faythe’s parents were calculating and materialistic, Nellie was down-to-earth and caring. Faythe often wished Nellie had brought her up. Instead she had to face the fact that she’d been marinaded in her parent’s shallowness since the day she was born. Her mother Cornelia’s mantra was “possessions and position.”

Faythe took a right and drove along the lake, spotting new houses where empty fields and trees used to be. When she reached the narrow gravel road that led down to her aunt’s property, she slowed.

The cabin looked unchanged. Faythe stepped out of the car and stood still for a moment, taking it all in. But this was no cabin. The one-story house boasted six bedrooms, four and a half baths, a living room, an entertainment room, an open-plan kitchen, and a library. Slowly, Faythe circled the house and walked down to the water. The lake was like a mirror, and the wind seemed to hold its breath as Faythe leaned against a tree, absorbing the calmness. The setting sun’s last rays made the water look transparent and poured gold on its surface before it dropped behind the treetops.

Most of the time she enjoyed everything the Big Apple had to offer, and she loved her neighborhood and her many friends, but this serenity, the fresh air…she couldn’t find this in New York.

Looking to her left, Faythe noticed a light in the neighboring cabin. The dark shingled house resembled Nellie’s, but was much smaller, maybe two or three bedrooms. A young family rented it when Faythe visited ten years ago. Were they still around?

She was about to walk back up to the house when her neighbor’s porch door opened. Curious, Faythe remained half hidden behind the tree. A tall figure walked onto the porch and stood by the railing, gazing over the water. It was a woman, but her shoulder-length black hair hid her face. She held the railing with both hands and stood motionless for more than a minute. Faythe shivered in the evening air, which had become increasingly colder. She didn’t want the other woman to catch her spying, so she tried to ignore the goose bumps on her arms.

The woman suddenly banged both fists on the railing and shouted. Faythe pressed closer against the tree, intrigued. The woman rubbed her face with both hands, then put her arms around herself in a tight squeeze. The gesture, which Faythe interpreted as loneliness, stirred an unwelcome memory of doing the same thing many times during her adolescence.

The slamming door made Faythe look up to find that the other woman had disappeared. Faythe eventually made her way up the path to her car, careful not to trip in the poor light.

She carried her two sport bags that doubled as suitcases to the deck. Nellie had arranged to have a set of keys mailed to Faythe’s condo earlier in the week, and now she opened the door, expecting the house to smell musty. Instead it smelled fresh and polished, which was exactly what it was, she discovered as she switched the light on. Every surface was clean and so were the curtains, the kitchen towels on the rack, and everything else. The service Aunt Nellie employed had done a good job.

The rustic pieces in Nellie’s cabin were both durable and attractive. As Faythe walked from room to room, every memory that surfaced soothed her. The tautly wound spring inside her slowly uncoiled, and she yawned as she returned to the car for her briefcase. She’d brought only her cell phone and her laptop, and purged every work document from both of them before she packed.

Faythe wasn’t hungry but still looked longingly into the empty refrigerator. She would have to go into Grantville and stock up in the morning. Right now the instant decaffeinated coffee her aunt kept in the pantry would do. Faythe made herself a large mug of steaming brew and found some powdered creamer to mellow it. It was six months past its use-by date, but as long as it didn’t look weird when she stirred it into the coffee, she’d be all right.

Faythe decided to use the main bedroom, where her aunt usually slept. It had the biggest, softest bed in the house, which was too tempting. Nellie kept the bed linen in the hallway, and the familiar scent of lavender filled Faythe’s nostrils as she pulled out sheets, pillowcases, and blankets. After making the bed, she curled up under the covers, clutching the coffee mug, and merely sat there in the dark, watching distant lights on the other side of the lake. Faythe thought again about the woman next door, how she’d slammed her fists into the railing and cried out. Had that been fury in her voice, or despair? Maybe both, Faythe mused, and sipped her coffee. She had done her fair share of fist-slamming into desks lately, and only when that no longer alleviated the stress did she realize she had to do something radical.

Suzy, her agent, wasn’t thrilled. In fact, she had blurted out, “God Almighty, are you stark raving mad?” raising her voice with every word. “Your contract is up for renewal, and you’re in a position to ask for a substantial raise. And you quit?”

“I’m not quitting. I’m taking a break.”

“Same thing in this business,” Suzy said, then downed the last of her Scotch. The waiter showed up to take their orders, but backed off when Suzy glared at him and shook her head.

“I don’t care.” Deanna spoke slowly, knowing that Suzy was like a petulant child when she threw a temper tantrum like this. “I’m twenty-nine, and I’ve worked more or less nonstop since I was twenty-two. Seven years and zero vacation.”

“Seven successful years because of that.”

“And my life is passing me by. Don’t complain, Suzy. I’m not ungrateful. You’ve been fantastic, but you’ve also made a lot of money as my agent. If I were to sign on for another season for the network, I’m sure you’d make an even bigger chunk, but…I can’t let your commission determine my decision. I need a break. I need to figure out what I want to do next.”

“Next?” Suzy looked at Faythe as if her prize possession was melting. “You always wanted to work in the media.”

“I always wanted to be a good reporter. And someday, a great journalist. And I’m nothing but a glorified co-host of a morning show who introduces everything from earthquakes to dancing lima beans.”

“You’re so popular. A household name.” Suzy gestured impatiently with a flick of her wrist. “The money’s not bad either.”

“There has to be more to a job than that.” Frustrated with her agent, but not surprised, Faythe knew no matter how she tried to explain, her words wouldn’t sink in. Like Faythe’s mother, Suzy was very much about appearances, and on the surface Faythe’s life was perfect. “I don’t mind the hours, but the days are rushing by me. I have friends and live in a great area, but no time to enjoy it, no one to come home to. I sacrifice a lot for a job that doesn’t seem worth it.”

Suzy kept trying to convince Faythe to reconsider, but she didn’t budge. The next day she called Nellie and arranged to stay at the lake.

Faythe settled against the pillows, her mind drifting back to the woman next door. She wondered what had annoyed or frustrated her enough to pound the railing. After her outburst she stood there in the fading light like an obsidian statue, black hair the only thing moving in the breeze.

Faythe padded over to the bathroom and brushed her teeth. She could hardly remember when she had thought so much about another woman. She wiped her mouth and made a wry face at her reflection. She was not going to count how many months had passed since she had been on a date, or even had time and energy to think about it. At least she could admit that it was far too long ago and that it was time for a change.

#

Deanna moved the pencil in long sweeping strokes across the paper, annoyed that her mental image refused to translate to the sheet on the table before her. She tried to wrap her mind around the loose idea, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to get it out of her head until she put it on paper. She had managed to outline a female figure, but the woman in her picture was faceless. When she squinted, Deanna could almost see the person she was trying to depict.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what distracted her. Her dinner sat uneaten on the kitchen counter, and though she tried to ignore the voices of the women in the bookstore earlier that day, they pierced her thoughts. Deanna was well aware of Gloria Henderson’s leading position in Grantville. She lived with her husband and daughter in a colonial mansion and chaired several charities with absolute power. Gloria’s daughter, Savannah, had ruled Grantville High School much the same way. She’d held court with her peers in the hallways or the cafeteria, and was the undisputed queen bee among the girls.

Deanna jerked at a sharp sound and stared at the broken pencil that had perforated the sheet of paper before her. The shattered remainder had stabbed the sketchy woman in the heart.

Chapter Two　

Faythe drew a deep breath, then several more as she stretched her calf muscles to warm up for her run. She pulled her short ponytail tight and took off along the path that led down to the water. She kept an even rhythm, paying attention to roots and rocks that might send her flying if she tripped on them. She smiled widely, suddenly feeling free.

What a difference it was to run on honest-to-God forest paths, rather than on a treadmill at the gym. There people always appeared to inspect and judge her, which was certainly one of the downsides of being a household name. And the paparazzi sometimes seemed to live on her doorstep, especially after her interview with the glamorous Hollywood starlet Isabella Talbert. Nobody, especially Faythe, had anticipated the little vixen would reveal such sordid details on an eight a.m. morning show.

What began as a common interview, designed to plug Isabella’s debut movie, had turned into something entirely different when she broke down, sobbing and throwing herself into Faythe’s arms. Isabella confessed to a romance with the director, who was married to a very rich and powerful Hollywood mogul’s daughter. It hadn’t been quite clear if Isabella was crying because he broke up with her, or because she feared his wife would kill Isabella’s budding career. The director was at least thirty years older than Isabella, which the tabloids found titillating, and Isabella quickly developed a crush on a reluctant Faythe, which put her in the limelight too. Faythe kept her distance. She wasn’t interested in having a fling before the telephoto lenses of the paparazzi.

Faythe jogged around a broken section of old wooden fencing and gulped the crisp September air. She should have done this long ago. Manhattan was not only expensive, but it was never quiet and didn’t have fresh air. One of her colleagues tried to get Faythe to move to the suburbs, but the only thing worse than the noise and the city air was being stuck in traffic several hours a day. She already worked around the clock. No way was she was going to spend the remaining hours among honking, cursing drivers.

Faythe returned to the Isabella mess. Even if she could laugh at it now, more than a year afterward, at the time she’d been ready to shoot the girl. But once the paparazzi found her scent, all potential relationships were suddenly in the public eye. Isabella wasn’t her type. “I haven’t been out with anyone in so long now, I may not have a type anymore. I probably wouldn’t recognize my type even if I stumbled over her.”

“Excuse me?”

Faythe stopped so quickly at the sound of the pleasant alto voice that she nearly toppled over. She waved her arms to regain her balance and looked up at a tall, black-haired woman propped against a tree by the water. It took her a few moments to recognize her neighbor, the woman she’d seen last evening.

“Oh. Hi.” Faythe glanced around. “I’m not trespassing, am I?”

“Technically, yes.”

“I’m so sorry.” Faythe was confused. “I used to run here years ago when I visited my aunt. It was never a problem.”

“I didn’t say it was. You asked if you were trespassing.”

“I see. So it’s okay?” Faythe kept jogging in place, careful not to get cold.

“Yes.”

“Thanks. I’m Faythe.” She extended a hand.

The woman looked at it, then raised her gaze to meet Faythe’s. Her eyes were dark blue with black rims, and her long black eyelashes cast shadows on her pale cheeks. Faythe had never seen anyone so pale with such blue-black hair.

“Deanna.” The woman shook Faythe’s hand and quickly let go.

“Nice to meet you, Deanna. Guess we’ll be neighbors this fall.” An unexpected butterfly took up residence just below Faythe’s ribs at the brief touch. Taken aback, she smiled broadly to cover up her reaction.

“So it would seem.” Deanna pushed away from the tree. She sounded completely indifferent. She obviously wasn’t the neighbor you popped over to for coffee or to borrow a cup of sugar. “Be careful running down by the Mahoney place. They’re doing construction work on their dock.”

Faythe had been ready to write Deanna off as being annoyingly aloof when her thoughtful words changed her mind. “Thanks. Which one is the Mahoney place?”

“Fourth house down. You can’t miss it. They have two illuminated plastic flamingoes in their yard.”

“Still?” Faythe laughed, remembering. “I never knew their name, but they had those when I was a kid.” She shook her head and laughed again.

Deanna looked as if she meant to say something more, but instead she merely nodded. “Bye.” She strode up the path to her cabin.

The abrupt departure intrigued Faythe. She was good at reading people; it was part of her job as an interviewer. Deanna had undoubtedly begun to relax and immediately regretted it. She hadn’t allowed the hint of amusement to develop into a smile. Instead, Deanna, tall, dark, and mysterious, had slammed down a mask of politeness and made good use of those long denim-clad legs. Deanna’s gray sweater hinted at a very slender body, which Faythe found thoroughly sexy. She looked down her own body, knowing she was far from voluptuous either. Wonder if she appreciates a B-cup? Faythe snorted at herself and resumed her jog. For all she knew, Deanna was as straight as they came and couldn’t care less about Faythe’s breasts.

Faythe completed her run in forty-five minutes, making sure she didn’t fall over the construction workers at the Mahoneys’ dock. The three men whistled appreciatively and she waved at them. She didn’t think they recognized the sweaty jogger as Faythe Hamilton, so-called glamorous TV personality, which was refreshing. She glanced through the trees toward Deanna’s cabin when she passed it, but caught no sign of her, then sprinted the last of the way once she reached Nellie’s property.

#

When Faythe jogged past Deanna’s cabin a second time, she told herself she merely wanted to make sure her new neighbor was all right after she passed the construction workers. Faythe seemed to look her way, but she wasn’t sure. She easily pictured Faythe tossing her head back and laughing at the thought of the stupid flamingoes. Her laughter, musical and slightly husky, had tugged at the corners of Deanna’s mouth. She couldn’t remember when she’d smiled last, or laughed so freely. Faythe was a stunningly beautiful woman, but the way her eyes sparkled lingered with Deanna more than her physical beauty. The mere fact that it did linger worried her. She had to ignore this response and focus on what mattered, like she normally did. The townspeople would soon tell Faythe what kind of person Deanna was.

Deanna’s cell phone rang, and she jumped and checked the display. The words “Miranda’s School” made her frown and she answered quickly. “Deanna Moore speaking.”

“Deanna, this is Irene Costa.”

“Irene! Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Miranda is doing fine. I just wanted to tell you that you can’t visit her this evening.”

Deanna knew what Irene would say. “My mother is visiting when she’s not supposed to.” Squeezing her eyes closed, Deanna tried to suppress the anger that rose inside her. “It’s Saturday.”

“And she normally comes on Sundays. She called the floor and told us she’d be here today instead.”

“It will mess with Miranda’s head. She doesn’t do too well with last-minute changes. Mother knows that.”

“We just have to work around it. Should I tell Miranda you’ll see her tomorrow instead?”

“No, don’t do that. Miranda knows I come on Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. If I change days so soon after our mother, she’ll be all screwed up.” Over the last two years Miranda had become completely dependent on having set routines on certain weekdays. “Tell her that I will see her on Monday, since Mother is coming today. Perhaps she’ll buy it.”

“Good thinking. She just might. Miranda’s doing so well. It would be a shame for her to have a setback because of this.” Irene’s voice softened. “Why don’t you put your free Saturday evening to good use?”

Deanna bristled, but Irene meant well. The middle-aged woman had taken care of Miranda ever since their mother enrolled her at the Tremayne Foundation and School nine years ago, when she was seven. Irene was in charge of the six students in the section of the boardinghouse where Miranda lived and had been very good to her.

“Has she spoken a lot today?” Deanna directed the subject away from her nonexistent private life.

“Actually, she has. She really loved your picnic in the garden the other day. She’s talked about it a lot and seems to want to do it again.”

Deanna had packed a picnic basket and invited Miranda to go outside. Miranda was usually nervous about being outdoors and thrived in a disturbance-free environment, but Irene had made sure they had the lawn to themselves for an hour. Of course, Miranda had acted as if she were seeing the garden for the first time, though, as usual, she rocked and murmured the same unintelligible sounds. She calmed down only when Deanna poured orange juice for them and unpacked the cinnamon buns and other treats, since they always seemed to reach her. Soon she was on her back pointing at the clouds, outlining their shapes with her fingers.

Deanna looked over at her desk. Pinned to the wall were four pencil studies of her sister that she’d done during that precious hour. In three of them, Miranda was seriously contemplating the clouds, the strands of grass beneath her fingers, and, in the distance, some ducks that had initially startled her with their quacking. In the fourth one, Deanna captured Miranda’s rare, enigmatic smile—a tiny uplift at the corners of her mouth, which was faintly pursed. Deanna had spilt some orange juice on her white shirt, and her low curse had made Miranda’s eyes widen. Then a slow, barely visible, smile appeared. It surfaced rarely, and Deanna had gripped her pencil again, eager to capture it. Although most people would pull out a camera, Deanna was happy that she was an illustrator, given Miranda’s fear of mechanical devices. The only pictures of Miranda that showed her smiling were those their parents had taken when Miranda was a baby.

“Deanna?” Irene cleared her throat, pulling Deanna from her reverie.

“Yes, of course. Tell Miranda that we’ll do it again next Saturday.”

“All right. I work the late shift Monday, so I’ll see you then.”

“Right, Irene. Bye.”

Deanna pocketed the cell phone and walked over to her desk, where she studied the half-completed drawing she was working on. Something was blocking her inspiration. It had been so easy to draw Miranda; the pencil had moved practically on its own during their picnic. Now she sat down on her chair and reached for a new, freshly sharpened one. She had to capture that elusive inspiration. Her deadline for this first draft was in three days.

#

“Can I get you anything else?” the woman manning the cash register asked politely. Her nametag said Kitty, and she had adorned the “i” with a little heart instead of a dot.

“No, that’ll be all.” Faythe opened her wallet and handed over her Visa card. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Kitty-with-a-heart charged the seventy-eight some dollars to Faythe’s card and rapped her long fingernails on the conveyor belt while she waited for the transaction to go through. “Tourist?” she asked.

“What? No, not really. I’m going to stay a while.” Faythe began to sack her groceries.

“Oh, really? Where are you staying? The inn?”

“In a relative’s cabin. On the lake, just off Gordon Macy’s Road.”

Kitty-with-a-heart frowned. “In Nellie Hamilton’s house?”

“Yes.” Kitty had figured that out too easily.

“But…” She squinted, then donned a pair of glasses. “You’re Faythe Hamilton!”

For the love of… Faythe nodded, fighting back an acerbic comment. “Yes.”

“And you’re here to stay a bit? Oh, this is fantastic. I love your show. I tape it every day.”

“That’s great.” It seemed appropriate to show some enthusiasm, but Faythe wanted to gather up her groceries and run. “I really must—”

“Oh, you need to take care out there.” Kitty-with-a-heart looked worried now.

“Why’s that?” Faythe had expected requests for autographs for family members or friends, not a warning.

“You’re living right next door to that woman.” Kitty-with-a-heart leaned forward, lowering her voice. “You need to be very careful around her.”

“Who?” Faythe had no idea what Kitty was talking about.

“Deanna Moore. She’s terrible. Can be dangerous, even. Do you have someone living there with you? I mean, like a husband or something?”

Faythe wasn’t about to announce to Kitty or anyone else that she lived alone in Nellie’s cabin. “I’ll be fine.” She grabbed the grocery-filled bags and placed them in the shopping cart. “Have a good day.” Faythe disappeared out of the store before Kitty could ask anything more.

What could Deanna have said or done to Kitty-with-a-heart that made such an impact? Dangerous? Faythe placed the grocery bags in the passenger seat. People sure can exaggerate.

Chapter Three　

Deanna studied the quick pencil sketches she’d made of a woman in motion. She had stood on her deck watching the morning mist leave the surface of the lake when Faythe Hamilton ran by. Grabbing her sketchbook, Deanna worked for as long as she could glimpse Faythe’s lithe body between the trees. She hadn’t bothered with details yet, wanting only to capture the essence of Faythe with long, sweeping movements.

Now Deanna let her fingertip follow the outline. “You were in such a hurry this morning. Running from something, eh?” Her old habit of talking to herself emerged and she tore out the pages, pinning them to her message board above her work area.

Her latest drawings were mostly of Miranda, and now she had these four sketches of a stranger. But several deadlines were coming up in rapid succession. She had to go outside today and take some pictures of the fiery maple trees, which she needed for a book cover.

After a quick shower, Deanna put on her usual jeans, T-shirt, and sweater, then pulled her hair back in a tight twist. She needed to cut her bangs, she thought absentmindedly as she passed the hallway mirror. They reached her eyelashes, which made her blink repeatedly at times so she wouldn’t get hair in her eyes.

Deanna draped the camera strap around her neck and went outside. She locked the door and headed for the lake. Her camera had a good zoom, and the trees on the other side of the lake were beautiful. When she reached the water, she looked for a good place to stand. The old dock was not dependable; she had stepped right through it and nearly broken her left ankle last spring. Deanna pushed through some bushes and raised her camera.

The sun cast a fiery glow on the maples across the lake, and even the three-inch screen on Deanna’s camera showed the magical scene clearly. After snapping about ten pictures, she thought she had what she needed. She had noticed some fallen logs farther to the right through the camera and wanted to make sure she had them. She was browsing through the shots when she spotted something she’d missed before. To the very left in the corner of her display was an object floating on the water and a…hand? Deanna snapped her head back and looked out over the lake.

A wooden rowing boat drifted about twenty-five yards from shore. Deanna blinked, not sure if she saw anyone in it. She raised the camera again and zoomed in, glimpsed golden brown hair, and her new neighbor popped into view.

“What the hell…?” The rowboat looked just like the old wreck that normally lay upside down at Nellie’s. Surely Faythe hadn’t been stupid enough to use it? Another glance through the display of her camera confirmed Deanna’s fear.

“Hey! Can you quit taking pictures and get a hold of someone to help me get back to shore?” Faythe sounded more annoyed than afraid.

“I’m not taking pictures. I’m assessing your predicament,” Deanna yelled back.

“Well, cut that out and do something. This damn strainer of a boat is taking in water like there’s no tomorrow.” Faythe was obviously trying to keep her feet away from the bottom of the boat, which rocked precariously, and she clutched the edge. One oar was already floating several feet from the boat, and now the other one slipped away with a soft splash. The current was more treacherous than the serene lake betrayed at first glance. The boat was already drifting away from Faythe, and without a second thought, Deanna tore off her sweater and boots, risked running along the dock, and jumped into the water.

The water was cool enough to shock Deanna’s system. Faythe’s surprised cry echoed across the water as Deanna began to swim toward the boat with long strokes.

“Jesus, woman, I meant for you to call someone!”

“No time.” Deanna wasn’t sure Faythe heard her, but kept swimming. The boat was half underwater now, and the hint of panic on Faythe’s face confirmed that she realized she wouldn’t make it to shore.

Deanna reached the boat just as its stern gurgled and disappeared. Faythe lost her balance and slid into the water with a yelp.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, it’s cold.” She clawed at the sinking boat, but Deanna jerked Faythe’s hands off the rotting wood. “No, we need to swim back. Now.” She tugged Faythe with her and to her relief Faythe didn’t panic, but started to swim.

“Deanna…I…my jacket…” Faythe had swum only a few strokes when she stopped. “I can’t move.” She trod water while frantically pulling at the jacket, which was waterlogged and weighing her down. Deanna tried to help unzip it, but Faythe sank deeper as they fought the stubborn clasp, obviously having problems keeping her chin above water.

“Oh, damn, this isn’t working.” Faythe kicked so hard to stay afloat that she connected with Deanna’s shin underwater.

Cupping Faythe’s chin, Deanna helped her keep her head up, treading water furiously. “Listen to me, Faythe. Let me tow you. Just kick as I pull you in.” She maneuvered Faythe over on her back and began to drag her. Faythe cooperated, but the heavy jacket and her boots were still pulling her under. Using all her remaining strength, Deanna swam with Faythe in tow until she felt the bottom of the lake. From there, it didn’t take long to get them on shore, where Deanna helped a stumbling Faythe to her feet, both of them shivering.

“You all right?” Deanna scrutinized Faythe, who looked pale but seemed unscathed. “We better get warm right away.”

“Thank you.” Trembling now, Faythe clung to Deanna’s arm. “It all happened so fast.”

“Yes. I can’t believe you pulled a stunt like this. That boat hasn’t been in the water for years.”

“I used to go out in it every summer…when I was a kid.” Faythe blushed, two burning spots on her pale cheeks. “It looked okay to me.”

“Hmm.” Deanna shook her head. “Come on. We have to get you warm.”

“I’ll just run up to my house, and—”

“You’re pale, bluish, and shivering. You could faint or something. I’ll have a fire going in no time. You need to get warm quickly and so do I.” Deanna was reluctant to let Faythe into her cabin, but even more reluctant to send her off to fend for herself. Faythe was shivering and looked nauseous.

“All right. T-thanks.” Faythe’s teeth clattered.

Inside the cabin, Deanna showed Faythe to the bathroom where she ran the shower. A steamy cloud formed and Deanna nodded toward the stall. “Get warm and I’ll find you some sweats.”

Faythe raised her hands to her jacket zipper, but couldn’t stop shaking enough to pull it down. Deanna groaned inwardly and pushed Faythe’s hands away, unzipping the drenched garment. “There. Think you can manage now?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Faythe’s dazed look didn’t escape Deanna and she hurried to her room, jerking off her wet clothes. She wrapped an old terry-cloth robe around herself before looking for something for Faythe to wear. Not comfortable sharing intimate items like underwear, Deanna also picked out a T-shirt. She walked back to the bathroom and detected a faint outline of Faythe behind the frosted glass.

“Better?” Deanna’s voice was suddenly thicker.

“Tons. I’ll be out in a minute so you can rinse off the lake water and get warm.”

“Take your time.” Deanna placed the clothes on the toilet lid and fled to the large living room, where she knelt in front of the fireplace, its focal point. Her hands trembled as she lit a fire. The flickering flames licked the wood, and soon the crackling drowned out the sound of her pounding heart.

“Oh, fab.” Faythe sat next to Deanna on the floor, her hair hanging in wet tousled tresses around her shoulders. The clothes were at least four sizes too large for Faythe’s small frame, but at least she was dry. “Thank you for hauling me back to the shore,” Faythe said quietly. “If you hadn’t showed up—”

“I did. That’s all that matters.” Deanna didn’t dare look at Faythe, finding the moment awkward, especially since she couldn’t think of anything helpful to say. “Last time I saw that old boat, it was covered with weeds. It should’ve told you something. You need to keep up the maintenance of boats every year. Then there’s the thing about life vests—”

“I know that!” Faythe raised her voice, her face now flushed with anger. “You don’t have to make me sound like a total moron.”

“I never said you were a moron.” Startled at Faythe’s unexpected outburst, Deanna quickly scanned her memory of what she had said. “I merely pointed out that you should not be so careless when you’re—”

“It was a stupid thing to do, okay? You don’t have to lecture me as if I was a child.”

Deanna hesitated. Faythe had acted carelessly, and without any safety measures, and now she was obviously blaming Deanna for pointing this out. “Well, you’re from the city,” Deanna began slowly, “and not used to thinking about such things. To use a boat is not like getting behind the wheel of a car and driving.”

“Oh, for God’s sakes, don’t make it worse by being condescending on top of everything.” Faythe quieted for a moment, her body rigid. “It says a lot about what you’d expect from an airhead from the city, right? A brainless maneuver like that.”

Deanna had no idea what triggered the hostility she sensed in Faythe. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. I’m safe. The boat’s not going to cause any problems ever again.”

“It can’t, can it? The damn thing sank.”

“Yes, it did,” Deanna said gravely.

Faythe stared into the fire and suddenly the corners of her mouth started to twitch. Soon she was wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks. “Oh, my. I’m sorry. It’s really not very funny.” She laughed even harder, the sound tinged with irony.

Deanna smiled carefully. “It’s not funny at all,” she said, agreeing in principle. “But yes, it’s in your best interest that it sank.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Eventually Faythe pulled herself together. “I should be going home. I have an idea, though, since you did save my life. How about I make us dinner tonight, to celebrate my not sinking to the bottom of the lake?”

The thought of their struggle in the water, when it looked like the drenched jacket was going to pull Faythe under, made Deanna tremble. “You really don’t have to go through the trouble—”

“It’s no trouble. I bought enough food in town to—what?”

“You went grocery shopping. Ah.” Deanna straightened her back and her rib cage tightened around her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

“Yes. Got the third degree from the woman at the cash register. As I was going to say, I bought enough food to feed a small army. Please, join me.”

Scrubbed clean from the shower, Faythe looked so innocent and beautiful, even younger than before. That fact alone was a red flag. Deanna scanned Faythe’s facial expression but saw no sign that she was about to join the special clique in town that heeded every word Gloria Henderson uttered. The local grocery store was one of the places where gossip festered and grew. The library was another and the gas station yet another.

“Deanna, I’d be so honored if I could repay you somehow. I mean, it’s only dinner, and I’m a decent cook, nothing special. It’s not a lot, really, to offer spaghetti Bolognese when someone just saved your life, but it’s all I can think of right now.”

“Okay,” Deanna heard herself say. “If you insist, then I’d be happy to let you cook tonight.” Deanna wanted to take everything back, but it was too late. She’d accepted an invitation to the home of an unattached woman, which in her case was highly suspicious, to quote the Mueller mob.

Faythe’s soft, open smile scratched at Deanna’s defenses. Standing, Faythe brushed off her borrowed sweats. “It’s a deal, then. Do you have a bag to put my wet clothes in? I should have the key to Nellie’s house tucked away in a jacket pocket. I hope.”

“Of course.” Deanna rose and fetched two empty grocery sacks from the kitchen. “Will these do?”

“Sure thing.” Faythe went back into the bathroom and returned seconds later with her clothes jammed into the bags, wiggling the key in her other hand. “See you at seven thirty? I should go home and wash my clothes. Maybe I can save the jacket.”

“All right. Should I bring anything?”

“If you have some red wine, that’d be great.”

“I’ll look. I may have something in the basement.” She’d been so intent on turning Faythe’s offer down, she was taken aback by her urge to follow through with the invitation. A small voice in the back of her mind kept saying that nothing good would come from this. Perhaps she could still devise a plausible excuse, one that didn’t offend Faythe. Deanna looked straight into Faythe’s green eyes and opened her mouth to verbalize her apology. “See you at seven thirty.”