Straightening, she wandered around the cabin, tidying what was already competently neat. She brewed some tea she didn't want, then wandered more with the cup warming her hands. She poked at the cheerfully blazing fire.

She stared out the window. She sat on the couch. She needed, desperately needed, to work.

This wasn't one of their stolen weekends filled to the brim with laughter and lovemaking and arguments over newspaper editorials. There wasn't a newspaper in the house, she thought in frustration. And Finn said there was some trouble with the cable, so television was out as well.

He was doing his best to keep the outside world at bay, she knew. To put her in a protective bubble, where nothing and no one could cause her distress.

And she'd let him, because what had happened in Chicago had seemed too horrible to think about; she'd let Finn push it all to the side for her.

But now she needed to take some action. "We're going back to Chicago," she told the dog, who responded with a thud of his tail on the floor. She turned to the steps, intending to pack, when she heard the sound of a car on the drive. "He couldn't even have gotten to the store yet," she muttered, heading to the door behind the happily barking dog. "Look, Cronkite,

I love him, too, but he hasn't been gone ten minutes." Deanna pushed open the screen, laughing as the dog bulleted through. But when she looked up and saw the car, the laughter died.

She didn't recognize the car, a dull brown sedan with dings in both fenders. But she recognized Jenner and found herself tugging the collar of her flannel shirt around her throat. She should have felt relieved to see him, to know he was trying to solve the case. Instead she felt only a tightening of the nerves that trapped her somewhere between fear and resignation.

Jenner grinned, obviously charmed by Cronkite's yapping and dancing around his legs. He bent down, unerringly finding the spot between Cronkite's ears that sent the dog into spasms of pleasure.

"Hey there, boy. There's a good dog." He chuckled when Cronkite plopped down on his rump and extended a paw to shake. "Know your manners, do you?" With the dog's dusty paw in his hand, he glanced up when Deanna stepped out on the porch. "This is quite a watchdog you've got here, Miss Reynolds."

"I'm afraid that's as fierce as he gets." The brisk December breeze invaded her bones. "You're a long way from Chicago, Lieutenant."

"Nice drive." Leaving his hand extended for the dog to sniff, he glanced around. The snow had melted, and the evergreens were glossily green. The breeze hummed through denuded trees and threatened to pick up and get mean. "Pretty place. Must feel good to get out of the city now and then."

"Yes, it does."

"Miss Reynolds, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I have some questions on the Perkins homicide."

"Please, come in. I've just made tea, but I can put on coffee if you'd prefer." How could they talk about murder without a nice, sociable cup? Deanna thought as her stomach turned.

"Tea's fine." Jenner walked toward the door with the dog prancing behind him.

"Sit down." She gestured him inside, toward the great room. "I'll just be a minute."

"Mr. Riley's not with you?" Jenner took a turn around the room, interested in the getaway lives of the rich.

"He went to the store. He'll be back shortly."

Hepplewhite. Jenner noted a side table and ladder-back chair. The rug was Native American. Navajo, he imagined. The glassware was Irish. Waterford.

"You have a good eye, Lieutenant." Her face bland, Deanna carried the tea tray into the room.

He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud, and smiled a little. It didn't bother him to be caught snooping. He got paid for it. "I like quality stuff. Even when I can't afford it." He nodded to the vase on the mantel, stuffed with early spring blooms. "Staffordshire?"

"Dresden." Annoyed, Deanna set the tray down with a snap. "I'm sure you didn't drive all the way out here to admire the bric-a-brac. Have you found out who killed Angela?"

"No." Jenner settled himself on the sofa with the dog at his feet. "We're beginning to put things together."

"That's comforting. Sugar, lemon?" She was playing it tough, Jenner thought. "Black, thanks." He might have believed Deanna's act, if it hadn't been for the shadows under her eyes. "With sugar. Lots of it."

His grin apologetic, Jenner began to spoon sugar into the cup Deanna poured for him. "Sweet tooth. Miss Reynolds, I don't want to make you go through your whole statement again—"

"And I appreciate it." Deanna caught herself snapping the words, and sighed. "I want to cooperate, Lieutenant. I just don't see what more I can tell you. I had an appointment with Angela. I kept it. Someone killed her."

"Didn't it strike you as odd that she'd want to meet so late?" Deanna eyed Jenner over the rim of her cup. "Angela was fond of making odd demands."

"And were you fond of going along with them?" "No, I wasn't. I didn't want to meet her at all. It's no secret that we weren't on friendly terms, and I knew we'd quarrel. The fact that we would made me nervous." Deanna set down her cup, curled up her legs. "I don't like confrontations, Lieutenant, but I don't run away from them, as a rule. Angela and I had a history that I'm sure you're aware of."

"You were competitors." Jenner inclined his head a fraction. "You didn't like each other."

"No, we didn't like each other, and it was very personal on both sides. I was ready to have it out with her, and a part of me hoped that we could settle things amicably. Another part was looking forward to yanking out a few handfuls of her hair. I won't deny I wanted her out of my way, but I didn't want her dead." She looked back at Jenner, calmer now, steadier. "Is that why you're here? Am I a suspect?"

Jenner rubbed a hand over his chin. "The victim's husband, Dan Gardner, seems to think you hated her enough to kill her. Or have her killed."

"Have her killed?" Deanna blinked at that and nearly laughed. "So now I hired a convenient hit man, paid him to murder Angela, knock me unconscious and roll tape. Very inventive of me." She sprang up, color washing back into her cheeks. "I don't even know Dan Gardner. It's flattering that he should consider me so clever. And what was my motive? Ratings points? It seems to me I should have arranged it so that I didn't miss the November sweeps."

The bruised, helpless look was gone, Jenner noted. She was fired up, burning on indignation and disgust. "Miss Reynolds, I didn't say we agreed with Mr. Gardner."

She stared for a moment, eyes kindling. "Just wanted a reaction? I hope I satisfied you."

Jenner cocked a brow. "Miss Reynolds, did you visit Miss Perkins at her hotel on the night she was murdered?"

"No." Frustrated, Deanna raked a hand through her hair. "Why should I have? We were meeting at the studio."

"You might have gotten impatient." Jenner knew he was reaching. Deanna's fingerprints hadn't been found in the suite, certainly they weren't on the extra champagne flute.

"Even if I had, Angela told me that she'd be busy until midnight. She had meetings."

"Did she mention with whom?"

"We weren't chatting, Detective, and I had no interest in her personal or her business plans."

"You knew she had enemies?"

"I knew she wasn't particularly well liked. Part of that might have been her personality, and part of it was because she was a woman with a great deal of power. She could be hard and vindictive. She could also be charming and generous."

"I don't imagine you found it charming when she arranged for you to walk in on her and Dr. Pike, in compromising circumstances."

"That's old news."

"But you were in love with him?"

"I was almost in love with him," Deanna corrected. "A very large difference." Oh, what was the point of all this? she wondered, and rubbed at the headache brewing dead center of her forehead. "I won't deny it hurt me, and it infuriated me, and it changed my feelings about both of them irrevocably."

"Dr. Pike tried to continue your relationship."

"He didn't look on the incident in the same way I did. I wasn't interested in continuing anything with him, and I made that clear."

"But he did persist for quite a while." "Yes."

Jenner recognized the emotion behind the clipped response. "And the notes, the ones you've been receiving with some regularity for several years. Did you ever consider that he was sending them?"

"Marshall?" She shook her head. "No. They're not his style."

"What is?"

Deanna's eyes shut. She remembered the photographs, the detective's report. "Perhaps you should ask him."

"We will. Have you been involved with anyone other than Dr. Pike? Anyone who might have been so disturbed by the announcement of your engagement to Mr. Riley that they would break into your office, or Mr. Riley's home?"

"No, there's been — what do you mean, break in?" She gripped the wing of the chair she stood beside.

"It seems logical that whoever sent the notes is also responsible for the destruction of your office and the house you share with Mr. Riley," Jenner began. And, he believed, for Angela's murder.

"When?" Deanna could barely whisper the word. "When did this happen?"

Intrigued, Jenner stopped tapping his pencil on his pad. The rosy glow anger had brought to Deanna's cheeks had drained, leaving her face white as bone. Riley hadn't told her yet, he realized. And the man wasn't going to be pleased to have been scooped. "The night Angela Perkins was shot, Finn Riley's house was broken into."