“Microfiche?”

“I’m afraid not. But we are very careful with our labeling.

• 89 •

RADcLY fFe

Everything should be exactly where it’s supposed to be, in chronological order.”

“Thanks for letting us barge in like this,” Adrian said.

“No problem. Good luck.”

After checking out the stacks to get familiar with the organization, Adrian and Melinda had agreed that there was no need to go back more than thirty years, at least to start. Although it was impossible to date the sculpture, the artist was unlikely to have been from a much earlier era because other pieces from his body of work would probably have surfaced by now. It made more sense to assume that the artist was young and undiscovered. Melinda took the current issues, while Adrian started with the older ones to work forward.

“You know,” Adrian said, searching for the arts section in a twenty-five-year-old newspaper, “maybe that piece is the first thing he, or she, has ever done.”

“No,” Melinda said with certainty. “The work is exquisite.

Whoever he—or she—is, they are no novice.”

“What would you sell a piece like that for? Or is that a trade secret?”

“Mmm, top secret.” Melinda gave Adrian a heavy-lidded look. “If I answer your question, will you answer one of mine?”

“Not unless you tell me the question first.”

“Are you always so suspicious?” Melinda teased.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll save my question for a more intimate moment, and you can decide then if you want to answer it.”

“That’s very trusting. What if we never—”

“We will.”

“Are you always so confident?”

“Yes,” Melinda said, her green-gold eyes boring into Adrian’s.

“As to the sculpture, if it’s as good as I judge from the photo, in the neighborhood of twenty-five thousand.”

“Then why do you suppose they aren’t making an effort to display their work?” Adrian didn’t avert her gaze, even though the pull of the dark pupils made it hard for her to concentrate on the conversation.

“I don’t know. There have certainly been instances where artists have created a substantial oeuvre before ever making their work public.”

• 90 •

SecretS in the Stone

“Then this might all be wasted effort.”

“No. Nothing about an afternoon spent with you is wasted.”

Adrian forced her attention back to the papers, and they worked in silence until Melinda complained, “Thank goodness these papers aren’t bigger. We’d be here forever.”

“Well, at least until dinner,” Adrian murmured, distracted by a familiar name in an article she’d just come across in an issue from twenty-four years before.

LocaL Woman KiLLed in FreaK accident Grace Tyler, 19, was killed in a one-car accident Friday when her vehicle skidded off River Road into the Hudson River during a blizzard. Emergency crews did not discover the partially submerged vehicle for 10 hours due to hazardous road conditions and poor visibility. Tyler’s death was proclaimed to be a result of drowning. Her infant daughter, secured in the rear seat, survived the crash and is hospitalized in critical condition.

Tyler’s husband, Army Sergeant Charles Tyler, was on maneuvers in an unnamed location at the time of the accident.

Services will be private with interment at Stillwater Cemetery.

Adrian reread the article, a sick feeling in her stomach. Rooke looked to be in her mid-twenties, so the timing was right for Grace Tyler’s infant daughter to have been Rooke. The thought of Rooke losing her mother in such a horrible way, and nearly having been killed herself, made her ache. The sadness and sympathy was so overwhelming she wanted to find somewhere private and call Rooke on the phone, just to hear her voice, just to…to do what? Say how sorry she was?

Rooke would probably think she’d lost her mind. Maybe it wasn’t even Rooke’s family. After all, how many Tylers were there in Dutchess County? Dominic had said there had been a Tyler at Stillwater Cemetery

• 91 •

RADcLY fFe

for generations. This could be a distant cousin or someone completely unrelated. But the scar on Rooke’s forehead made her think otherwise.

She studied what appeared to be a senior high school photo of Grace Tyler printed with the obituary. The young woman was pretty. Wavy dark hair framed a heart-shaped face that was saved from being delicate by a slightly squared chin. She was smiling, her expression filled with anticipation. She didn’t look like Rooke, although Adrian couldn’t help thinking she was somehow familiar. She studied the image but couldn’t make any connections. The longer she stared, however, the more the slightly hooded dark eyes, intense and penetrating, drew her in. Adrian caught her breath. Rooke’s eyes.

“Did you find something?” Melinda said.

Adrian quickly turned the page. “No. So far the only thing I’ve seen are notices for craft shows and one regional juried art show. That appeared to be primarily paintings, though. You?”

Melinda draped her arm over the back of Adrian’s chair, her fingers resting on Adrian’s shoulder. She stroked along the curve of muscle toward Adrian’s neck. “No, but I’ll admit to being somewhat distracted.” She leaned closer. “You smell wonderful.”

“The only thing you could possibly be smelling is my shampoo,”

Adrian said. “And it’s off-the-shelf at Rite Aid.”

“Mmm. I don’t think it’s your shampoo.” Melinda’s voice was low and teasing. She slipped her fingers onto Adrian’s neck, playing over the pulse that hammered rapidly. “You smell…alive. Earthy. Fertile.”

Adrian leaned into Melinda’s touch, envisioning a room drenched in golden candlelight, whisper-soft cotton sheets beneath her naked back. Melinda moved over her, her body insistent, her mouth so close to Adrian’s she could drink Adrian’s breath. Senses soaring, Adrian arched, anointing Melinda’s satiny thigh with her own silken heat.

Soon, soon the last thread holding her earthbound would snap and she would give Melinda everything. Everything. Adrian couldn’t stop her body from responding. The desire Melinda telegraphed with just a touch was too potent, but she’d had a lifetime of practice shielding herself from the thoughts and wishes of others. Shuddering, she met Melinda’s gaze. “Melinda.”

“Yes?” Melinda murmured. Say yes. Give me leave, Adrian. Say yes.

“I’m not going to sleep with you.”

• 92 •

SecretS in the Stone

Melinda laughed throatily. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take that as final.”

“Just so we’re clear.”

Melinda trailed one finger along the edge of Adrian’s jaw and traced the curve of her ear. Adrian shivered and Melinda raised an eyebrow. “Why are you struggling so hard to deny it?”

“Enough,” Adrian said.

Melinda dropped her hand and sat back with a sigh. “I know you like women. You’re far too passionate to be satisfied any other way.”

“I like women.” Adrian was grateful for the small amount of distance between them. She was as aroused as she had been after awakening from the dream the previous night, her body clamoring for release. Melinda was unbearably attractive, her persistent desire mesmerizing. For an instant, Adrian had wanted to kiss her.

“Are you monogamous?”

“What?”

“You’re too remarkable to be unattached, so is it that you’ve promises to keep?”

“No promises.” Adrian was about to add she was unattached, that there was no one, but as foolish as it might be, she didn’t quite feel that way. Even with Melinda teasing her until she was barely rational, she couldn’t forget about Rooke. The more she thought about Rooke, the easier it was for her to breathe, to quiet the raging demands of her rebellious body. She had no idea what that meant, but she wanted—

needed—to find out.

“I have no problem sharing. In fact,” Melinda said with a playful smile, “I enjoy company. I have several very beautiful friends who would love to join me in making you—”

“Stop.” Adrian pointed a finger at her. “You are not to say another word.”

Laughing, Melinda turned back to the newspapers. I can feel your need, your power straining to be free. Give me leave and I will please you as you have never been pleased. And you will fill me as no one ever has.

“Did you say something?” Adrian thought for a second she’d heard whispering.

Melinda glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “No, darling.

Not a word.”

• 93 •

RADcLY fFe

The tension between them abated as swiftly as it had arisen, making Adrian wonder if she hadn’t exaggerated what had passed between them. Maybe six months of celibacy had left her unusually susceptible to the slightest physical contact. Putting aside the unsettling episode with Melinda, she returned to searching the subsequent issues for any more information on the accident that had claimed Grace Tyler’s life. She found no mention of the funeral or any report of further investigation into her death.

“This is interesting.” Melinda turned the newspaper spread out in front of her in Adrian’s direction and pointed to a photograph above two columns of print. “Whoever’s doing this work may be able to help us out.”

Adrian read the first few lines of the article, which described a wealthy donor who had given a sizable sum to a cemetery for the restoration of his historic family burial site. The photo depicted a square stone structure the size of a small garage sitting alone atop a knoll surrounded by huge oak trees. “Is that a crypt?”

“It’s a mausoleum. The crypts are contained inside.”

“I don’t understand. These are common, right? Especially in wealthy private cemeteries?” Adrian kept reading, but she already knew what she would find. The mausoleum was at Stillwater.