Nick dropped another ball into the pocket. "You know, you're not the only guy in the world whose wife had an affair." He wasn't sure why he said it. It just seemed the right time.

Jeremy went still on the other side of the table. "Amelia?"

"The man who was at the controls of that plane."

"Jesus. I didn't know."

"Not many people do. I'd like to keep it that way."

"Sure. Believe me when I say I understand your feelings on that particular subject." Jeremy paused a couple of beats. "Octavia said I should ask myself whether you or Laura had ever lied to me about other things."

"Come up with any answers?"

"Yeah. Laura lied to me about a couple of other matters. Important stuff. Guess we had a communication problem." Jeremy used the chalk on the tip of his cue. "Couldn't think of any times when you had lied to me, though."

Nick studied the table. "No offense, but I didn't even like Laura very much. Always had the feeling that she figured she'd married beneath herself when she married you."

"No offense, but I didn't care much for Amelia. Figured she was more in love with Harte Investments than she was with you."

"You may have been right." He took his shot and waited until the ball dropped. "But she was a good mother."

"That counts," Jeremy said quietly.

"Counts for a lot."

"At least you have Carson. I found out the hard way that Laura didn't want kids. At least she didn't want them with me."

"Carson made it all worthwhile," Nick agreed.

The sound of the growing crowd in the other room got louder. Someone cranked up the music system another notch. The hard-driving song playing now was about guys getting drunk on cheap whiskey and engaging in bar fights over good women gone bad.

"And to think that we both thought we knew what we were doing when it came to the female of the species." Jeremy drank some beer while he watched Nick take another shot. "Guess we had a lot to learn."

"Yeah."

The atmosphere around the table was more comfortable now. A lot of the tension was leaking out of it. Maybe it was the beer.

"So," Jeremy said, "who do you think took the Upsall?"

"Whoever is trying to pin the blame on Octavia. This is personal. I can feel it."

"Doesn't make sense. Octavia hasn't hurt anyone here in town."

"No, but her great-aunt did."

"According to the old stories, Claudia Banner's victims were Hartes and Madisons." Jeremy made a bridge and angled his cue stick. "You think maybe there were others?"

"My grandfather used the term collateral damage."

Jeremy banked a shot. "You know, my grandmother was a woman in her twenties when Harte-Madison fell apart. She grew up in this burg and knew everyone. Plays bridge every week with three other women who also have a lot of history in this town. They might remember something useful about the good old days. Want me to talk to her? See if she can get anything out of her bridge group? I'm sure she'd enjoy playing Mata Hari."

"I'd appreciate that," Nick said.

The music got louder and so did the crowd. Other players drifted into the back room and took over the remaining tables. Smoke from the cigarettes of neighboring players started to foul the air.

"Getting late," Nick said.

Jeremy shrugged. "One more game?"

"Why not?"

Nick had just racked the balls for another round when a familiar voice rumbled from the opening that divided the pool room from the bar area.

"Well, if it isn't the SOB who thinks he's the king of Eclipse Bay." Eugene slurred most of the s's and there were a lot of them in the sentence, but his meaning was clear. "And will you look at that, Dwayne? He's shooting a little pool with his good buddy Jeremy. Isn't that sweet?"

The players at the other tables did not look toward the pair in the doorway. Everyone pretended to concentrate on their games. But Nick knew that the crowd was listening intently to every word. The tension was suddenly so thick he could have carved it into topiary shapes.

"You were right," Jeremy said quietly. He did not bother to glance at Eugene and Dwayne either. "Time to go."

"What are you doin' here, anyway, Harte?" Eugene bellowed. "Shouldn't you be with that little redheaded suspect of yours? Everyone knows she's been screwing your brains out so's you'll overlook the fact that she stole that painting."

Nick set the cue down very slowly. On the other side of the table, Jeremy did the same. This time they both looked at Mutt and Jeff.

The dark room fell silent. None of the other players moved so much as a finger. Everyone waited for the other shoe to drop.

Nick looked at Eugene. "You don't want to say anything more, Eugene."

But it was obvious that Eugene was too drunk to worry about consequences.

"You think you can threaten me?" Eugene stalked closer, hands clenched at his sides. "You really think I'm gonna put up with that kind of shit from a Harte?"

"He's right, Eugene," Jeremy said softly. "You don't want to do this."

"I'm not takin' any crap off you, either, Seaton. You think you can come back to town after all these years and start actin' like you're better than the rest of us again just because your mama married a Seaton and you hang with Nick Harte? Got news for you."

"Let's go," Nick said to Jeremy.

"Fine by me." Jeremy started around the table.

"Something me and Dwayne, here, been wondering about, Harte." Eugene came to a halt, blocking the path to the door. He leered. "Is she a natural redhead? She as red down there as she is up on top?"

Nick moved around the comer of the table.

"Take it easy," Jeremy said out of the side of his mouth. "The plan is to get out of here, remember?"

"The plan," Nick said, coming to a halt directly in front of the pool table, "is to tell everyone here a little story about Eugene and Dwayne's excellent adventure in Seattle a while back."

"Shut your mouth, Harte," Eugene roared. "Just shut your damned mouth. Say one more word and I'll rip your head off your shoulders and use it for a cue ball."

"Think so?"

"Hey, nobody cares if you're screwin' the redhead. Nobody gives a shit about your sex life, Harte."

"Except you, apparently, Eugene," one of the other players offered helpfully. "But maybe that's because Harte's sex life is a lot more interesting than yours."

Eugene turned purple, drew his head into his shoulders in the manner of a large turtle, and lumbered forward. He was surprisingly fast for a man of his size and bulk. The old football training, Nick figured.

"Hell," Jeremy muttered. "So much for a quick exit."

Nick did not move until the last instant. Then he sidestepped the ferocious charge. Eugene still had speed, but his maneuverability was shot. He blundered straight on, past the point where Nick had stood a second earlier, and crashed into the table. He folded over and went facedown on the green felt.

"Okay," Jeremy said. "Now we leave, right?"

Nick ignored him. He grabbed hold of one beefy shoulder. There was no need to try to haul Eugene erect. The big man came up off the table, one massive fist already arcing through the air.

Nick ducked the blow and slammed both clenched hands into Eugene's midsection. It was like hitting a very solid pillow. The impact felt good, but it didn't do much damage. Nick stepped back hurriedly, shaking his numbed hand.

Okay, maybe that had been a mistake.

Fortunately Eugene was off balance, thanks to too many beers and the collision with the table. When he charged a second time, flailing wildly, Nick stuck out a foot. Eugene obligingly tripped and went down with a crashing thud that shook the floor.

Dwayne squealed, grabbed the nearest pool cue, and launched himself at Nick. Jeremy snatched the stick out of his hands as he went past.

"You know," Jeremy said, "if you'd ever bothered to read one of Nick's books, you'd know he never gets into a fight without his trusty sidekick, Bonner."

Robbed of his ersatz rapier, Dwayne scrambled to a halt and turned to throw a short punch at Jeremy. He caught one of the other pool players on the shoulder, instead.

"Hey, watch it, you little creep." The player took a swipe at Dwayne and sent him tumbling into one of the men who had come from the bar area to see what all the excitement was about.

A man standing behind Nick chuckled. "Man, the little redhead must be one hot number, huh? So what's the deal? Is she, or isn't she a natural-"

Nick swung around and punched the commentator in the chest. The man fell back against a table. His cue stick went sailing and struck someone else.

The poolroom exploded in a firestorm of shouts and flying fists.

Nick turned back, searching for Eugene amid the swarm of sweating, heaving bodies.

"Son of a bitch, Harte." Eugene had managed to get up off the floor. He threw himself at Nick.

Nick moved out of the way and came up against Sandy Hickson, who had wandered into the poolroom. The two went down together and rolled under a table.

Jeremy bent over to look at the pair beneath the table. "Everyone okay down here?"

Someone hauled him up and swung at him. Jeremy took the blow on the side of his jaw and reeled back against a table.

Nick untangled himself from Sandy and came out from under the table in a low rush. He tackled the man who had just hit Jeremy and they both went down, rolling in a small river of spilled beer.

Fred picked up the phone. Sean Valentine and two other officers arrived ten minutes later.