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  Maggie squeezed him gently.

  Jamie swallowed. The problem was, the same mind that could suspend its disbelief had the capacity to be rational. A man who had walked for forty-two years before surviving an accident wouldn't be fooled by bells and whistles. A man who had touched his wife and moved within her body and felr her sweat drying on his own skin would not remain satisfied with a resurrected memory. When you came down to it, no matter how good Jamie was at what he did, a virtual world could never be the real thing.

  Jamie cupped his hands over Maggie's breasts and grazed his teeth along her neck. "You have a point," he said.

  If you aren't spooked about that kind of thing," Zandy Monroe said, "I can go find Hugo." Allie shrugged. Sitting in the driver's seat of the pickup truck beside the body of Maggie MacDonald, she wasn't frightened, and surely Cam would have wanted his sergeant to dispose of the body with the local undertaker, even if he hadn't explicitly said so. "We're not going anywhere," she said, smiling at Zandy.

  She had sent Mia back to the flower shop and told her to make as many funeral decorations as she could until Allie herself returned. Roses, she had said. Use as many as we've got. She also told her to find bluebells, which stood for constancy, and gillyflowers, for the bonds of affection. Now, she glanced at Maggie's smooth, pale skin. Rue, she thought, for sorrow. I should have told her about rue.

  With Zandy gone, Allie leaned closer to the dead woman. She glanced out the window up and down the street, then laid her palm against Maggie's cheek. It was cold and firm to the touch. Allie drew back her fingers and tucked her hand inside her pocket.

  Hugo Huntley came back with Zandy a few minutes later. He was the local mortician, and like everyone else on Main Street, had been in the crowd when James MacDonald had driven up to the police station. "Allie," he said, by way of greeting. He peered at the body through thick-lensed glasses that made his eyes look very tiny and sunken in his face.

  "She's dead," Zandy said flatly. "Well yes." Hugo nodded. "I can see that." Zandy carried Maggie MacDonald across the street to Huntley's Funeral Parlor, downstairs to the embalming rooms. To Allies shock, Maggie's body had already begun to freeze into the rigid position of sitting upright, so that even slung over Zandy's shoulder, her knees bent stiff and jutted into his abdomen instead of hanging slack.

  Zandy laid the body on its side and turned to Allie. "You can probably go now, Mrs. Mac," he said.

  Allie shook her head. "I made that man a promise. If you stay, so do I."

  They both turned to look at Hugo, who had donned a white lab coat and rolled Maggie MacDonald's body onto her back, so that her knees peaked in the air. For a horrible moment, Allie remembered how funerals were done centuries ago, and she had a brief vision of the laying out on a scarred kitchen table, where strong arms broke bones knotted by rigor mortis until the body lay flat enough for a coffin. She turned away, the sweet mix of disinfectant and embalming fluid making her feel sicker.

  "I don't think you should really do anything yet," Zandy said to Hugo. "Least, not till Cam says so." Hugo doubled as the town's forensic expert, although his police experience was limited to an autopsy some ten years back that had turned out to be much less of a mystery than originally thought: the deceased, believed to be poisoned, had died of cirrhosis of the liver.

  Hugo peered closer at the body. "I won't do anything, but I'm going to get her out of these things and take some Polaroids. No matter what, that's the first step."

  Allie swiftly glanced at the door before crossing her arms over her chest and steeling herself to bear witness. Zandy leaned against a tray of medical instruments, scratching at a brass button on his heavy coat and pretending not to watch as Hugo wrestled with the stiff body to remove the clothing. In the end, both Allie and Zandy simply turned away.

  "Not a scratch," Hugo called cheerfully. "No bruises at the neck. Not even a hangnail." Allie could hear the whip of a sheet being snapped open and laid over the body. "My educated guess is death by asphyxiation. Smothering."

  Allie shook her head, trying to erase the image of James MacDonald lunging for his wife before Zandy could touch her. "Why would you do that to someone you love?" she murmured.

  Hugo touched her arm. "Maybe because they wanted you to." He gently led Allie to the embalming table, pointing to several tiny tattoos that looked like the marks of a pen on Maggie's face. "They're for radiation therapy," he said. "The eye's a secondary site for cancer." And then he pulled down a corner of Che sheet, to reveal an angry red zag of weals and scars where Maggie MacDonald's breast had been.

  You ready?"

  Jamie turned around at the sound of Cam's voice. He had

  already signed the top half of the voluntary statement that acknowledged his right to wait until a lawyer had been provided, but that was not his intent. He knew he was going to be punished; he just wanted to get it over with. Cam had taken the handcuffs off an hour ago when the secretary offered him a cup of coffee. He had been waiting for Cam to set up the booking room with a tape recorder. Now he stood in front of the most beautiful array of fall flowers he had ever seen.

  They were red and purple and musty yellow, and the different fronds all seemed to swoop low, like the trajectory of a leaf from a tree. He kept staring at the arrangement, thinking how rich and warm the colors seemed to be; and then, in the next blink, it seemed their own beauty was dragging them down.

  Jamie turned to Cam. "I've never seen a police station with flowers in it."

  Cam looked at the arrangement. "It's my wife. She owns a shop here. She does one every week." He watched Jamie finger the fragile petals of a lily, rubbing it gently so that Cam could smell the light rain scent all the way across the room.

  "You love her?"

  Cam took a step backward. "My wife? Of course." "How much?"

  Cam smiled a little. "Is there a limit?"

  Jamie shrugged. "You tell me. What would you do for her? Would you lie for her? Steal? Would you kill for her?"

  "No," Cam said shortly. He turned Jamie away from the flowers abruptly, so that the lily fell to the floor and was crushed beneath the heel of his own boot. "Let's go." shock, Maggie's body had already begun to freeze into the rigid position of sitting upright, so that even slung over Zandy's shoulder, her knees bent stiff and jutted into his abdomen instead of hanging slack.

  Zandy laid the body on its side and turned to Allie. "You can probably go now, Mrs. Mac," he said.

  Allie shook her head. "I made that man a promise. If you stay, so do I."

  They both turned to look at Hugo, who had donned a white lab coat and rolled Maggie MacDonald's body onto her back, so that her knees peaked in the air. For a horrible moment, Allie remembered how funerals were done centuries ago, and she had a brief vision of the laying out on a scarred kitchen table, where strong arms broke bones knotted by rigor mortis until the body lay flat enough for a coffin. She turned away, the sweet mix of disinfectant and embalming fluid making her feel sicker.

  "I don't think you should really do anything yet," Zandy said to Hugo. "Least, not till Cam says so." Hugo doubled as the town's forensic expert, although his police experience was limited to an autopsy some ten years back that had turned out to be much less of a mystery than originally thought: the deceased, believed to be poisoned, had died of cirrhosis of the liver.

  Hugo peered closer at the body. "I won't do anything, but I'm going to get her out of these things and take some Polaroids. No matter what, that's the first step."

  Allie swiftly glanced at the door before crossing her arms over her chest and steeling herself to bear witness. Zandy leaned against a tray of medical instruments, scratching at a brass button on his heavy coat and pretending not to watch as Hugo wrestled with the stiff body to remove the clothing. In the end, both Allie and Zandy simply turned away.

  "Not a scratch," Hugo called cheerfully. "No bruises at the neck. Not even a hangnail." Allie could hear the whip of a sheet being snapped open and laid over the body. "My educated gues