aith hung up the phone, a puzzled frown on her face. That was the sixth time she’d called Mr. Pleasant and not gotten an answer. He didn’t have a secretary; Mrs. Pleasant had filled that role, and he hadn’t had the heart to replace her when she had died. Mr. Pleasant had checked out of the motel; rather, the key had been left on the nightstand in the room, and his things were gone. The room had been paid for in advance, so there was nothing unusual in that. She had done it herself, more than once.

What was unusual was that he hadn’t called her, and he’d said that he would. She couldn’t believe he had forgotten. He would have called if something wasn’t wrong. Given the state of his health, she was afraid he was in a hospital somewhere and was too ill to call. He could even be dying, and she wouldn’t know about it. The thought of dying alone made her chest hurt. Someone should at least be there to hold his hand, as she had held Scottie’s.

Other than being worried about him, she didn’t know what, if anything, he had found or whom he had questioned. She would have to continue on her own, without the benefit of whatever answers he had gotten.

She didn’t have a clear idea of how to go about it, what clues to look for, even what questions to ask – assuming anyone would talk to her. The only ones who were likely to answer her questions would be any newcomers, and they wouldn’t be in a position to know anything. The old-timers would know, but they would heed Gray’s edict against having anything to do with her.

A thought came to her, and she grinned with anticipation. There was one person, at least, who would talk to her – unwillingly, but he would talk.

She dragged a brush through her hair and twisted the heavy mass into a top-knot, securing it with a few pins and leaving tendrils loose around her face and at the nape of her neck. That was the limit of her grooming; a few minutes after having made up her mind, she was on her way to Prescott, to Morgan’s Grocery.

As she had expected, Mrs. Morgan spotted her the moment she entered the door. Faith ignored her and wandered toward the dairy section, which was at the back of the store, safely away from Mrs. Morgan’s sharp ears. It wasn’t long before Ed came hot-footing it down the aisles, his beefy face florid with both indignation and exertion. "Maybe you didn’t understand too good," he said, huffing to a stop in front of her. "Get on out of my store. You can’t buy your groceries here."

Faith stood her ground and gave him a cool smile. "I didn’t come here to buy anything. I want to ask you a few questions."

"If you don’t leave, I’m goin’ to call the sheriff," he said, but an uneasy expression crossed his face.

His mention of the sheriff made her stomach clench, probably the reaction he had hoped to get. Her spine stiffened, and she forced herself to ignore the threat. "If you answer my questions," she said quietly, "I’ll be gone in a few minutes. If you don’t, your wife may learn more than you want her to know." When it came to threats, she could make a few of her own.

He paled, and cast an anxious look toward the front of the store. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Fine. My questions don’t concern my mother. I want to know about Guy Rouillard."

He blinked, surprised by the turn. "About Guy?" he repeated.

"Who else was he seeing that summer?" she asked. "I know my mother wasn’t the only one. Do you remember any of the gossip?"

"Why do you want to know about all that? It don’t matter who else he was seeing, because it was Renee he ran away with, not any of the others."

She glanced at her watch. "I figure you have about two minutes before your wife comes back here to see what’s going on."

He glared at her, but said reluctantly, "I heard he was seeing Andrea Wallice, Alex Chelette’s secretary. Alex was Guy’s best friend. Don’t know that it’s true, though, because she didn’t seem tore up when Guy left. There was a waitress out at Jimmy Jo’s, I can’t remember her name, but Guy saw her a few times. She’s not there anymore. Heard tell he had a thing going with Yolanda Foster, too. Guy got around. I can’t remember who all he was messin’ around with, or when, exactly."

Yolanda Foster. That must be the ex-mayor’s wife. Their son, Lane, had been one of that group of boys who hung around Jodie when they wanted a good time, but wouldn’t speak to her if they met her in public.

"Was that common knowledge?" she asked. "Were there any jealous husbands around?"

He shrugged, and glanced again toward the front of the store. "Maybe the mayor knew, but Guy donated a lot of money to his campaigns, so I doubt Lowell Foster would have kicked up very much if he’d known Yolanda was… uh, collecting donations." He smirked, and Faith thought how much she disliked him.

"Thanks for the information," she said, and turned to go.

"You won’t come here again?" he asked anxiously.

She paused and gave him a considering look. "Maybe not," she said. "Call me if you think of any more names." Then she walked briskly from the store, not even glancing at Mrs. Morgan on the way out.

Two names, plus the possibility of the unknown waitress. It was a beginning. What intrigued her, though, was the mention of Guy’s best friend, Alex Chelette. He would likely have the answers to most of her questions.

The Chelettes were one of the old, monied families in the parish – not on a level with the Rouillards, but then neither was anyone else. She knew the name, but couldn’t dredge up any memories of them as people. She had been only fourteen when she’d left, and more withdrawn than most, keeping to herself as much as possible. She had paid attention only to those who had direct contact with her family, and as far as she could remember, she had never met any of the Chelettes. Alex was still likely to be around, though; the case of Guy Rouillard aside, old money tended to remain in one place.

She walked down to the pay phone at the end of the parking lot and looked up the Chelettes. The residence was listed as "Alexander Chelette, atty." Below it was the number for "Chelette and Anderson, Attorneys at Law."

Thinking that now was as good a time as any, she fed in a quarter and dialed the law office. A musical voice answered on the second ring.

Faith said, "My name is Faith Hardy. Could Mr. Chelette see me today?"

There was a tiny pause that told Faith her name had been recognized, then the musical voice said, "He’s in court all morning, but he can see you this afternoon at one-thirty, if that’s convenient."

"It is. Thank you." As she hung up, Faith wondered if the musical voice belonged to Andrea Wallice, who had been Mr. Chelette’s secretary when it had all happened, or if this was a different one.

She had almost three hours to kill, unless she wanted to drive home and come back later. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that the slice of toast she’d eaten at six-thirty had long since vanished. She wondered if she would be served in any of the restaurants in town, or if Gray’s influence had extended there, too. She shrugged. No time like the present for finding out.

There was a small cafe on the square. She had never been in it, she thought as she parked almost directly in front of the door. She had never eaten out until she had gone to live with the Greshams, and they had introduced her to the wonders of restaurants. The thought of them made her smile as she entered the cool, darkened cafe, and she made a mental note to call them that night. She tried to stay in touch, calling them at least once a month, and it had been almost that long since they last spoke.

Customers seated themselves, so Faith chose the booth at the rear of the cafe. A pleasant-faced young woman, short and round, bustled up with a menu. "What will you have to drink?"

"Sweet tea." That the tea would be iced was a given, unless hot tea was specifically requested. The usual choices were merely between sweet and unsweetened.

The waitress darted off to get the tea, and Faith glanced down the selections on the plastic menu. She had just decided on the chicken salad when someone paused beside the booth. "Aren’t you Faith Devlin?"

Faith tensed, wondering if she would be asked to leave. She looked up at the woman standing there. "Yes, I am." The woman looked vaguely familiar, brown eyes, brown hair, and a square-jawed, dimple-cheeked face. She was smallish, about five foot three, and had the perkiness of a cheerleader.

"I thought so. It’s been a while, but it’s hard to forget hair that color." The woman smiled. "I’m Halley Bruce – Johnson, now. I was in your class at school."

"Of course!" As soon as she heard the name, the face clicked in her memory. "I remember you. How are you?" Halley had never been her friend – she hadn’t had any friends – but neither had Halley taken part in any of the cruel-teasing Faith had endured. She had been civil, at least.

The expression in her eyes now, however, was downright friendly. "Will you join me?" Faith invited.

"Just for a minute," Halley said, slipping into the booth opposite Faith. The waitress returned with Faith’s tea, and took the order for her chicken salad. When they were alone again, Halley smiled wryly. "My husband’s folks own this place, and I run it for them. I’m expecting a delivery any minute now, and I’ll have to check it in."

Since Gray already knew about the agency, there was no point in not talking about it, so Faith said, "I’m playing hooky. I have a travel agency in Dallas, and I really should have told my manager where I’d be, but I forgot to call before I left the house."

Social and financial positions established, they smiled at each other as equals. Faith felt a warm rush of pleasure. Even after she had gone to live with the Greshams and attended high school, she hadn’t had any girlfriends; she had still been too wary and withdrawn, too traumatized, to form any friendships. It wasn’t until she had started college that she had made any friends at all, and the casual acceptance of her dorm mates had been a revelation to her. Shy at first, she had quickly bloomed, joyfully participating in the female rituals that had been closed to her as a girl: the all-night gab sessions, the teasing and laughter, the swapping of clothes and makeup, the frenzy of getting ready in the mornings, sharing the bathroom mirror with her roommate. For the first time she had participated in the endless analysis of the murky mystery of men – rather, she had listened, smiling a little at their naivete. Though at that point many of her dorm mates had already had sex and Faith had still been virgin, she had felt infinitely older, more experienced. They still viewed men through the rosy lenses of romance, while she had no such illusion.

But female friendship had remained a special joy to her, and she looked at Halley Johnson with the hope of finding that trembling within her.

"Where did you move to, when you left?" Halley asked, with a casual note that glossed over the circumstances under which Faith had left Prescott.

"Beaumont, Texas. Then I moved to Austin when I started college, and Dallas afterward."

Halley sighed. "I’ve never lived anywhere but here, don’t guess I ever will. I used to think about traveling, but then Joel and I got married, and the kids came. We have two," she said, brightening. "A boy and a girl. With one of each, it seemed like a good time to stop. How about you?"

"I’m a widow," Faith said, her eyes darkening with the shadow of sadness that she always felt when she thought about Kyle, dying so young and so needlessly. "I married right out of college, and he died in a car wreck within the year. No kids."

"That’s rough." There was genuine sympathy in Halley’s voice. "I’m so sorry. I can only imagine what it would be like to lose Joel. He drives me crazy sometimes, but he’s my rock, always there when I need him." She was silent a moment, then the smile came back to her face. "What brings you back to Prescott? I can imagine someone leaving Prescott to move to Dallas, but not vice versa."

"It’s home. I wanted to come back."

"Well, I don’t want to be nosy or rude, but I would have thought Prescott would be the last place you’d want to live. After what happened, I mean."

Faith gave her a quick look, but couldn’t see any malice in Halley’s expression, only a certain watchfulness, as if she hadn’t quite made up her mind about Faith.

"It hasn’t been a bowl of cherries," she replied, and decided she could be as frank as the other woman. "I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but Gray Rouillard won’t like it if he finds out you’ve served me. I gather he’s put out the word to all the merchants that he doesn’t want them doing business with me."

"Oh, I’ve heard," Halley said, and grinned, some of the watchfulness fading. "But I like to make up my own mind about people."

"I don’t want to cause trouble for you."

"You won’t. Gray isn’t vindictive." She paused. "I can see where you might not agree with me. Granted, I wouldn’t want him for an enemy, but he won’t turn mean just because you ate some chicken salad in here."

"Everyone else in town seems to take him seriously."

"He has a lot of influence," Halley agreed.

"But not with you?"

"I didn’t say that. It’s just that I remember you from school. You weren’t like the others. If it had been Jodie, now – she wouldn’t be sitting here waiting for her chicken salad. You’re welcome any time, though."

"Thanks, but let me know if there’s a problem."

"I’m not worried about it." Halley smiled as the waitress set the plate of chicken salad on the table. "If he’d meant to be a hard-ass about it, he’d have said so. One thing about Gray, you don’t have to second-guess him. He says what he means, and means what he says."

Alex Chelette’s secretary was still Andrea Wallice, according to the nameplate on her desk. The woman sitting behind the desk was comfortably fiftyish, her face wearing every one of the years, her gray hair styled in a short, neat bob. Looking at her, trying to subtract a dozen years, Faith still couldn’t imagine her as the type of woman Guy Rouillard would pursue. His taste had run toward the flamboyant, not this tidy woman with the openly curious gaze.

"You look like your mother," Andrea finally said, her head tilting a bit to one side as she studied Faith’s face. "A few differences, but for the most part you could be her, especially in your coloring."

"Did you know her?" Faith asked.

"Only by sight." She gestured to the sofa. "Have a seat. Alex hasn’t come back from lunch yet."

Just as Faith sat down, the door opened and a slim, good-looking man entered. He was wearing a suit, an oddity in Prescott, unless one happened to be an attorney who had been at the courthouse all morning. He glanced toward Faith and visibly started, then relaxed, and a smile touched his mouth. "You must be Faith. God knows, you couldn’t be anyone else, unless Renee discovered the Fountain of Youth."

"That’s what I thought," Andrea said, turning to him, and for a moment the expression in her eyes was unguarded. Faith quickly looked down. From what she had just seen, she very much doubted that Andrea had ever been involved with Guy, because she was very much in love with her boss. She wondered if Mr. Chelette knew, and just as quickly decided that he didn’t. There was no hint of awareness on his part.

"Come in," he invited, ushering Faith into his office ahead of him, and closing the door. "I know we must seem rude, discussing you that way. I’m sorry. It’s just that the resemblance is so pronounced, and yet, on second glance, the differences are obvious."

"Everyone seems to have that reaction when they see me for the first time," she admitted, and smiled at him. It was very easy to smile at Alex Chelette. He was the type of man whom age refined; always slim, he would pare down even more with the passing years. His dark hair had grayed at the sides, and there were lines at the corners of his gray eyes, but he easily looked to be in his mid-forties, rather than his fifties. His scent was light green, as fresh as newly cut grass.

"Sit down, please," he said, and settled into his own chair. "What can I do for you today?"

Faith seated herself on the leather sofa. "Actually, I came on personal reasons, and I realize now I shouldn’t have taken up your work time – "

He shook his head, smiling. "It’s my pleasure. Now, tell me what’s bothering you. Is it Gray? I tried to get him to leave you alone, but he’s very protective of his mother and sister, and he doesn’t want them upset."

"I understand Gray’s position very well," Faith said dryly. "That isn’t why I’m here."

"Oh?"

"I wanted to ask you some questions about Guy Rouillard. You were his best friend, weren’t you?"

He gave her a faint smile. "I thought so. We grew up together."

Should she tell him that Guy hadn’t, after all, left with Renee? She toyed with the idea, then discarded it. As friendly as he seemed, she couldn’t forget that he was an old family friend of the Rouillards. She had to assume that anything she told him would go straight to Gray.

"I’m curious about him," she finally said. "That night wrecked my family, just as it did Gray’s. What was he like? I know he wasn’t faithful to my mother any more than he was to his wife, so why would he all of a sudden walk away from everything, his family, his business, to be with her?"

"I don’t think you really want me to answer that," he replied wryly. "To put it as politely as I can, Renee was a fascinating woman, at least to men. Physically she was… well, Guy was very responsive to Renee’s sensuality."

"But he was already having an affair with her. There wasn’t any reason for them to leave."

Alex shrugged, a very Gallic gesture. "I’ve never understood it myself."

"Why didn’t he just get a divorce?"

"Again, I don’t have an answer for that. Perhaps because of his religion; Guy wasn’t a regular at mass, but he felt more strongly about religion than you might have expected. Perhaps he thought it would be easier on Noelle if he didn’t divorce her, if he just handed everything over to Gray and left. I simply don’t know."

"Hand everything over to Gray?" Faith repeated. "What do you mean?"

"I’m sorry," he said gently. "I can’t divulge details of my clients’ business dealings."

"No, of course not." Quickly she backtracked. "Do you remember anything else about that summer? Who else Guy was seeing?"

He looked startled. "Why would you want to know?"

"Like I said, I have an interest in the man. Because of him, I haven’t seen my mother since that day. Was he likeable? Did he have any honor, or was he just a tomcat?"

He stared at her for a moment, and pain crept into his eyes. "Guy was the most likeable man in the world," he finally said. "I loved him like a brother. He was always laughing, teasing, but if I needed him for anything, he was there like a shot. His marriage to Noelle was a disappointment to him, but still I was surprised when he left, because he was so close to Gray and Monica. He was a terrible husband, but a wonderful father." He looked down at his hands. "It’s been twelve years," he said softly. "And I still miss him."

"Did he ever call?" she asked. "Or get in touch with his family in any way?"

He shook his head. "Not to my knowledge."

"Who else was he seeing that summer, besides Yolanda Foster?"

Once again, her question startled him. His eyebrows rose, and rebuke was in his voice when he spoke. "None of that matters. As I keep telling Gray, it’s in the past; let it go. There was a lot of pain that summer, and keeping it alive doesn’t do anyone any good."

"I can’t let it go, when no one else in the parish will. No matter how successful I am, or respectable, some people here still think of me as trash." Her voice trembled a little on the last word. She hadn’t meant to let her control waver, and she was both embarrassed and irritated that it had. Sometimes, though, the pain leaked through.

Alex must have heard it, because his expression changed, and suddenly he left his chair to come sit beside her and take one of her hands in both of his. "I know it’s been difficult for you," he said gently. "They’ll change their minds, when they get to know you better. And Gray will eventually relent. As I said, he reacted the way he did because he’s so protective of his family, but basically he’s a very fair man."

"And ruthless," Faith added.

A rueful smile touched his face. "That, too. But not unkind. Take my word for it. If there’s anything I can do to change his mind, I promise you I’ll do it."

"Thank you," Faith said. That wasn’t why she’d come to see him, but he was too conscientious to divulge personal details about his clients and friends. The visit wasn’t a total waste, however, she felt she could safely mark Andrea Wallice off her list.

She took her leave, and drove home pondering the scraps of information she’d gotten that day. If Guy had been murdered, Lowell or Yolanda Foster seemed to be the most likely suspects. She wondered how she could contrive a meeting with either of them. And she wondered where Mr. Pleasant was, and if he was all right.

"I met Faith today," Alex said that night as he and Gray were-going over some papers. He picked up his brandy and keenly eyed the younger man over the rim of the glass. "The resemblance is eerie, at first glance, but by the second look there’s no way of mistaking her for Renee. Odd, isn’t it, the way Renee was more beautiful, but Faith is more attractive?"

Gray glanced up, wry awareness in his dark eyes as he caught the expression in Alex’s gray ones. "Yes, I’ve noticed how attractive she is, if that’s what you’re asking. Where did you meet her?" He picked up his own glass, filled with his favorite Scotch, and savored the smoky bite of it on his tongue.

"At my office. She came to ask me about Guy."

Gray almost choked. He set his glass down with a force that made the whisky slosh dangerously close to the rim. "She what? What in hell did she want to know about Dad?" The thought of Faith asking anything about his father made him bitterly angry. It was a knee-jerk reaction; for a moment she wasn’t Faith, the person, but a Devlin, with all the connotations elicited by the name. He himself wanted her with a fierce need that both alarmed and disgusted him, even though he knew he was going to ease that need if possible, but he didn’t want anything about her touching his family. He didn’t want Monica or Noelle exposed to her, and he sure as hell didn’t want her asking about his father. Guy was gone. His absence, his betrayal, was a wound that remained perilously close to the surface, and bled at the slightest scratch.

"She wanted to know what he was like, had he ever gotten in touch, if he’d been seeing anyone else that summer."

Furious, Gray half rose from his chair, intending to go to her house right now and have it out with her. Alex stopped him with a hand on his arm. "She has a right to know," he said mildly. "Or at least to be curious."

"I’ll be goddamned if she does!" Gray snapped.

"She hasn’t seen her mother since then, either."

Gray froze, then sank back into the chair. Alex was right, damn it. It rankled, but he had to admit the truth. At least he’d been a grown man, if inexperienced in business, when his father had left; Faith had been only fourteen, as helpless and vulnerable as a child. He didn’t know anything about her life between then and now, except that she was a widow and now owned a successful travel agency, but he’d bet his last red cent it hadn’t been pleasant. Living with Amos Devlin and those two hoodlum boys, as well as her slut of a sister, couldn’t have been easy. It wouldn’t have been easy before, but at least Renee had been there.

"Let up on her, Gray," Alex said softly. "She deserves better than the reception she’s getting from some people, and part of it’s your fault."

Gray picked up the glass and swirled the whiskey, looking down into the amber depths. "I can’t," he said gruffly. He got up and carried his drink to the window, where he stood staring at his reflection in the glass, and the darkness beyond. He took another sip of fortification. "She has to go, before I do something that really hurts Monica and Mother."

"Such as?" Alex asked, puzzled.

"Let’s just say that, where Faith is concerned, I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. The rock is my family, and the hard place – " he looked around with a sort of angry amusement in his eyes " – is in my pants."

Appalled, Alex stared at him. "My God."

"It must be genetic." That was the only explanation for it, he thought grimly. He had inherited his father’s cock. Put a Devlin woman in front of it, and it got hard. No, not just any Devlin woman; two of them had left him cold. But Faith… Nothing about him was cold if she was anywhere within a country mile.

"You can’t do that to your mother," Alex whispered. "The humiliation would kill her."

"Hell, I know that! That’s why I want Faith to leave, before I do something stupid." He turned to face Alex, that angry amusement still burning in his eyes. "The attraction isn’t all on my side, damn it. It’d be easier if it was. I went to her house the other night to put a proposition to hen If she didn’t want to leave the area, I’d buy a house for her in any town close by, as long as it wasn’t in this parish. That way we could see each other without hurting anyone. There was an old man there, having dinner with her, and I was so jealous, I accused her of having a sugar daddy." He shook his head, and laughed softly at himself. "Can you believe it? The old guy looked as frail as a toothpick, but he was all dressed up like something out of the fifties, and all I could think was that he was trying to get her in bed."

"What old guy?" Alex asked, plainly curious. "Anyone I know?"

"He was from New Orleans. His last name was Pleasant. I was so mad, I don’t remember if she told me his first name. He said he was a business associate."

"Was he?"

Gray shrugged. "Probably. Faith owns a travel agency, and she has a branch in New Orleans."

"She owns it?"

"She’s done pretty good for herself, hasn’t she?" There it was again, that damn little twinge of pride. "She started out in Dallas. I don’t know how many branch offices she has, but I have someone gathering information on her. I expect to have a report any day."

"Are you going to try to ruin her business if she doesn’t leave?" Alex asked, but less sharply than Gray had expected.

"No. For one thing, I’m not that big of a bastard. For another, if I did, I could kiss my chances with her goodbye." His mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Decide for yourself which reason is the most important."

Alex didn’t smile in return. "This is a hell of a situation. If you’re bound and determined to have her – "

"I am," Gray said, and tossed back the last of the whiskey.

" – then she can’t live here. Noelle would be devastated."

"I’m worried more about Monica than I am Mother."

Alex blinked, as if he hadn’t considered Monica. He probably hadn’t; all of his attention was focused on Noelle. He knew about Monica’s suicide attempt, of course; it hadn’t been possible to keep it quiet, not with all the commotion at Dr. Bogarde’s office. Monica didn’t try to hide the scars, anyway. She was too proud to let herself take the cowardly route of long sleeves or wide bracelets.

"Monica is a lot stronger than she was then," Alex finally said. "But Noelle doesn’t have anything to fall back on. I thought at the beginning, and still do, that she should face up to facts and get on with her life, but if she found out you were having an affair with Faith – no. She couldn’t stand it. She might try suicide herself."

Gray shook his head, amazed that Alex could have known Noelle all these years and still not realized that she was too self-centered to harm herself. The myopia of love allowed him to see only her cool, perfect, unattainable beauty. It was that romantic streak in him, a strange characteristic for a lawyer.

"She has to go," Alex said regretfully.