She was still catching her breath when her secretary thrust the telephone at her. “He’s been calling since nine,” she said, exasperated. “He won’t give his name.”

“I’ll take it in my office.” Lillian closed the door and grimaced at the flashing white light. Then, inhaling deeply, she picked up the receiver. “Lillian Parker.”

“Lil.”

She shut her eyes at the sound of the familiar gruff voice. “Crockett.” She tried to add buoyancy to her tone, as if she were glad to hear from him. “How are you?”

“Alive. Got the magazine, Lil. You want to tell me why you sent it?”

She pictured the old man on his windswept island off the coast of Maine, on his sun porch, the screens still on, as the brisk, cutting wind swirled around him. Lillian had told him often enough he’d catch pneumonia one of these days, but she knew he didn’t care. In so many ways, J. Land Crockett had died a long time ago.

“Just spur of the moment, I guess,” she said.

“No note. No explanation. Lil, I know you better than that.”

Her head had begun to throb. She’d known Crockett since she was twelve. A long time, she thought— for both of them. But never had she willingly done anything to hurt him. She rubbed her forehead with two fingers. “Crockett, please—”

“I laid the past to rest, Lil.”

So he knew. “I shouldn’t have upset you, Crockett. I apologize.”

“Too late to be sorry—and no need. Never asked for anyone’s pity, don’t want it now. What I want, Lil, is your help.”

“I don’t think we should interfere,” she said, hearing the plea in her words. “Crockett, there’s no point. I’ve been thinking, and maybe it’s best just to let this ride. I shouldn’t have sent you that magazine.”

“But you did, Lil. And I saw it, anyway, before you sent it. I wondered if you would. You want answers just as much as I do. Don’t try to deny it: I know you too well. Look, all I want is to meet this girl.”

“Ashley Wakefield? Oh, Crockett. She’s under tremendous media attention right now, and if they find out you want to meet her—”

“You let me worry about that, Lil.”

“I don’t want to get involved with this.”

But her voice quavered, and she could hear the old man’s sharp intake of breath. “Something you haven’t told me, Lil? If there is, spit it out now.”

She tensed: Crockett had known her far too long and far too well. He was a quick, accurate, nasty judge of character. “No, of course there isn’t.”

He chuckled. “You never could lie. But you’ll talk to me when you’re ready, Lil.” The chuckle grew smug. “You always do.”

“I don’t know what your game is, Crockett.”

“Hell, this isn’t a game. Isn’t a damn thing fun about it.”

She sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“I do, indeed. And it’s simple, Lil: I want to know who in hell that girl is.”