“Yes, Mrs. Stevens. May I come in?”

A dark green Porsche careened into the driveway, and Jeremy jumped out and bounded across the lush front lawn. “Wakefield, what the hell are you doing?”

Elaine Stevens looked stunned. “You know Jeremy?”

“We’ve only just met,” Ashley said quickly. “If we could—”

Puffing angrily, Jeremy landed on the doorstep. His hair was flying. “I’m sorry, Elaine. You don’t have to talk to her. She has no right to disturb you.”

“I don’t understand.” Elaine glanced uncertainly at Jeremy. “If there’s something about Mac I should know—”

Jeremy opened his mouth to speak, but Ashley cut in smoothly, “There is, Mrs. Stevens. Your husband was at my family’s farm in Massachusetts last night.”

“Hell,” Jeremy said.

Elaine opened the door wide. “Why don’t you both come in?”

With a deadly look, Jeremy stepped past Ashley and went inside. She caught up with him, and he muttered furiously at her, “You just had to bring Elaine into this, didn’t you?”

“She’s a big girl, Jeremy.”

“Mac doesn’t want to involve her. In fact, he doesn’t want to involve you, which is why I was stupid enough to lie to you in the first place.”

She tossed her head airily. “I don’t give a damn what Mac Stevens wants.”

Elaine Stevens led them to a cozy oak kitchen at the back of the house. A double window looked out onto a deck and to the bay beyond, down the terraced hill. Ashley could see rooftops of other houses. There were lemon and avocado trees in the yard, and a vibrant flower garden at the border. Elaine invited them to sit at the round oak table. There was a vase of freshly cut pink roses in the middle on a handwoven mat.

“Stop it!” Elaine said sharply as she grabbed a sponge and began wiping the spotless counter top. Her tone softened. “Both of you—please.”

Jeremy adopted a conciliatory look, but turned with it to his colleague’s wife. “I was going to call you this morning, Elaine. I’ve seen Mac. He’s okay.”

Ashley was surprised by the quiet and depth of his tone, and she wondered if perhaps she’d misjudged him. Then he glared at her, and any sympathy she might have been developing for his position vanished. She said briskly, “Mrs. Stevens, as far as I know your husband is all right. Perhaps I should explain.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” Jeremy said under his breath.

“No, Jeremy,” Elaine argued. “I want to hear.”

Ashley turned her attention to Elaine Stevens. “By any chance, have you seen this week’s You?”

“Oh.” Elaine stopped, the sponge suspended in midair. “You’re the girl on the cover. Yes, that’s right. Ashley Wakefield. You’ll have to excuse me—I’m not usually so scattered.”

Jeremy went and stood beside her. “It’s all right, Elaine.”

She shut her eyes. “Oh, Jeremy.”

“Mrs. Stevens,” Ashley interrupted, her tone businesslike. “I think you’ll feel much better if you just hear me out. Sometimes what we imagine can be worse than the reality. In the You article was a snapshot of my uncle, Bartholomew Wakefield. Apparently your husband recognized him.”