I looked into the pot. Golden broth formed a bubbling home for carrots, celery, onions, slivers of white meat, wide noodles.

"Nothing," I said, moving behind her, cupping her waist, lowering my hands to her hips. I felt her go loose.

"This," I said, "is one of those great fantasies-he chances upon her as she cooks and, lusty stallion that he is ..."

She laughed, let out two soft breaths, leaned back against me. My hands rose to her breasts, loose and soft, unfettered by the thin fleece of the sweats. Her nipples hardened against my palms. My fingers slipped under the waistband of her pants. She inhaled sharply.

"You shrinks," she said, placing her hand over mine. Guiding it down. "Spending too much time on fantasy, not enough on reality."

Chapter 17

I woke up the next morning thinking about Mr. and Mrs. Argent's claim that Claire had chosen psychology because she wanted to nurture people. Yet she'd opted for neuro-psychology as a specialty, concentrating on diagnostics, avoiding treatment. On research diagnostics, charts and graphs, the hieroglyphics of science. She'd rarely ventured out of her lab. On the face of it, she'd nurtured nothing but data at County.

Until six months ago and the shift to Starkweather. Maybe Robin was right, and the move represented getting in touch with her altruism.

But why now? Why there'?

Something didn't fit. My head felt like a box full of random index cards. I circled the office, trying to collate. Robin and Spike were out, and the silence chewed at me. There had been a time, long ago, when I was content living alone. The knots and liberties of love had changed me. What had Claire experienced oflove?

The phone ring was glass shattering on stone.

"Small stuff first," said Milo. "Joseph Stargill's not quite as rich as he claimed, because some of his properties are mortgaged, but he still comes out over four mil in the black. His law practice brings in around a hundred and eighty K a year. If he's a greedy psychopath or he hated Claire's guts, I suppose three hundred K might motivate him, but I can't find evidence of either, and a probate lawyer tells me Stargill would have a hell of a time getting hold of that property. With no will, the state takes most of it and Claire's parents get the rest. Stargill's not off the suspect list completely; I still have to nose around about any bad investments he might have. But he's been kicked down several notches.