“Lily,” said a gravelly voice next to my ear. When I opened my eyes, Bruxton was kneeling on the floor.

“He switched the records,” I blurted out. “Brenda Collins didn’t die. Claudia did.”

There was a flicker of understanding in his eyes. He touched my hair, murmured something, and held me against him so that all I heard was his heartbeat. Then he gently lifted me to my feet, keeping his arms around me. “Don’t say one word till we get you a lawyer,” he whispered.

“Jesse banged on the door. Herrold thought it was the police. He shot himself.” I recited the facts, though none of it really made sense to me. Claudia was gone and nothing would bring her back now.

“Lily, stop talking.”

“I didn’t shoot him.”

“Please shut up, Lily.” He stroked my hair and said more than my brain could take in.

Later, at the police station, what Bruxton said made sense. Though the ballistics expert and investigators agreed Herrold’s death was a probable suicide, the fact that I was in the house when it happened made me a suspect. My lawyer turned up, bow-tied and folksily cheery, but when it came time to get down to business, the man was a hammer. As I stared into space and saw Claudia’s face hovering there, he dealt with the police. Thirty minutes later I was out the door of the station, with Jesse hugging me and a warning from the cops that I needed to apprise them of my whereabouts, should they need me for further questioning. My lawyer shook my hand and told me everything would be all right. Then he hugged Jesse and told him how much he missed him.

“That’s Ted’s dad,” Jesse explained as the lawyer walked away. “Ted might be a piece of trash, but his family are some of the finest folks I ever met.”

Bruxton joined us. “I have to stay here a while.” He lit a cigarette, handed it to me, then fired up another for himself. “You two should head back to the city.”

“No. I want to stay. I want to see her body.”

“You don’t want to do that, Lily,” Bruxton said firmly. “It’s been three months. Seeing her won’t help.”

“I don’t want to leave her,” I begged.

“I know. We’ve got to sort out this mess, though. When we do, we’ll bring Claudia’s body back to New York, okay?” Bruxton sounded like he was negotiating with a morbid four-year-old. He tried to put his arm around me and I pulled away.

“It makes sense, Lil,” said Jesse. “Let’s get you home now. It’ll be okay.”

“How can it be okay? My sister is dead.”

“I’m sorry, Lil.” Jesse gave Bruxton a helpless look.