Bree was a beautiful woman, despite being almost brittlely thin. There was an old-fashioned fragility about her sharply cut features and translucent complexion. Lucy could see her in Victorian dress, that long neck rising out of a high lace collar, auburn hair caught up on her head. Something told her the woman was carrying a boatload of trouble on her thin shoulders. But how did Toby fit into the picture?

It was none of her business, and she shouldn’t have given in to the impulse to invite Toby to the house, but as soon as she’d heard that his grandmother was dead, she couldn’t help herself. Gutsy kids were her weakness. Right along with throwing herself at the first man she’d met after she pulled her runaway act.

She rounded the last curve, held her breath, and turned into the drive.

His car was gone. She’d never have to see him again.

As she leaned the bike against the back of the house, she wondered if jumping into bed with Panda had been her twisted way of justifying running from her wedding. She couldn’t have found a better way to prove to herself how unworthy she was to marry a man like Ted. Both a comforting and a disturbing thought. It would explain why she’d acted so out of character, but it was hardly a positive reflection on her character.

Determined to file away that short, painful chapter of her life forever, she let herself into the house with the key she’d unearthed from a broken wicker basket buried underneath expired pizza coupons, outdated ferry schedules, dead flashlight batteries, and a ten-year-old island phone book. She headed for the kitchen and found Toby sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal.

“Do make yourself at home,” she drawled. The German coffeemaker had been freshly rinsed out, and she doubted Toby had done it. Other than that, she saw no signs that Panda had been here.

Toby gave her his customary hostile glare. “How much are you going to pay me?”

“How much are you worth?”

He munched another spoonful of Cheerios. “A lot.”

“I’ll pay you by the job. Now hand over that house key you’ve been hanging on to.”

He was all bravado. “I don’t need a key to get in here.”

“Right. You used your Spidey powers.” She marched over to him and held out her hand.

He scratched a mosquito bite on his arm, and she could see him trying to decide whether to brazen it out, but he finally dug into his shorts’ pocket. After he’d given her the key, he poked his spoon around in the cereal. “How come you’re not mad about my grandmother?”

“Who says I’m not mad?”

“You don’t look mad.”

“I’m good at hiding my feelings. Serial killers learn to do that.”

“You’re a serial killer?”