“Keeping busy.” I moved to step around him, but he shifted toward my path.

“I’d like you to stay a little longer.”

“I can’t, David.”

As if I hadn’t spoken, he said, “From the pictures Brit showed me, I can see that you and Clare aren’t totally identical. I’d have to look closely, but when I do, I see your eyes are slightly wider. Your lips are fuller.”

“David, you need to move.” I sidestepped to the left, but he blocked me with his arm.

“I want to show you something.”

“I really have to go.”

“It’ll just take a second.” He backed up until he reached the open bedroom door.

I didn’t move at first. Yes, I was closer to the front door, but also closer to his bedroom.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “I don’t bite.”

I inched close enough to see the neatly made bed and above it the print I’d sold from my art show. My stomach tumbled. Blood drained from my head. “You bought my print.”

“I did.” He sounded proud, pleased with himself.

“We met at the bar,” I said.

“That’s right.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I haven’t told Brit this, but you were drinking when I arrived. Well on your way to drunk.”

“That’s not true.”

“I’m afraid it is. After the sale, I was worried about you. I followed you. I told you not to drive, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“No.”

“I followed. You hit the pole.”

I scrambled through my memory, gathering all the fragments I’d remembered. What he was saying could fit. I could have had a slip. But I shook my head. “I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t worry—I’ll never tell Brit.”

My phone rang, startling us both. I stepped back and answered, “Yes, hello?”

“It’s Jo-Jo.” She sounded breathless.

“Jo-Jo. What can I do for you?”

“I’m calling,” she said.

“Of course I can meet you at my apartment.” I cupped my hand over the phone. “It’s Jo-Jo, Jack’s wife.”

David frowned, took a step to the right, freeing more of a path for me.

“Sure,” I said quickly. “I’m just visiting with David Welbourne at his home. Where’re you?”

“I’m driving to your place,” she said.

David’s eyes sharpened. The outside world had pierced this little bubble of ours, stunning him briefly. I dashed through the narrow space separating David and the wall and hurried across the living room to the front door. “Jo-Jo, I’m ten minutes away.”

I yanked open the front door, savoring the cool air sweeping across my flushed cheeks. I hurried down the stairs, the uneven paint skimming under my palms as I took the steps two at a time. I heard his footsteps behind me, not running but moving with quick, determined strides.