The corral floated into view, glazed by afternoon sun. Marge Schwinn stood in the center of the ring, wearing a faded denim shirt, tight jeans and riding boots, her back to me. Talking to a big stallion the color of bittersweet chocolate. Nuzzling the animal, stroking its mane. The sound of my tires crunching the gravel made her turn. By the time I was out of the Seville, she’d left the enclosure and was heading toward me.

“Well, hello there, Dr. Delaware.”

I returned the greeting, smiling and keeping my voice light. The first time I’d met her, Milo hadn’t introduced me by name or profession. Suddenly I felt good about the trip.

She pulled a blue bandana from her jeans pocket, wiped both hands, offered the right one for a firm, hard shake. “What brings you up here?”

“Follow-up.”

She pocketed the bandana and grinned. “Someone think I’m crazy?”

“No, ma’am, just a few questions.” I was looking into the sun and turned my head. Marge’s face was well shaded, but she squinted, and her eyes receded into a mesh of wrinkles. The denim shirt was tailored tight. Her breasts were small and high. That same combination of girlish body and old woman’s face.

“What kind of questions, Doctor?”

“For starts, have you thought of anything new since Detective Sturgis and I visited?”

“About . . . ?”

“Anything your husband might’ve said about that unsolved murder we discussed.”

“Nope,” she said. “Nothing about that.” Her eyes drifted to the corral. “I’d love to chat, but I’m kind of in the middle of things.”

“Just a few more things. Including a sensitive topic, I’m afraid.”

She clamped both hands on hard, lean hips. “What topic?”

“Your husband’s drug addiction. Did he overcome his habit by himself?”

She dug a heel into the dirt and ground it hard. “Like I told you, by the time I met him, Pierce was past all that.”

“Did he have any help getting there?”

A simple question, but she said, “What do you mean?” She’d maintained the squint, but her eyes weren’t shut tight enough to conceal the movement behind the lids. Quick shift down to the ground, then a sidelong journey to the right.

Another bad liar. Thank God for honest people.

“Did Pierce have any drug treatment?” I said. “Was he ever under the care of a doctor?”

“He really didn’t talk about those days.”

“Not at all?”

“He was past it. I didn’t want to rake things up.”

“Didn’t want to upset him,” I said.

She glanced over at the corral again.

I said, “How did Pierce sleep?”

“Pardon?”

“Was Pierce a sound sleeper or did he have trouble settling down at night?”

“He was pretty much a—” She frowned. “These are strange questions, Dr. Delaware. Pierce is gone, what difference does it make how he slept?”