“Who killed him?” asked Mrs. Boswell, one of the regular customers.

  “I don’t know. I just heard about it from one of the boys who plays Frisbee golf at Olbrich Park every morning. It’s been on the news, but there’s nothing on the Lady of the Lakes.”

  Her blog’s name sent a jolt through Rachel. She put down the ketchup bottles and said, “Well, I’m sure it’ll be all over the Internet by tonight.”

  Patty was still lost in her reverie. “I’ve never known anybody who was murdered before,” she said, essentially to herself. “I didn’t really know Ling Hu, and Korbus didn’t mean to kill her. Gosh, I barely know anyone who’s died. Even most of my childhood pets are still alive.”

  “You live in a blessed state, child,” Mrs. Boswell said seriously.

  Rachel’s foggy consciousness tried to process this information. Whatever was wrong with her was not going away but seemed to be growing in intensity, putting distance between her and the world with every passing moment. It was almost as if Sylvia Plath’s symbolic bell jar had been lowered around her, smeared and stained and impenetrable, reducing the rest of the world to vague, almost unrecognizable shapes.

  And inside the jar, she could think of only one thing: him.

  “So where was he killed?” Rachel finally asked.

  “I told you already, at the park, where they had the big ceremony,” Patty said. “They found his body on one of the picnic tables.”

  Okay, focus, she told herself. The park. Where the old building was being torn down to make way for the new one. And both tasks were the responsibility of Ethan Walker. “Did you happen to hear anything about him?”

  “Him who?”

  Kyle, she almost said without thinking, but she caught herself. “Ethan Walker.”

  “Ethan? No. Why? Oh—right. But no, nobody mentioned him.”

  Rachel nodded. The others continued to discuss the murder while she took the full ketchup bottles and put them back in the refrigerator. The cold air seemed to penetrate the haze for a moment, and she realized how serious this was. Garrett Bloom was a mover and shaker; his death, especially by foul play, would send ripples in every direction.

  She opened the freezer and pressed an ice cube to the hollow of her throat. What was wrong with her?

  ETHAN CLIMBED THE hill to the curb without looking at the crime scene. It was blazingly hot, and he was starving. He’d had no breakfast or lunch, and wanted food, a shower, and a nap. His truck would be like a kiln, but he was glad it didn’t have vinyl seats like his first two cars.

  He unlocked the door just as another vehicle parked behind him. Julie Schutes emerged, dressed in a short skirt and summer blouse, her smooth flesh displayed to great advantage. She tossed her golden hair and said, “Well, hello there. Just the man I was after.”

  “Your timing sucks, then. I’m on my way home right now, so—”

  “Five minutes for old times’ sake,” she said, and threaded her arm through his before he could move away. “Walk me down to the scene of the crime.”

  “Marty’s still down there. You can talk to him.”

  “Ethan,” she said in almost a purr. Julie was a wildcat in bed, and when they dated that was the same tone she used to let him know she was in the mood.

  “Julie—” he protested, and pulled away.

  “C’mon, just walk down the hill with me.”

  “Why? Can’t you find the bottom on your own?”

  “What, are you afraid you can’t restrain yourself?”

  The heat made him quick to anger, but he controlled it. He would go along just to shut her up. Once she started talking to Marty, he should be able to get away. “All right,” he agreed.

  As they started down the slope, Julie said, “So, Mr. Walker, how does it feel to have another of your projects involved in a capital crime, like with the Arlin Korbus kidnappings?”

  “I’m not going on the record with you, Julie, so just turn off the tape recorder.”

  “You know I don’t record things. I do it the old-fashioned way.”

  “You make it up?”

  “Ouch. Why are you in such a bad mood?”

  “Because I’m tired. First my condo project was delayed because of that kidnapping, and now the guy who hired me for this job is found dead on the site.”

  She nodded toward the men in hard hats going about their tasks. “Doesn’t look like you’ve stopped this time.”

  “No. Not today, at any rate. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow.”

  They reached the yellow tape around the bloody picnic table. She pointed to a figure down by the lake, staring out at the water. “What’s Marty doing?”

  “You know how he is. He likes to think, to make sure he doesn’t overlook any details.” Ethan recalled how furious Marty had been after he realized the crucial clue in the kidnappings of five local women had been right in front of him all along.

  “Well, at least he’s got a prime suspect in this one,” Julie said.

  “He does?”

  “That guy who disrupted the ground-breaking ceremony. Kyle Stillwater. Everyone heard him threatening Bloom.”

  “I have no comment on that. Or about anything else. Now, if you’ll excuse me …” He pulled his arm free of her grasp and turned to leave.

  “Why are you so angry with me, Ethan? Is it because I went to see your girlfriend in the hospital?”

  He stopped and faced her. “She’s not my girlfriend. And yes, actually, that still kind of pisses me off.”

  “Do you know what we talked about? I’ll tell you. We talked about how she wasn’t good enough for you.”

  “And you are?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m better than her. I’m not some glorified fry cook.”

  “She owns her own business, Julie.”

  “She owns a cheap diner frequented by college students. I’ve seen it.”

  “Whatever. That has nothing to do with anything now.”

  “Then what about you and me?”

  “There is no ‘you and me.’ ”

  “Can I quote you on that?” And when he glared at her she added, “Oh, come on. I’m just teasing.”

  “Well, I’m not laughing.”

  She met his angry glare with her own. “I know she dumped you. And while I’m not saying I’ll take you back, I am saying I’m willing to talk about it. We make a good pair: the war hero businessman with the arm candy–worthy reporter by his side. Great for both our images.”

  “That’s not my definition of great.”

  “Okay, forget it. I’ll go talk to Marty. And don’t feel obligated to wait around and walk me to my car.”

  “I don’t.”

  She strode across the park, and he was delighted to realize that such an excellent backside no longer entranced him.

  THE DINER DOOR slammed open again. Startled, Helena gasped and dropped a lunch special on the floor. Rachel whirled toward the interloper, ready to lay into him. Then she froze.

  Becky Matre stood in the doorway. She leaned heavily on the frame, sobbing so hard she could barely stand. “Rachel,” she forced out.

  Rachel darted around the counter and caught her just as she was about to fall. Becky was shaking as if she’d just come in from a blizzard. “Becky, are you hurt?”

  Becky shook her head. “No, I … It’s … Garrett’s dead!”

  Rachel held her close and stroked her hair. “I know, sweetie, I heard.” She had heard, yet her hazy mind had completely forgotten this morning’s visit, when Becky confessed her love for the dead man. Then she realized the whole place was silent as everyone stared at them.

  Becky curled in on herself. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “Shh, honey, it’s all right,” Rachel said. “Let’s go upstairs so you can lie down.”

  Patty came over to help, but Becky angrily shrugged her off. Rachel gave her an apologetic look as she and her sister went up the narrow stairs to her apartment.

  EVERYONE IN THE diner stared after them in silence until they heard the door open, then close. Becky’s sobs were still audible through the ceiling.

  “I just wanted to help,” Patty said. The hatred she’d seen in Becky Matre’s eyes made her want to cry.

  “Don’t take it personally,” Helena said as she cleaned up the dropped order. “Becky’s a handful on a good day. She always has been.”

  “Why does Rachel put up with it?”

  Helena shrugged. “She’s family. You know?”

  “No. I’m an only child.”

  “Really? Well, like Mrs. Boswell said, you live in a blessed state. Be thankful.” Helena turned to the others. “Okay, show’s over. Don’t be rude and ask about it either. Who wants more coffee?”

  BECKY COLLAPSED ONTO the couch and continued to cry in long, keening sobs. Rachel poured a glass of wine and held it to her sister’s lips. Becky took several small sips between gulps of air.

  Rachel hadn’t seen Becky this upset since they were children. “Okay, honey, calm down and tell me what happened.”

  She expected a defensive bit of sarcasm, but evidently Becky was too shaken even for that. “Like I told you, I left Garrett a message, telling him how I feel about him. I know he heard it, he checks his voice mail every five minutes. And now … now he’s dead!” She began to wail again.

  “Where were you?”

  She sniffled, then looked up in surprise. “Me?”

  “When it happened?”

  “I was at home—where do you think?” Through the tears, her eyes blazed with familiar fury. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Honey, I just wondered.”

  She pushed Rachel away to the end of the couch. “You think I had something to do with it?”

  “No!”

  Becky jumped to her feet, fists clenched. “You do, don’t you?” Then her anger changed to fear, and she collapsed on the couch again. “Oh my God, if you do, then the police will, too, won’t they? When they hear that message … Maybe he deleted it? Can they get it back if he erased it?”

  Rachel reached for her hand. “I don’t think you had anything to do with it.”

  Becky looked at her desperately. “I didn’t! I swear! I can’t go to jail, I just can’t, I couldn’t bear it, I—”

  Rachel took her by the shoulders. “Rebecca, stop it. Take a deep breath.”

  Becky did her best to comply. Rachel brushed her sister’s hair back and asked, “Are you on any medication these days?”

  “Oh, now you think I’m a murderer and crazy too?”

  “No, because I was going to offer you a Xanax!” Rachel shouted. She forced herself to calm down. “I still have some from when I was in the hospital. I thought you might like one.”

  Becky started to snap out a reply, but she didn’t have the resolve. Instead she just collapsed inward, sinking into the couch and cradling her head.

  There was a soft knock on the door. It opened slightly, and Patty peeked in. Her voice shook with nervousness. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I wondered if I could do anything to help.”

  “No, she’s just upset,” Rachel said. “She got some terrible news.”

  Becky suddenly jumped up and pointed at Patty. “You wish she was your sister instead of me, don’t you? Well, you just get her out of here, you hear me? This is family, and it has nothing to do with her!”

  Patty stared, clearly shocked by this outburst. Rachel gently pushed Becky back onto the couch and said, “I’ll be down in a bit, Patty. Thanks for checking on us.”

  “Okay,” Patty said, her lower lip trembling.

  Rachel closed the door and whirled on Becky. She was hazy no longer. “If you ever talk like that to one of my friends again, especially in my own home, I’ll knock you across the room. There’s no excuse for that!”

  Becky slid from the couch to the floor, keening like an old woman. Rachel rolled her eyes, then helped her sister into the bedroom, onto the bed, and under the comforter. Becky curled up like a child, still whimpering, and Rachel drew the blinds and turned off the lights.

  “I’m going downstairs to make you something to eat,” she said from the door. “Just try to relax and rest. I’ll be right back.”

  “I loved him, Rachel,” she said between sobs.

  Rachel sighed. Despite it all, Becky’s ability to love with her whole being was something she envied. “I know, sweetie. I’m so sorry.”

  When she got downstairs, Michael Bublé blared from the CD player. Helena met her in the kitchen. “What the hell was that?” she hissed. “We could hear the shouting down here. I had to turn up the music.”

  Rachel turned down the volume as Patty emerged from the bathroom, her eyes red from crying. Rachel wrapped her in a hug. “I’m so sorry, Patty,” she said. “She’s just upset.”

  “No, it’s okay. I was intruding,” Patty said. She pulled away and managed a smile. “Look, I’m going to go. If you need me, call. Otherwise I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe.” She quickly departed.

  “So will Becky be staying with you for a while?” Helena asked.

  “I don’t know. She’s not in very good shape.”

  “And how is that anything new?”

  Rachel looked over sharply, but Helena just met her gaze. Helena had known Rebecca long enough to be able to make statements like that. “It’s not new,” Rachel said at last. “It’s just family.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  KYLE PARKED IN front of the small wooden house at the end of the dirt driveway. Laundry fluttered on the clothesline, and a pair of chickens skittered off when he opened the truck’s door. A thin woman with black hair opened the front door and pointed silently toward the barn. Kyle nodded.

  In the barn, Henry Hawes had some two-by-fours stretched across sawhorses and was cutting them to the same length. Henry was sixty years old, wide-shouldered, and short-haired. His Native American ancestry showed up mainly in his cheekbones and dark eyes. A big flop-eared mongrel licked himself at the man’s feet. Henry looked up, saw Kyle, and rocked back slightly on his heels.

  “You could answer your phone,” Kyle said.

  “Wouldn’t matter. I’d just tell you to come see me anyway,” Henry said. He narrowed his eyes and studied the younger man. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into, boy?”

  Kyle quickly ran down the events of the past few days—especially the things that he’d apparently done without knowing it. Henry listened until he finished, then slowly and deliberately rolled a cigarette.

  Kyle tried not to show his frustration. Henry was one of the few Native Americans who had supported his desire to become an actor, and Henry had interceded with Kyle’s parents on his behalf. Besides, rushing a man like Henry was like urging a glacier to hurry. The shaman took as long as he took.

  “You swam in Lake Wingra,” Henry said at last. “You know the stories about that place, right?”

  “I know lots of stories,” Kyle said defensively. “I don’t base my life around them.”

  “I do,” Henry said simply as he lit the cigarette. “There’s things in that lake. They were sent there long before we came along, for being evil and spiteful. They’re not happy about being there, but they can’t leave unless somebody carries them out.”

  “Carries how?”

  Henry touched his heart. “Inside.”

  “What, like demon possession?”

  “Exactly.”

  Kyle laughed—even though he instinctively knew this was true. “You’re telling me I’m possessed by a demon from Lake Wingra?”

  “Not a demon like the Christians describe but a spirit that’s evil because it wants to be. Because it likes it. It’s using you to cause pain, misery, confusion, and maybe even death.”

  Kyle stuck his hands in his pockets and looked out the barn door toward the house. The laundry was very colorful, very bright. “So you think I killed Garrett Bloom?”

  “Not you. The spirit. Using your hands.”

  “I don’t think the cops will appreciate that distinction.”

  “Or maybe it wasn’t you. It could’ve been something in the man’s life coming home to roost.”

  “So what do I do, Henry?”

  “I don’t know. I can see it around you, though, like a faint shadow. It’s growing stronger. And it’s learning its way around. Soon it won’t need you at all.”

  “So it’ll kill me too?”

  Again Henry touched his chest. “Not the way you mean. It’ll kill you here. Then it will walk the world with your face.”

  With that, the old man turned on the saw and applied it to the plank. And the shriek of metal cutting wood echoed the scream of despair in Kyle’s head.

  ETHAN’S STOMACH RUMBLED as he drove down East Washington toward home. He passed Rachel’s diner, but the sun’s glare made it impossible for him to see inside. She hadn’t returned either of his calls from the previous night, and she must’ve seen them by now. It was plain that she simply wasn’t interested. The combined ache of his stomach and his heart made him doubly sad as he drove on.

  He reached his office after a sandwich, a quick shower, and a change of clothes. Ambika stood the moment he walked in. “You might want to take a deep breath,” she said.

  He looked around. Nothing seemed out of place. “Why?”

  She nodded toward his inner office. “You have company.”

  “Who?”

  She pursed her lips, as if the name itself was unpleasant. “Vincent Anspach.”

  Ethan’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

  “Yes. He wants to change the purpose of your current building and make it into a shopping center. With his principal opponent out of the way, he figures it’s an ideal time.”

  “And he told you all this?”

  “No, he told me nothing. And he called me ‘sweetheart.’ But he’s been in there on his cellphone since he got here, and his voice carries.”

  As if on cue, a deep male voice said, “Harold, that’s great. Send it out as a news tip and see who bites. I’ll be available for comment tomorrow. Can’t make it too easy for them, can we?”

  “Oh God.” Ethan sighed.

  “Shall I bring you coffee?”