Gary sat down in the old armchair again and swirled the wine in his glass. 'I did hear about it. Terrible.'
'She was from Door County. That's not far away.'
'No, it's not.'
'I saw her picture in the paper. I think I saw the girl in the hotel.'
'Really? You saw her?'
'Yeah, what about you? Do you remember her?'
Gary shook his head. 'No.'
'I suppose when you're around a couple hundred teenage girls, they all start to look alike.'
'If she was on one of the other teams, I'm sure I would have noticed her.'
'Yeah, probably. It makes you think, huh? Sounds like she was killed on the beach on Saturday night. I was too keyed up to sleep, so I was just lying in bed. If only I'd been looking out the window, you know? Maybe I would have seen something.'
'Well, you can hardly blame yourself, Amy,' Gary told her.
'Oh, yeah, I know.' She added, 'I never sleep well at the end of a competition. What about you?'
'I'm the same way. I toss and turn.'
'Yeah, my room was next to yours. I thought I heard you coming in late. I figured you couldn't sleep either.'
Gary got an odd little smile on his face. 'You must have heard somebody else. I was in my room all night.'
'Really? I was sure I heard your door open and close.'
'I left to get ice at one point. I forgot about that. That's probably what you heard.'
'Sure.'
Gary's eyes were steady; he stared back at her without blinking. His voice was calm, not speeding up, not getting louder. He didn't show any outward signs of guilt or suspicion. Even so, Amy was convinced he wasn't telling her the truth. His explanations came too quickly and too easily. It was almost as if he'd been anticipating her questions and had been practicing all the right answers to deflect her concerns.
With each sip of wine, she found herself getting a headache. She didn't drink much, and she put the glass down, not wanting to make it worse.
'It was a beautiful hotel,' she continued.
'Gorgeous. Very elegant.'
'I was in the pool so much I thought I was going to grow gills,' she said, giggling. That was a lame joke. Why did she say that?
'Yes, I remember seeing you there. You look pretty damn good in a swimsuit.' He smiled at her. His eyes glittered.
'That was my power bikini,' she said, laughing too loudly. 'Didn't I see you talking to a girl by the pool on Saturday night?'
'I don't recall.'
'It wasn't one of the Green Bay girls, so that's why I noticed.'
'If you say so, Amy,' he told her, still smiling.
'You were wearing your white Phoenix T-shirt.'
'Well, lots of men wear white T-shirts down there.'
'Yeah, I guess.'
Gary's phone began ringing. He glanced at the caller ID. 'I'm sorry, I need to take this call. It could take me a couple minutes, do you mind? Make yourself comfortable.'
Amy waved a hand at him. 'No problemo. It's a great old house. Mind if I look around?'
'Go ahead,' he said. 'Don't look at the dirty underwear on the floor, though.'
He answered his phone as he left the living room. As he had before, he exited through the foyer and headed to the kitchen. Amy followed. She was angry with herself for drinking, because she could feel the wine going to her head. The room spun, and she shook herself in order to focus. She could hear Gary's voice on the other side of the swinging door.
Holding the banister, she ran up the curving steps. She put her foot wrong twice and had to steady herself to keep from falling. At the landing, she swayed. She licked her lips, studying the rooms upstairs. To her left, through an open doorway, she saw a large master bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it had dark, grim decor, with deep red wallpaper and heavy curtains shutting out the light. A Tiffany lamp by the bed cast a pale yellow glow around the room.
Just as Gary said, the room was messy. His clothes were in a pile near the closet. He hadn't unpacked from the trip, and his suitcase was shoved against a wall. It was open. She bent over it and slid to her knees. Her headache was worse. She rubbed her forehead and realized she was sweating. She dug through the items that had been dumped in the suitcase, pushing through dirty clothes. She saw handwritten notes on the dance competition on a yellow pad. Two hardcover books on sports. A camera. A pair of binoculars.
When she lifted up a pair of men's safari shorts, she noticed a fringe of pink lace pushing out of a side pocket. She used the tip of one finger to extract what was inside, and she discovered a pair of thong panties. They were flimsy and sexy. As she dangled them on her finger, she also noticed the white T-shirt that Gary had worn by the pool on Saturday night. She picked up the shirt and put her nose close to it. It smelled of sun block and sweat, but more than that, she also caught a strong briny aroma of salt water.
'Amy?'
It was Gary, downstairs, calling up to her.
'I'll be right there.'
She froze with the clothing in her hands, wondering if she should steal it for the police. Sooner or later, he would wash the shirt. The panties? He'd find them and throw them away. She hung on to the clothes as she tried to decide what to do. The gears in her brain weren't functioning. She felt the room spinning again, and she grew dizzy as she got to her feet.
'You OK, Amy?'
'Uh, yeah,' she called. 'I have to use the bathroom.'
She returned to the hallway and saw an open door on the other side of the stairs that led to a toilet. She went inside and closed the door behind her. She nearly fell against the door as she did, and when she tried to twist the lock, her fingers slipped. She winced as her head throbbed. She spotted a floor-length linen closet, and without thinking, she opened the door and shoved the thong and the T-shirt inside, hidden under a stack of clean towels.
Amy dug in her pocket for her phone.
Hilary sat at the kitchen table of Terri Duecker's condo in Fish Creek, with a mug of blackberry tea steeping in front of her, sending up a warm cloud of steam. She knew the rental cottage well. It was their winter residence on weekdays, when the ferries didn't run late enough to take them home. Right now, it felt empty and too quiet, and she was conscious of being alone. She knew she'd made a mistake. An immature, impetuous mistake.
She'd driven to the ferry after meeting Peter Hoffman, but she'd watched it leave, rather than driving on to the deck. Fifteen minutes later, she'd called and lied to Mark and said she'd missed it. Cab Bolton was right. She never missed a ferry. If she was anything in life, she was organized and efficient about her schedule.
Terri had looked at her strangely when Hilary returned to Fish Creek, but she didn't ask any questions. She'd simply said, 'Sure,' when Hilary asked if she could stay in the condo for the night. Her face full of concern, she'd also asked if Hilary needed anything, and Hilary had lied again and said no. In truth, she needed her faith back. She needed Mark. She needed to know the truth.
He'd called twice, and she'd ignored the call both times. She didn't want to talk to him until she knew what she was going to say. Now, in the silent apartment, with the aroma of her tea wafting through the kitchen, she realized she was ducking the hard path and hiding from what she had to do. She was also making a mistake she'd long ago sworn never to make, by judging Mark based on what someone else said, instead of relying on her own instincts.
She picked up her cell phone, which was lying next to the mug of tea in front of her. She punched the speed
