from some remote shore, spent.
'You're kidding? You really don't remember?' She handed him the ice pack. 'Don't just hold that--put it on your head.' Her red hair glinted. 'Is this lamp too bright for you?'
Haltingly this time, he shifted his position on the sofa, twisting his head to observe a small room clogged with heavy furniture. 'Where...?'
'Don't sit up yet.' She frowned. 'Maybe I should take you out to the med center after all.'
'No, no hospital.' He shook his head and instantly regretted it.
'Keep that blanket on. Do you feel like you're going to be sick?'
He started to shake his head again, then stopped himself with both hands.
'You sure?' she asked.
Not answering, he bent forward, as though about to pitch from the sofa.
She stared at the mat of his hair, at the broad fingers cradling his skull. 'You want to tell me what happened?'
'First...how did you get me?' Razor blue eyes flicked up at her. 'Sorry, I forget your name.'
'Kit.' She blinked. 'Officer Lonigan.' She pointed at the ice pack in his hand. 'You better put that where you need it, like I said.'
He pressed the ice pack behind his ear but at once removed it and gingerly explored the area with his fingers. The size of the lump made the air hiss out of his lungs.
'You're not going to faint on me or something, are you?'
'How did you...?'
'We got a complaint about somebody screaming. I pulled up just in time to catch you staggering out of an alley. You practically collapsed right into the jeep.' She sank back onto an armchair. 'You really don't remember? You talked about some pretty strange stuff.'
'I said something?' The ice pack slipped from his fingers to the carpet. 'Tell me.'
'Whoa--not so fast. Let's see. It sounded like 'I'm it' or something.' She studied his face. 'Yes, something like that. 'I'm it now.' I couldn't make out the rest. That mean something to you?'
For a moment, he seemed to suppress a shudder. 'What made you bring me here? This is your home, isn't it?'
'For one thing, I figured it was time we had a talk.' She rose to retrieve the ice pack, placing it in his hand. 'Listen, are you sure you're all right? Yes? Then you'd better tell me what's going on now.'
The room and what he could see of the kitchen beyond contained several isolated areas of intense disarray: the top of a bookshelf, the kitchen table, the windowsills. But the spaces between seemed vigorously organized, as though larger tributaries of disorder had been dammed at their sources. 'Nice place. Do I hear the ocean?' Finally, he sighed and rubbed at his mouth. 'Damn.' He pulled himself farther upright with a grunt. 'Can't talk with you standing over me that way.'
'All right.' She returned to her seat.
'To begin with...I used to be a cop.' Excruciatingly, he swiveled his head. 'You don't look surprised.'
'Should I be? After the way you pumped me the other night? For information, I mean.'
'But there's more, right?' He still steadied his head with his hands, but his voice grated determinedly. 'What else do you know?'
'You're smarter than you look.' She pursed her lips.
'And you don't seem so suspicious of me anymore either. Why is that?'
She folded her arms across her chest. 'Because I know who killed those people.'
'People?' Something moved in his face.
'Two others in the past six months'--she nodded--'both in towns not far from here. Don't try to act surprised. That's what brought you here, right?' She coughed once. 'Look, if you want to know what I've found out, you're going to have to level with me. I mean it.' Rising, she paced into the kitchen. 'After all, we're talking about three murders here.'
'More.'
She turned back.
'There will have been others.' His voice faded. 'The missing teenagers, the ones supposed to be runaways--did you know any of them?'
Silence beat like a drum. 'You can't mean...'
'At the hotel...how did you get onto me that first night?'
'Stacey called me from the bar. She said she'd had a strange customer, acting weird, and what with the body being found and all.' She shrugged. 'It just took me a few phone calls to find out where you were staying.' A damp hissing in the kitchen grew shrill. 'Tell me what you meant about...'
His jaw clenched. Speech seemed to require determined effort. 'Stacey often give you tips like that?'
'You're pumping me again.'
'Sorry.' He swayed slightly on the sofa.
'Are you going to talk to me or what?'
He pressed the ice pack harder against his head. The pitch of the whistle intensified, becoming a prolonged scream, and finally, she stalked away. The noise faded into a moaning sputter. Briefly, things rattled and chimed together; a moment later, she returned with two mugs and set them on the low table. 'How's your stomach?'
'My head,' he muttered.
'No nausea? Try to drink some of this. Do you take honey?'
Unsteadily, he lifted the cup, then just held it.
'We used to be close, Stacey and me.' Talking to fill the silence, she stirred her tea. 'But we've got nothing in common anymore. Sometimes I think she's on something.' She watched the steam. 'She works nights, maybe she needs it.'
On the balcony, dead plants rattled in the wind.
With a visible effort, he made himself take a sip of the tea. 'Interesting flavor. Dirt?'
'Ginseng. It's good for you.'
'Would have to be.' Gently, he swirled the pale liquid in his mug. 'You work nights too.'
'Different.' She shrugged.
He set the tea down. 'You remind me of...damn.'
'Bad?'
'Be all right in a second.' His face tightened. 'I notice I'm not under arrest.'
'So far.'
'Okay.' He sank back against the sofa. 'So what do you want from me?'
'It's your turn to talk, that's all.'
'Might be. Might be time to...tell somebody. Not that you'd believe me. But you're right about why I'm here. I want to stop it. Finally. If I can.' Softly, he repeated the words. 'Stop it finally.'
'It?'
'The killings.'
''Others,' you said.'
Stiffly, he nodded. The surface of the tea shimmered.
'Then why haven't I heard...?'
'Because mostly they get reported as disappearances.' He looked up at her. 'Kit, is it? Kit, if you've got any ideas that might help...'
'Are you sure you don't need...?'
'Just a twinge. I'm okay.'
'Your color's a bit better.' Frowning, she continued. 'Ramsey Chandler. That name mean anything to you?'
'Should it?'
'Isn't he the reason you're here?'
He blinked. 'Go on.'
'He used to live here in Edgeharbor.' She folded her arms. 'Son of Clinton Chandler, big developer who just about built this town. Our richest citizen, even back when the town was booming. These days, I doubt he has much
