One of the problems with being a true blonde with fair skin, she mused, giving herself the hard eye in the mirror, was that after a jag she resembled someone who’d gotten a brutal sunburn, through cheesecloth.

She splashed some more, then wrung out a cold cloth. She gave herself ten minutes flat on her back on the bed, the cloth over her face, to let the meds and the cool do their job.

So she’d overreacted, she thought. Beat her with a brick.

She’d apologize to her father for sticking her nose in his business since he now had business he didn’t want her to stick her nose into.

And she damn well expected the same courtesy from a certain fastfooted, hotshot rookie, so he’d better come back safe.

She checked her face again, decided she’d do. Maybe she didn’t look her best, but she didn’t look as if she’d spent the last twenty minutes curled up on the floor, blubbering like a big baby.

On her way toward Operations to check on the status of the crews, she caught sight of Special Agent DiCicco walking toward her.

“Ms. Tripp.”

“Look, I know you’ve got a job to do, but we’ve got two loads out. I’m heading to Ops, and don’t have time to go over ground I’ve already gone over.”

“I’m sorry, but I will need to speak with you, as well as members of the crew and staff. The remains you discovered yesterday have been positively identified as Dolly Brakeman.”

“Hell.” Sick, Rowan pressed her forehead, and rubbed it side to side. “Oh, hell. How? How did she die?”

“Since some of those details will make the evening news, I can tell you cause of death was a broken neck, possibly incurred in a fall.”

“A fall? You’d have to fall really hard and really wrong. Not an accidental fall, not when she left her car one place and ended up in another.”

DiCicco’s face remained impassive, her eyes level. “This is a homicide investigation, coordinated with an arson investigation. Your instincts on both counts appear to have been right on target.”

“And being right makes me a suspect.”

“I’m not prepared to eliminate anyone as a suspect, but you have an alibi for the time frame. The fact is, you and the victim had an adversarial relationship. It’s an avenue I need to explore.”

“Explore away. Be Magellan. I didn’t look for trouble with her. If I could’ve punched her on the infamous day of the blood of the pigs, I would have. And she’d have earned it. I think she should’ve been charged for what she did to our equipment, and spent some quality time in jail. I don’t think she should’ve died for either of those offenses. She was—”

Rowan broke off as a truck roared in, fishtailing as it swerved in her direction. She grabbed DiCicco’s arm to yank her back even as DiCicco grabbed hers to do the same.

The truck braked with a shriek, spewed up clouds of road dust.

“Jesus Christ! What the hell are you...” She trailed off as she recognized the man leaping out of the truck as Leo Brakeman, Dolly’s father.

“My daughter is dead.” He stood there, meaty hands balled into white-knuckled fists at his sides, his former All-State left tackle’s body quivering, his face—wide and hard—reddened.

“Mr. Brakeman, I’m sorry for—”

“You’re responsible. There’s nothing left of her but burned bones, and you’re responsible.”

“Mr. Brakeman.” DiCicco stepped between Rowan and Brakeman, but Rowan shifted to the side, refusing the shield. “I explained to you that I and the full resources of my agency will do everything possible to identify your daughter’s killer. You need to go home, be with your wife and your granddaughter.”

“You’ll just cover it up. You work for the same people. My daughter would be alive today if not for that one.” When he pointed his finger, Rowan felt the raging grief behind it stab like a blade.

“She got Dolly fired because she couldn’t stand being reminded of how she let Jim Brayner die. She got her fired so Dolly had to drive all the way down to Florence to find work. If she didn’t kill my girl with her own hands, she’s the reason for it.

“You think you’re so important?” he raged at Rowan. “You think you can ride on your father’s coattails, and because your name’s Tripp you can push people around? You were jealous of my girl, jealous because Jim tossed you over for her, and you couldn’t stand it. You let him die so she couldn’t have him.”

“Leo.” L.B., with a wall of men behind him, moved forward. “I’m sorry about Dolly. Every one of us is sorry for your loss. But I’m going to ask you once to get off this property.”

“Why don’t you fire her? Why don’t you kick her off this base like she was trash, the way you did my girl? Now my girl’s dead, and she’s standing there like it was nothing.”

“This isn’t a good time for you to be here, Leo.” L.B. kept his voice low, quiet. “You need to go home and be with Irene.”

“Don’t tell me what I need. There’s a baby needs her ma. And none of you give a damn about that. You’re going to pay for what happened to my Dolly. You’re going to pay dear, all of you.”

He spat on the ground, slammed back into his truck. Rowan saw tears spilling down his cheeks as he spun the wheel and sped away.

“Ro.”

“Not now, L.B. Please.” She shook her head.

“Now,” he corrected, and put an arm firm around her shoulders. “You come inside with me. Agent DiCicco, if you need to talk to Rowan, it’s going to be later.”

DiCicco watched the wall of men close ranks like a barricade, then move into the building behind Rowan.

Inside, L.B. steered her straight to his office, shut the door on the rest of the men. “Sit,” he ordered.

When she did, he shoved his hands through his hair, leaned back on his desk. “You know Leo Brakeman’s a hard-ass under the best of circumstances.”

“Yeah.”

“And these are beyond shitty circumstances.”

“I get it. It has to be somebody’s fault, and Dolly blamed me for everything else, so I’m the obvious choice. I get it. If she told him—people—I was doing the deed with Jim before he tossed me over, why wouldn’t her father think I had it out for his kid? And just to clarify, Jim and I were never—”

“You think I don’t know you? I’ll be talking to DiCicco and setting her straight on that front.”

Rowan shrugged. Oddly she’d felt her spine steel up again under Brakeman’s assault. “She’ll either believe it or she won’t. It doesn’t matter. I’m okay, or close to being okay. You don’t have time to babysit me, L.B., not with our crews out.

“I’m sorry for Brakeman,” she said, “but that’s the last time he’ll use me as an emotional punching bag. Dolly was a liar, and her being dead doesn’t change that.”

She got to her feet. “I told you this morning I was fit and fine. That wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t completely true, either. Now it is. Nobody’s going to treat me like Dolly and her father have and make me feel bad about it. I’m not responsible for the baggage full of shit they’ve hauled around. I’ve got plenty of my own.”

“That sounds like you’re fit and fine.”

“I can help out in Ops if you want, or head up to the loft, see what needs doing there.”

“Let’s go see how our boys and girls are doing.”


DiCicco made her way to the cookhouse kitchen, found it empty, unless she counted the aromas she dubbed as both comforting and sinful. She started to move into the dining area when a movement out the window caught her eye.

She watched the head cook, Margaret Colby, weeding a patch of an impressive garden.

Marg looked up at the sound of the back door opening, pushed at the wide brim of the straw hat she wore over her kitchen bandanna.

“That’s some very pretty oregano.”

“It’s coming along. Are you looking for me, or just out for a stroll?”

“I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes. And to the other cook, Lynn Dorchester.”

“I let Lynn go on home for the afternoon since she was upset. She’ll be back around four.” Marg tossed weeds into the plastic bucket at her feet, then brushed off her hands. “I could use some lemonade. Do you want some?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“If it was, I wouldn’t be getting it. You can have a seat there. I spend enough time in the kitchen on pretty days, so I take advantage of being out when I can.”

DiCicco sat in one of the lawn chairs, contemplated the garden, the lay of the land beyond it. The big hangars and outbuildings, the curve of the track some distance off. And the rise and sweep of the mountains dusted with clouds.

Marg came out with the lemonade, and a plate of cookies with hefty chocolate chunks.

“Oh. You hit my biggest weakness.”

“Everybody’s got one.” Marg set the tray down, sat comfortably and toed off her rubber-soled garden shoes.

“We heard it was Dolly. I let Lynn go as it hit her hard. They weren’t best of friends, Dolly didn’t have girlfriends. But they’d worked together awhile now, and got along all right for the most of it. Lynn’s got a soft core, and punched right into it.”

“You worked with Dolly for some time, too. Were her supervisor.”

“That’s right. She could cook—she had a good hand with it, and she never gave me a problem in the kitchen. Her problem was, or one of them, was she looked at sex as an accomplishment, and as something to bargain with.”

Marg picked up a cookie, took a bite. “The men around here, they’re strong. They’re brave. They’ve got bodies you’d be hard-pressed not to notice. Dolly wasn’t hard-pressed.

“A lot of them are young, too,” she continued, “and most all of them are away from home. They’re going to risk life and limb and work like dogs, sometimes for days at a time in the worst conditions going. If they get a chance to roll onto a naked woman, there’s not many who’d say no thanks. Dolly gave plenty of them a chance.”

“Was there resentment? When a woman gives one man a chance, then turns around and gives the same chance to another, resentment’s natural.”

“I don’t know a single one who ever took Dolly seriously. And that includes Jim. I know she said he was going to marry her, and I know she was lying. Or just dreaming. It’s kinder to say just dreaming.”

Though he’d used different words, L.B. had stated the same opinion.

“Was Jim serious about Rowan Tripp?”

“Ro? Well, she helped train him as a recruit, and worked with him....” Marg trailed off as the actual meaning of serious got through. Then she sat back in the chair and laughed until her sides ached. She waved a hand in the air, drank some lemonade to settle down.

“I don’t know where you got that idea, Agent DiCicco, but if Jim had tried to get serious with Ro, she’d’ve flicked him off like a fly. He flirted with everything female, myself included. It was his way, and he was so damn good-natured about it. But there was nothing between him and Ro but what’s between all of them. A kind of friendship I expect war buddies understand. Added to it, Rowan’s never gotten involved with anybody in her unit—until this season. Until Gulliver Curry. I’m enjoying watching how that one comes along.”

“Leo Brakeman claims that Rowan and Jim were involved before he broke it off to be with Dolly.”

Marg drank more lemonade and contemplated the mountains as DiCicco had. “Leo’s grieving, and my heart hurts for him and Irene, but he’s wrong. It sounds to me like something Dolly might’ve said.”

“Why would she?”

“For the drama, and to try to take some of the shine off Rowan. I told you, Dolly didn’t have girlfriends. She got on with Lynn because she didn’t see Lynn as a threat. Lynn’s married and happy, and the men tend to think of her as a sister, or a daughter. Dolly always saw Rowan as a threat, and more, she knew Rowan considered her... cheap, we’ll say.”

“It’s obvious they didn’t get along.”

“Up until Jim died they tolerated each other well enough. I’ve known both of them since they were kids. Rowan barely noticed Dolly. Dolly always noticed Ro. And if you’re still thinking Rowan had anything to do with what happened, you’re wasting a lot of time better spent finding out who did.”

Time wasn’t wasted, in DiCicco’s opinion, if you found out something.

“Did you know anything about Dolly getting work in Florence?”

“No. I don’t know why she would. Plenty of places right around here would hire her on, at least for the season.”