Just as she was about to turn onto the long gravel drive to the farm, her cell phone rang.

“Davis,” she said.

“Gard, it’s—”

“Hi, Rina,” Gard said to the county sheriff.

“I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not we talk so often you know my voice.” Rina laughed.

Rina had a nice laugh, deep and mellow like aged scotch. Gard imagined Rina’s blue eyes and short wavy brown hair, her quick smile, her small tight body. Rina had been flirting in a friendly, test-the-waters kind of way for the last few months, but Gard hadn’t given her any openings to take it further. She liked Rina, and she wasn’t interested in complicating a good relationship for casual sex. Since even casual demanded more intimacy than she could do, that didn’t leave much. Which was one reason she was celibate. She didn’t want to think about the other reasons.

“Pretty early for a social call,” Gard said, chasing away the dark memories.

“Believe me, I really wish it were. You busy?”

“In the truck.”

“Damn, I forgot how early you start.” Rina’s voice dropped. “Although I rather like morning people.”

“I’m your woman, then.”

“So you keep promising.” When she next spoke, her tone was more serious. “I’ve got the information on Elizabeth Hardy’s next of kin. At least I’m pretty sure I do.”

“Hold on.” Gard kept a small clipboard with a pad of paper and an old-fashioned wooden pencil stuck to her dashboard with a suction cup for taking messages on the fly. Sliding the pencil from the clasp, she said, “Go ahead.”

“I tracked down a Frank Hardy who seems to be the grandson of Elizabeth Hardy’s cousin on her father’s side, once or twice removed. He’s dead, there’s no wife listed, but there is a daughter, Jenna. At least I think she’s his daughter. I got lost in the interdepartmental computer archives trying to track birth records and can’t verify that until the records room at the courthouse in Harrisburg opens at eight and I can talk to an actual person. Looks like they lived somewhere out near Lancaster, PA. You want her number or do you want to wait?”

Gard thought about it. Based on her comparison of Elizabeth Hardy’s body temperature to the ambient temperature inside the old farmhouse, which was a good ten degrees cooler than outside, she had deduced that the elderly woman had died approximately twenty-four hours before. She did not like to delay informing the next of kin for a protracted period of time. Somehow leaving the dead in limbo, unmourned, bothered her.

“Give it to me. I’ll call after I finish at McFarland’s. I’ll contact you after I talk to her and let you know if she’s the right person.”

Rina rattled off a number and Gard scratched it down.

“Will there be an autopsy?” Rina asked.

“Not unless the family insists. I didn’t find anything suspicious about her death.”

“Okay then. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll call the courthouse and keep chasing the records.”

“Thanks.” Gard clipped the pen back on the dash. “Sorry to drag you out of bed so early for this.”

“You can make it up to me with breakfast,” Rina said.

Gard hesitated. Nothing wrong with having breakfast with a woman she considered a friend and colleague. Rina was smart enough not to read more into it. “After I get things settled at McFarland’s, I’ll make that call to Jenna—what’s her last name?”

After a few seconds of silence, Rina said, “Looks to be Hardy. Either she’s not married or she kept her own name. Must run in the family. Elizabeth Hardy was married about fifty years ago but resumed her maiden name when her husband died.”

“After I talk to her, I’ll call you and we’ll see where things stand with breakfast. I’m already behind and I haven’t started yet.”

“Fair enough. But I expect a rain check at the very least.”

“You’ve got it, and thanks again.”

“No problem,” Rina said. “I appreciate you doing the hard work.”

“Comes with the fancy title. Talk to you later.” Gard could have passed off notification of next of kin to the sheriff, but she was the county corner and she would do what needed to be done.

Jenna stepped out of the elevator into the hotel lobby at exactly the appointed time of 5:30 a.m. and winced when a din of voices hammered at the headache bequeathed by her night without sleep. A bellman in a brass-buttoned navy jacket emerged from the jostling group of men in business suits congregated in front of the reception counter and hurried toward her.

“May I get your luggage, ma’am?” he asked.

“Thank you.” She gratefully relinquished her bags, scanned the crowd, and spied Alice at the registration desk, undoubtedly taking care of their bill. In her blood-red fitted jacket, tailored skirt, and heels, Alice stood out from the men in regulation blue and gray like an exotic bird among pigeons. Even after ten years of friendship, she still got a jolt of pleasure when she saw her. Alice was beautiful—beautiful and indispensible.

Even though she was still annoyed by Alice’s ill-timed phone call, she had to admit she was lucky to have someone who took care of all the details. Hell, Alice not only managed her career, she managed her life. All Jenna needed to do was concentrate on her writing and the personal appearances Alice scheduled. The only area where Alice didn’t take care of her needs was in the bedroom. Had things been just a little different, she might have done that as well.

Jenna studied Alice from across the lobby as she waited for the bellman to load her bags into the limo Alice had arranged to take them to the airport. Alice was everything she found appealing in a woman—aggressive, competent, confident. When she’d pitched her first novel to Alice at a book fair almost ten years earlier, she’d been young, unagented, and naïve. She’d felt a spark of attraction, of connection, the moment she’d sat down across from the older, sophisticated woman, and she’d known from the glint of interest in Alice’s eyes that Alice felt the pull too. But three minutes into Jenna’s pitch, Alice had said, “You’ve got a winner and I can sell it for you,” and that was the end of anything sexual between them.

For Alice, business trumped lust and, Jenna suspected, possibly even love. She wasn’t certain about that, because she’d never seen Alice in a serious relationship. Alice never lacked for female companionship, but like Jenna, she never dated anyone exclusively and rarely for very long. They were similar that way, which was probably why they got along so well. Most of the time.

Watching frown lines form between Alice’s eyebrows as she crossed the lobby to her, Jenna did not think this morning was going to be one of their more amicable moments.

“Jesus,” Alice said in a low voice, “you look like hell.”

Jenna knew that wasn’t true. She looked fine unless someone looked closely. Under careful scrutiny, the light makeup she’d applied would not completely cover the circles beneath her eyes or disguise the gaunt hollows in her cheeks.

“Don’t start,” Jenna said. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

“I know you didn’t get any sleep, damn it. You at least have to eat.” Alice glanced at her watch. “We’ll get breakfast at the airport. I’d rather clear security—”

“Great,” Jenna said quickly, because she really wasn’t hungry. Exhaustion tended to blunt her other senses. At least all of them except the senses Brin MacIntyre had taken care of quite thoroughly the night before. She wondered how long she could survive on adrenaline and endorphins. She smiled to herself. If she managed to find a Brin MacIntyre in every city on her tour, she just might make it after all.

“What’s so funny?” Alice held the heavy glass door open for Jenna to pass.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about the rest of the tour.”

“It’s going really well, you know,” Alice said as they waited under the canopy while the limo driver and the doorman loaded Alice’s luggage into the trunk of the spacious Town Car. “There’s been a lot of buzz after every event and the sales numbers look excellent. This book is going to get you a Golden Quill.”

Jenna snorted. The prestigious award was a coveted prize for any romance writer, but despite her growing popularity, she wasn’t a contender for that award yet. At the pace she was going, in five years, she would be. “That would be great, but I’ll be happy just to see the book do well.”

“I had a long conversation last night with Edith Reynolds,” Alice said, referring to a well-known New York editor. “She agrees with me—you’re ready to break out and bring a crossover audience with you. She’s interested in small-town contemporaries with a little heat, and you’re perfect for that. She wants to bring out three in one season.”

“Three? In what…the next year?”

“You’ve handled that many before,” Alice pointed out.

“Sure, but not when I had two others already scheduled.” Jenna shook her head. “If I’m going to start a new series, you know it has to come out strong. I can’t take the chance of being rushed.”

“We can’t say no to this. If I have to, I’ll get you an extension on one of the others.” Alice made a soothing noise and rested her palm low on Jenna’s back, guiding her into the rear of the car. “I have faith in you, sweetheart.”

Jenna’s headache went seismic. Opportunities like this didn’t come along every day. She wrote faster than almost anyone working in her genre, and she wanted to stay out ahead. She had to stay out ahead. Talented new authors cropped up every day. “You know I’ll do what needs to be done. But damn it, Alice—it better be iron-clad.”

“You know it will be.”

Jenna gazed out the window of the limo on the way to the airport, too tired to carry on a pointless conversation. Alice knew what she was doing. For some reason, Jenna’s stomach objected to the stop-and-go motion of the limo in the crowded airport traffic and she struggled to ignore the rising nausea. By the time the vehicle pulled to a stop in front of American Airlines, she feared she was seriously in danger of vomiting. She brushed the back of her hand over her forehead and realized she was sweating.

“Are you all right?” Alice asked.

“Yes. I guess I probably do need some breakfast.” Jenna remembered the room service cart that she’d never brought into her room. When had her last meal been? Lunch in DC the day before, or had it been breakfast?

Cool fingers cradled her jaw and Alice’s worried eyes swam into view.

“Sweetheart, you really don’t look well.”

“I’m fine,” Jenna said, a little breathless. Outside the limo, a redcap was efficiently stacking their luggage onto a cart. “Let’s get the checkin taken care of. Some coffee and a bagel will fix me right up.”

“All right. But tonight you’re getting a solid eight hours if I have to tuck you in myself.”

“Promise.” Embarrassed by Alice’s concern, Jenna quickly pushed across the seat and followed Alice out. The instant she stood, a wave of dizziness cut her legs out from under her and she collapsed.

Chapter Three

“Has she been rolling?” Gard leaned on the stall gate, observing the bay mare. Her neck glistened with sweat and she shifted restlessly, intermittently pawing the ground with her front hooves. Despite being agitated, she was also listless. Her abdomen was not grossly distended, but she definitely displayed signs of intestinal colic. While not often fatal, the disease was still the number one natural killer of horses and could go from a medical problem to a surgical emergency within hours. By then it was often too late.

“Nope—she looked like she wanted to but I walked her a bit and she calmed down some.” John McFarland was about Gard’s height—five-ten or so, and had probably once had the same coal black hair as she did. His was still thick, but gray now, and where her eyes were charcoal verging on midnight, his were light blue. He resembled most farmers Gard knew—weather-lined skin putting his age anywhere between forty and sixty, clear direct gaze, work-roughened hands. His tone was typically laconic, but his concern was evident in the furrows across his brow and the tight line of his mouth. A fifth-generation farmer, he knew his way around all the common ailments likely to affect his stock, but Gard went through the list of questions that needed to be asked so she didn’t overlook anything.

“When did you first notice she wasn’t right?”

“Right before I called you. She was fine last night. Can’t be more than a few hours, whatever’s going on.”

“Teeth okay? No problems with worms?”

He shook his head.

“Change in her feed?”

Again, a negative jerk of the head.

“How old is the foal now?” Gard asked. “Two months?”