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reporters a wide berth, Ginger had become a friend. They played tennis regularly, belonged to the same book club, had even hiked a couple of short sections of the Appalachian Trail. Still, she knew Ginger’s present ebullience had less to do with the new tennis courts than getting an interview with Ann Chandler. “Something tells me this is not a strictly congratulatory embrace.”
    Ginger turned to the governor. “I was wondering if we could get a shot of you for the paper?”
    â€œI’d be delighted,” said Ann Chandler. She turned toward the photographer as Mary and Jonathan stepped back. “No, no,” she said, putting an arm around both Lily and Mary. “Everybody get in the picture. We’re having a party today.”
    They arranged themselves like stair steps—Jonathan, Mary, Ann Chandler, and Lily. Ginger stepped behind the man with the camera.
    â€œOn three,” called the photographer.
    Mary smiled. He took three quick shots, then nodded at Ginger.
    â€œThank you so much,” Ginger said to the governor. “I’ll send your press officer a copy.”
    â€œMy pleasure,” replied Ann Chandler. Her official duties finally finished, she shook hands again with Jonathan and Lily. “Nice meeting both of you. I know you’ll enjoy this park for years to come.”
    â€œThanks,” said Jonathan.
    Smiling, the governor turned back to Mary. “Could I possibly kidnap you for a few minutes?”
    Mary looked at the governor, puzzled.
    â€œMy supporters are having a little reception for me. I’d love it if you could come. There’s something I’d like to ask you about.”
    Mary didn’t know what to say. As badly as she wanted to put on her bathing suit and relax for the rest of the day, turning down the governor seemed not the thing to do. “Certainly,” she said. “I’d be happy to.”
    â€œThen come with me.” The governor took Mary’s arm and again smiled at Jonathan. “Don’t worry. I’ll have her back in time for the soccer game!”
    Mary shot Jonathan a helpless look as the governor steered her toward a waiting bus. “See you in a few minutes,” she called. “Don’t forget our picnic with Jerry and Ginger.”
    She smiled, trying to convince herself that everything was all right between them. But she could tell by the expression on his face that it was a lie. Nothing was right between them at all. Lily’s outburst had proved that something was dreadfully wrong with their little family. She started to thank the governor and tell her she would have to take a rain check on the party, but just then Tom Burkhart and John Oocuma came up to express their own congratulations. By the time she got a clear view of the podium again, Jonathan and Lily were gone.

Four
    By mid-afternoon, the crows had given up any hope of scavenging Lisa Wilson’s eyes. The SBI team from Asheville had scared them away by crawling over a hundred-foot radius of the pine tree. After they’d gleaned what evidence they could from inside the cabin and around the tree, two junior agents zipped her remains in a black body bag.
    â€œI need a priority on this,” Cochran told Agent Fred Brewer as two young men hauled Lisa Wilson down the hill. “This girl’s got connections.”
    â€œOh, yeah?” Twenty years and forty pounds ago Brewer had been a Marine. He still wore his gray hair side-walled, still barked commands at his evidence-gathering troops as if they were establishing a beachhead on some hostile coastline. Cochran guessed that, in a way, they were.
    Brewer’s gray eyes sparked with sudden interest. “What kind of connections?”
    â€œPolitical.”
    â€œWho?”
    Cochran knew this could go two ways. If the SBI needed some good press in Raleigh, Brewer would muscle in on the case. If the connection was too hot, Brewer would lead his troops to