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more protected waters, the boat settled into a swift spank across the whitecaps. Annie’s stomach slowlyrighted. She looked at the printout of photos, an ethereal Cissy in white satin, an aggressive Britt lunging for a forehand, the sisters arm-in-arm walking along a curving beach, a study in contrasts, blond Cissy in a softly swirling white cotton dress with a red sash, dark Britt in a vivid green jumper. Cissy looked sweet and appealing, her face turned with an inquiring, uncertain look. Britt’s expression was forceful, determined. Annie had the same sense of sadness an old picture album evoked. The sisters together caught at her heart. Was there anything more poignant than photographs of careless happiness before storm clouds turned sunny days dark? Yes, she could imagine that Britt Barlow adored her younger and somehow, even in a photo, vulnerable sister.
    Annie pushed back a strand of hair dampened by the spray. “What’s the scoop on that intern?”
    Max raised an eyebrow. “Annie, be fair. ‘Intern’ isn’t synonymous with ‘slut.’”
    Annie waggled her hand. “Come on, come on. Six months’ experience and she goes on air? She’s on the magnate’s private island? Some big news story breaking? I don’t think so. What have you got on her?”
    Max thumbed through the sheets. “Okay. Let’s see, Kim Kennedy—” He handed her a photo.
    Kim also wore all white—a crisp linen suit, and heels—but there was nothing bridal in her appearance. She held a microphone, leaned forward, blond hair smoothly coiffed, penetrating sapphire eyes, a rounded face with bright lips curved in a smile. She looked beautiful and predatory.
    â€œâ€”a junior in journalism at Georgia Tech. Hey,you may have to eat crow.” A quick glance at Annie. “Sorry. I’ll rephrase that—”
    Annie pulled in a deep, moisture-laden breath, welcomed the fine beads of sea water against her face. “Not to worry. I’m okay. I think.”
    â€œâ€”you may have to make a mental apology. Outstanding student. Excellent reporter. Oh.” He read, frowned. “You’ve got a point. She isn’t a fluff but apparently she was on the make. She and Jeremiah were a definite twosome in Atlanta after Cissy got sick, and gossip had it that he planned to marry her.”
    Annie was pleased that two and two continued to make four, which was English for cherchez la femme, regretful that a woman ill with cancer was confronted with the living proof of her husband’s unfaithfulness. “Had he asked Cissy for a divorce?”
    â€œBritt didn’t mention that.” Max rubbed his cheek. “You’d think she would have if that’s true.”
    Annie patted his knee.
    He looked at her in surprise.
    â€œYou’re nice.” Her voice was kind and a shade patronizing.
    â€œI am not.” His rejoinder was swift and a shade offended. “Nobody’s ever accused me of being nice.” Then he grinned. “Except for Laurel and she’s prejudiced. Anyway, why would Britt keep quiet about a divorce if it was in the works?”
    Annie felt sad. She always felt sad when she knew a marriage was hollow, and nothing made a marriage more of a sham than an unfaithful partner. “Max, talk about a motive for murder…”
    Max looked startled. “Cissy’s dead.”
    Annie shook her head impatiently. “She wasn’t dead when somebody strung wire at the top of the staircase. Sure, she was sick. But could she get up, move around? A cheating husband often comes to a bad end. Maybe Britt should look close to home for the murderer.”
    Max whistled. “She won’t want to hear that. I’d say it’s never occurred to her.” He slipped the printout into the folder. “If Cissy killed him, we won’t be able to prove it.”
    â€œWe might.” She took another deep breath. The