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cheekbones, and perfect smile, he looked more like a movie star than a gem artisan who created beautiful pieces for Prince Jewelry. He’d spent the first thirteen years of his life in Florence, Italy. At age twenty-eight he still had not completely lost the accent that so intrigued many of Winston’s female inhabitants. “Christine, Jeremy’s in the bathroom throwing water all over his head and saying he has to be strong, and you’re white as a ghost. What’s wrong?” Rey asked again.
    Christine floundered for a gentle explanation to give the man who’d been in love with Dara three years ago when she vanished. He’d been frantic for weeks, then retreated into near-silence for several months. It was over half a year before he began seeing Tess Brown, whom he abruptly married. Most people thought he’d wed without love and on the rebound. Everyone was certain he’d never recovered from losing Dara.
    Christine finally found her voice. “Rey, a body wrapped in plastic washed ashore. A deputy was here. He believes it might be Dara.”
    So much for gentleness, Christine thought. The blunt words had simply spilled unchecked in a taut, crisp voice that didn’t sound like her own. Rey stared at her, his olive skin paling, his body going completely still as if he’d turned to stone. Finally he drew a deep breath and murmured, “He said the body was Dara’s?”
    “He said it
could
be Dara’s. No official identification has been made yet. The body has been taken to the medical examiner’s in Charleston. Ames is on his way there to view the . . . remains.”
    “Remains?” Reynaldo repeated roughly. “What identifiable remains would be left after three years in the water?”
    “I don’t know. There was the plastic wrapping—did I mention the body was wrapped tightly in plastic? It’s horrible. . . .”
    Christine trailed off as Jeremy reentered the showroom. His face was ruddy from the sting of cold water, and his shirt collar and the front of his hair were wet.
    Rey didn’t seem to see him. “She was wrapped in plastic?” Christine nodded. Rey made the sign of the cross. “Mother of God.”
    Jeremy went to him, touching his shoulder. “Maybe it’s not Dara. Don’t cry.”
    “I wasn’t going to cry,” Rey nearly snarled.
    “You looked like you were,” Jeremy said innocently. “Or maybe you just looked scared.”
    “What would I be scared about?” Reynaldo demanded, suddenly hostile.
    “Scared that it’s Dara. What else?” Jeremy asked.
    Rey was pale as death, and a tiny muscle in his right eyelid twitched. “I’m going back to work,” he announced between clenched teeth.
    “Never mind,” Christine said. “It’s four-thirty and pouring rain. We won’t have any more customers today. We’re closing early.”
    “Thank goodness.” Rey stood motionless, but his hands had begun to tremble.
    “Yes, I think that’s best,” Christine said inanely. “None of us could concentrate anyway.”
    “You never liked her,” Reynaldo burst out. “What do you care?”
    Christine’s eyes widened in surprise. “What?”
    “You never liked Dara. You don’t really care that she’s dead.”
    “Rey, that was a mean thing to say,” Jeremy chastised fervently. “Why do you want to hurt Christy’s feelings? She didn’t do anything.”
    “Rey, Dara and I didn’t get along very well, but you can’t possibly think I wanted her
dead
.” Rey didn’t look at Christine. “Well, do you?”
    Rey continued to look at the floor. “No. I’m sorry. I’m just . . . Hell, I don’t know how I feel.”
    Christine tried to regain some of her composure and said evenly, “You’re shocked, like all of us.”
    “Yeah, that’s it. Shocked.”
    She wanted desperately to say something comforting, but she couldn’t think of anything appropriate. Rey had loved Dara. But he was married to Christine’s best friend. The subject was too sensitive. Instead she said woodenly, “Why don’t you go next door and make