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sheer and floated through large open windows that looked out over the patio and pool.
    “Hannah?” Liam called.
    “In the kitchen!” came the reply.
    “You should lock your door,” Liam told her.
    “I usually do,” she replied. “Honestly.”
    By then they were walking through the formal dining room. If it had been 1839, Dallas thought, the room wouldn’t have looked any different. The table was large enough to seat at least twelve and was highly polished. Intricately carved legs each ended in a dragon’s head. Lace doilies, along with a handsome silver service, covered the tabletop. Liam didn’t pause but walked on through to the kitchen. Dallas followed him.
    There was another table in the kitchen—this one smaller and far more casually set. It sat six, tops. The kitchen itself was large and in keeping with the rest of the house. The sink had reproduction faucets that resembled old pumps, the counters were butcher block, with marble tops by the stove and sink. Copper pots and pans hung from the rafters, and there was a huge fireplace with a large kettle hanging over carefully stacked wood. Dallas was pretty sure it was just for show.
    Hannah was seated at the table. She had changed into a sundress and was no longer covered in blood. Her hair was wet; she had apparently washed it. Her cheekbones were high, her eyes were wide. She was, he thought, very much a beauty, like a classical statue in her near perfection.
    She was sipping from a mug as she studied a record book in front of her.
    “I’m debating whether to call the people I had to turn away,” she told Liam drily. “My bottom line could certainly use the help.”
    “Don’t know how to help you there, I’m afraid,” Liam told her as he pulled out the chair to her right and helped himself to coffee.
    “There’s quiche and croissants if you’d like,” she said. “Obviously I’m not serving a dozen guests this morning.”
    “How sad. Your guests are gone,” Dallas snapped before he could stop himself.
    She stared at him, obviously stung by his tone. “I found that poor man. I saw his face. It was...” She shuddered. “Anyway, think whatever you want of me, but we’re still here and so is the food, so help yourself if you’re hungry.”
    He was hungry; the call from Liam had dragged him out of bed early in the morning, and he hadn’t had a break since. But he felt like an ass. No way in hell could he accept her food after he’d just been so rude to her.
    “I’m pretty sure you both know I didn’t kill that man,” she said quietly. “But the clothes I was wearing are in that paper bag if you need them for anything.”
    “The lab might want them,” Liam said.
    “Interesting,” Dallas said. “That’s a good call, but it’s interesting that you thought ahead like that.”
    She gave him a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. “The techs outside asked me to bag up the clothing I was wearing in case they could find trace evidence from the killer on it.”
    Dallas kept his mouth shut and took a drink of the coffee Liam had already poured for him, but inside he was thinking, You ass all over again.
    “Hannah, by any chance did your guests tell you what direction the ‘ghost’ came from?” Liam asked her.
    She shook her head. “I wish I could tell you more, Liam, but no, they didn’t say anything. I assume you’ll want to talk to them yourself, though. I arranged for them to stay at the Westin. None of the B and Bs would have had room, even if I’d been able to reach someone at that hour of the morning.”
    “I’m assuming you have cell numbers for them so we can track them down if they’re out?” Dallas asked.
    She nodded and reached for the guest register on the table. “Of course.”
    Liam rose, pulling out a small pad and a pen. “What are their names?”
    “Stuart Bell and Shelly Nicholson saw him and thought he was a ghost,” Hannah said, and gave him their numbers. “Their friends are Pete and Judy Atkinson, and