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color, not a brilliant blue.
    He didn’t recognize her, but she obviously recognized him.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” she snapped.
    â€œDo I know you?” he asked bluntly.
    â€œKatherine Kidd, Beau’s sister,” she said.
    â€œWe’ve never met.”
    â€œNo? Sorry, but I know who you are. You’re an opportunist. You wrote a book about my brother. As if the events weren’t painful enough.”
    â€œI wrote a work of fiction,” he said. Why defend himself? He should just let her lambaste him. That might work out better for both of them.
    â€œWhy are you here? Do you want to hammer a stake into my brother’s heart? Do you think he’s alive and killing again?”
    â€œI’m sorry. I’ll leave.”
    He turned to go.
    â€œIf you’re lost, your wife’s grave is nowhere near here,” she called after him.
    He squared his shoulders and kept walking.
    â€œWait!”
    He was startled when she ran after him. Her eyes were troubled when she awkwardly touched his arm to get him to turn around. “Why are you here?” she demanded.
    He hesitated. “I don’t know, exactly. I guess…I wanted to think. Honestly, I don’t know.”
    â€œBeau was never the killer,” she said.
    â€œHow can you be so certain?” he asked.
    â€œHe was my brother.”
    He let out a soft sigh. “You do know that every homicidal maniac is some mother’s son?”
    â€œI know you investigated when you wrote your book. I know you were a cop. And I know you have a license now as a private investigator. You came here because you’re feeling guilty for what you did to my brother’s reputation. You want absolution? Fine. Prove that’s not just a copycat out there. Prove Beau was innocent.”
    He stared at her, unable to think of anything to say.
    â€œI’ll pay you,” she offered suddenly.
    He shook his head. “No. No, you won’t pay me.”
    â€œYou don’t really believe in Beau’s innocence, do you? Not even now, with the evidence lying in the morgue,” she said.
    â€œI don’t know what I believe right now,” he told her honestly.
    She shook her head. “I’ve read every word let out by the police, the newspapers, every single source. No copycat could be so exact.”
    â€œI don’t know yet just how exact he was,” he said.
    â€œI do. And I know that Beau wasn’t a killer, no matter how guilty he looked. And you…you used him.”
    â€œI used a story, a real-life story,” he said quietly. “And I’m going to investigate, but no one owes me anything. I guess that’s why I was here tonight. This one is between the two of us, Beau and me,” he told her.
    He nodded and walked away again. When he looked back, she was standing where he had left her, looking bereft and alone.
    â€œI’ll keep you informed—when I can prove something,” he told her.
    He thought that she smiled as she lifted a hand to wave goodbye.
    There was a low ground fog beginning to rise. Looking up, he saw that the moon was full. Odd night. Most of the time around here, the fog came in the early morning. Between the moon and the fog, the cemetery seemed to be bathed in some kind of eerie glow.
    As he headed to his car, he thought about Sherri Mason, lying on the autopsy table. Sherri…tall, slim, with long red hair.
    Before he knew it, he was heading back into the cemetery. “Katherine!” he shouted, running.
    She was standing by her brother’s monument again. She looked up, startled.
    â€œYou need to get out of here,” he told her. She stared at him blankly. “It’s dark, and there’s a killer loose. Where’s your car?”
    â€œAlong the street, just past the gate.”
    â€œI’ll see you to it.”
    â€œAll right.” She sounded unconvinced, but she didn’t argue.
    He walked her to the