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porch. Tucking it under his arm, he went back into the kitchen, poured a rounded teaspoon of Taster's Choice into a cup, added the boiling water, stirred and began to sip as with the other hand he turned the pages of the paper, scanning the contents.
    He had almost finished the coffee when he got to the second section. His hand with the cup stopped in mid-air as his gaze froze on the picture of Ray Eldredge's wife.
    In that first instant of realization, Jonathan sadly accepted two irrefutable facts: Dorothy Prentiss had deliberately lied to him about having known Nancy as a child in Virginia; and retired or not, he should have been enough of a lawyer to trust his own instincts. Subconsciously, he had always suspected that Nancy Harmon and Nancy Eldredge were one and the same person.
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
    It was so cold. There was a gritty taste in her mouth. Sand - why? Where was she?
    She could hear Ray calling her, feel him bending over her, cradling her against him. 'Nancy, what's the matter? Nancy, where are the children?'
    She could hear the fear in his voice. She tried to raise her hand, but felt it fall loosely by her side. She tried to speak, but no words formed on her lips. Ray was there, but she couldn't reach him.
    She heard Dorothy say, 'Pick her up, Ray. Take her to the house. We have to get help looking for the children.'
    The children. They must find them. Nancy wanted to tell Ray to look for them. She felt her lips trying to form words, but the words wouldn't come.
    'Oh, my God!' She heard the break in Ray's voice. She wanted to say, 'Don't bother with me; don't bother with me. Look for the children.' But she couldn't speak. She felt him pick her up and hold her against him. 'What's happened to her, Dorothy?' he asked. 'What's the matter with her?'
    'Ray, we've got to call the police.'
    'The police!' Vaguely Nancy could hear the resistance in his voice.
    'Of course. We need help finding the children. Ray, hurry! Every moment is precious. Don't you see - you can't protect Nancy now. Everyone will know her from that picture.'
    The picture. Nancy felt herself being carried. Remotely she knew she was shivering. But that wasn't what she had to think about. It was the picture of her in the tweed suit she'd bought after the conviction was overturned. They'd taken her out of prison and brought her to court. The state hadn't tried her again. Carl was dead, and the student who'd testified against her had disappeared, and so she'd been released.
    The prosecuting attorney had said to her, 'Don't think this is over. If I spend the rest of my life, I'll find a way to get a conviction that sticks.' And with his words beating against her, she'd left the courtroom.
    Afterward, when she'd received permission to leave the state, she'd had her hair cut and dyed and gone shopping. She had always hated the kind of clothes Carl liked her to wear and had bought the three-piece suit and brown turtleneck sweater. She still wore the jacket and slacks; she'd worn them shopping only last week. That was another reason the picture was so recognizable. The picture ... it had been taken in the bus terminal; that was where she'd been.
    She hadn't known that anyone was taking a picture of her. She'd left on the last evening bus for Boston. The terminal hadn't been crowded, and no one had paid any attention to her. She'd really thought that she could just slip away and try to begin again. But someone had just been waiting to start it all over again.
    I want to die, she thought. I want to die.
    Ray was walking swiftly, but trying to shield her with his jacket. The wind was biting through the wet clothes. He couldn't shield her; not even he could shield her. It was too late . . . Maybe it had always been too late. Peter and Lisa and Michael and Missy. They were all gone ... It was too late for all of them.
    No. No. No. Michael and Missy. They were here a little while ago. They were playing. They were out on the swing and then the mitten was there.