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away?”

    “Because if he had, he would have been the number one suspect.”

    Obviously, Denise had given the case a lot of thought. “You said that Steven had his share of enemies? Who are the others?”

    “The dean of the local college, John Amos.”

    “The same college where Steven taught an art course twice a week?”

    Denise nodded. “As you know only too well, Steven was a hopeless womanizer. One of the coeds reported him for sexual harassment. The dean wanted to fire Steven on the spot, but the faculty intervened in his favor and he was allowed to stay. The dean was furious.”

    “Why was he allowed to stay?”

    “Why do you think? Steven’s mother stepped in, made a generous donation to the college, and that was that. John Amos is lucky he didn’t get fired.”

    The incident must have been humiliating for the dean, but hardly a reason for murder. “Who else?”

    “I can’t name anyone specifically, ” Denise said. “But the way Steven flirted with the women here in town…” She rolled her eyes again. “They all loved the attention, but the husbands and boyfriends, well, that was another matter.”

    “Was he sleeping with any of the women?”

    For the first time, Denise’s gaze faltered. “No.” She looked away. “He wasn’t.”

    Grace gave her a long look. The question had made Denise uncomfortable.

    Perhaps sensing Grace’s doubts, Denise turned around. “If you think that I killed Steven,” she said, “forget it. I can’t shoot to save my life. Ask Carmine, who runs the shooting range. He’ll tell you. Fred took me target shooting a few times, before he finally gave up. Besides, like I said, I was at the shop. A lot of people saw me there.”

    Like art, people were never quite the way they seemed. There were layers to be peeled and angles to study. Denise’s seemingly forthright manner had taken a different turn. She was hiding something, perhaps to protect herself, perhaps to protect her husband.

    “I’m sure a competent attorney will unravel the mystery,” Grace said.

    Another pft. “Miles sucks. I wanted to hire someone with clout, a seasoned lawyer, experienced in criminal cases, but Fred won’t talk to me. I haven’t seen him since they took him in.” She sounded resigned, and a little defeated.

    Grace couldn’t think of anything adequate to say except, “I’m sorry.”

    “That’s all right. I can put up with that. All I want is for Fred to go free. And now for the first time in a little over a week there’s hope.” Her expression brightened. “Matt is on his way.”

    “Matt?”

    “Matt Baxter, Fred’s son. Lucy—that’s my stepdaughter—called him. Fred didn’t want to bother him. He kept saying that Josh would come to his senses soon enough. When it was obvious that he wouldn’t, Lucy called her brother. He should be arriving today.”

    “Does he solve murders?”

    “He’s an FBI agent,” she said as if that statement required no other explanation. “One of the best. He and Fred are a lot alike—tough, stubborn, short-tempered, but very smart. Good people.”

    Grace smiled. “You sound as if you care for your husband very much.”

    “I love my husband,” she said, meeting Grace’s eyes. “I know that sounds weird, considering what I did, but it’s the God’s truth.”

    “May I ask a personal question?”

    Denise shrugged. “You’ve earned it.”

    “Knowing what you knew about Steven, and feeling as you do about your husband, why did you have an affair in the first place?”

    “For the same reason every female in this town went a little dopey whenever Steven was around—his charm. He oozed it, as I’m sure you know. And he truly loved women. He loved being around them, complimenting them, remembering their birthdays, or some other special occasion. When he talked to a woman, he made her feel as if she was the only person in the room. And no matter how bad you looked, Steven Hatfield could make you feel like a