Time of Death. BEVERLY BARTON

were over. Less than a week ago, Derek had attended Jack and Cathy’s wedding. The following morning, he’d left his motel room and driven straight to the Nashville area, to his mother’s birthday celebration.

      Now here he was back in Dunmore and doomed to work with Perdue on a new and rather intriguing case. He figured the best way to handle their precarious partnership was not to take the woman seriously. She was big-time uptight, at least around him. He had told her more than once that what she needed was to lighten up, and a good start would be to go out and get herself laid. She hadn’t taken his suggestion in the spirit in which it had been given, which was only with the best intentions, of course.

      Chuckling to himself, Derek headed up the walk that led to the front porch. Bet Perdue couldn’t wait to see him.

      When he rang the doorbell, he didn’t expect to see a tall, lanky teenage boy open the door and invite him in.

      “Aunt Maleah’s on the phone,” Seth Cantrell told him. “She’s talking to somebody at the Powell Agency, getting some information about the case y’all are working on. She’ll be with you in a minute.”

      Seth was Jack and Cathy’s son, although Jack and Seth had met for the first time last year. Jack, a former Army Ranger, had been MIA during the Gulf War back in the early nineties. A pregnant Cathy had married another man who had raised Seth as his own. When Jack had come home to Dunmore last year, he had not only discovered that his long-lost love was a widow, but that he was her sixteen-year-old son’s biological father.

      As Seth led Derek out of the foyer and down the hall, he asked, “Have you had breakfast?”

      “Nope, sure haven’t,” Derek replied.

      “We’ve got leftovers,” Seth told him. “A stack of pancakes, some sausage links, and I just put on a fresh pot of coffee.”

      “Sounds good. I’ll take it all, starting with the coffee.”

      By the time Maleah joined them, a good ten minutes later, Derek had finished off the pancakes and sausage and was downing his second cup of coffee. Seth had explained that even though he was staying with his grandparents while his parents were off on their honeymoon, he had stopped by for breakfast with his aunt since he had only a half day at school today.

      “I see you’ve made yourself at home.” Perdue glanced from his empty plate to his suitcase resting against the table leg at his side. “You aren’t planning on staying here, are you?”

      “As a matter of fact—”

      “There are two perfectly good motels here in Dunmore. Take your pick.”

      “Now, Perdue, don’t be that way. You’ve got more than enough room here in this big old house to put me up.”

      “He’s got you there,” Seth said.

      Perdue gave her nephew an eat-dirt-and-die glare.

      Derek laughed. “Think of it as an adventure. The two of us working side by side, living under the same roof, getting to know each other.”

      She huffed loudly, not even trying to hide her aggravation.

      He hated to even think it, hated to resort to an old cliché, but damn if Perdue wasn’t downright pretty when she was pissed. You’re beautiful when you’re angry. He could think it, but God help him if he said it.

      For all her faults and shortcomings, being unattractive wasn’t one of them. Maleah Perdue was what had once been referred to as an all-American beauty. Five-four, a trim hourglass figure, blue eyes and golden blond hair. She looked like the kind of girl men used to dream about taking home to meet their mamas.

      Seth broke the uneasy silence in the room when he cleared his throat and then said, “I hate to eat and run, but I’m supposed to meet some of the guys at ten.”

      “Are we still on for lunch and a movie Sunday?” Perdue asked.

      “Sure are.” He glanced at Derek. “Good to see you again, Mr. Lawrence.”

      “Same here, kid.”

      The minute Seth exited the back door, Perdue sat down at the kitchen table, taking the chair directly across from Derek.

      “You’re not staying here,” she told him.

      “I’ll bet if Jack were here—”

      “He’s not.”

      “What are you afraid of, Perdue? Afraid you’ll succumb to my many charms?”

      She groaned, and then burst into laughter.

      He didn’t know whether to be insulted or just laugh along with her. He chose the latter.

      Chuckling, he looked her right in the eye. “I’m glad to see you have a sense of humor.”

      Her laughter died away, but the smile remained.

      “We’re both grown-ups, both professionals,” he said. “We’re going to be working together for as long as it takes to find our killer and put him behind bars. That could be weeks or even months. You’re going to have to find a way to put aside your personal feelings for me and—”

      “I have no personal feelings for you. None.”

      “Prove it.”

      She huffed again as she narrowed her gaze and glowered at him. “Dare I ask how?”

      “Let me stay here.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Separate bedrooms, of course.”

      Her big blue eyes widened for a split second and then she grinned. “Were you always like this, even as a kid? God, if you were, I don’t know how your mother put up with you.”

      “I was. And she didn’t. I’ll have you know that I’m a trust-fund baby. I was reared by a series of highly trained nannies and first-class private schools.”

      “Of course you were. Pardon my ignorance.”

      “And you grew up in this house, didn’t you, you and Jack?”

      Her smile vanished and a storm-cloud frown darkened her expression. Instead of replying to his question, she shoved back her chair and stood. “Come on. I’ll show you to one of the guest bedrooms. You can unpack and then we can discuss the new information that just came in at the agency.”

      “What sort of information?”

      “Several things, but the most interesting is the title of the only movie that my client, Lorie Hammonds, ever made. The stars of that film were Dean Wilson and Hilary Chambless, aka Woody Wilson and Dewey Flowers.”

      “Some stage names, huh? So, what was the title of the movie the three of them made together?”

      “Midnight Masquerade,” Perdue said.

      “Well, I’ll be damned.”

      Lorie and Cathy usually closed up shop at six on Friday and Saturday nights, but with Easter fast approaching, Lorie had extended the closing until seven for both nights. Three lingering, undecided customers, who wound up buying nothing, had pushed closing time to seven fifteen. Just as she waved good-bye to the last to leave—Paul Babcock, one of their regulars—and was in the process of closing and locking the front door, she saw Mike Birkett park his truck directly in front of Treasures.

      What the hell was he doing here?

      She stood in the open doorway and waited for him to emerge from his Ford F-150 pickup. He got out and walked toward her. Her heart skipped a beat. Why did he have to be so damn good-looking? And why, dear God, why did she still want him more than she’d ever wanted any other man?

      “Closing up?” he asked as he approached.

      She nodded. “Uh-huh.”

      “Got a few minutes?”

      “Sure. Come on in.”

      After