Quiet as the Grave. Kathleen O'Brien

she was dead. She would never have put her mother through this.”

      Suzie nodded, though she wasn’t quite as certain about that. In the past, Justine had rarely seemed to concern herself with the fallout from her outrageous behavior. But she had to allow that perhaps Justine’s parents knew her better than Suzie did.

      “Why did you want to see me, Mayor?”

      She couldn’t imagine calling him anything else, though he wasn’t the mayor of Firefly Glen anymore, she’d heard. When Justine disappeared, he had resigned that job and come to live alone here, in this house, for eighteen months, looking for his daughter and waiting for her to come home.

      She wondered if that haunted him now, knowing that, every time he walked down to the lake, he had passed within feet of Justine’s dead body.

      If Suzie had ever needed proof that there was no such thing as ghosts, this would be it. Surely Justine’s ghost would have called out to her father as he tromped by, supervising the divers who dragged Tuxedo Lake.

      “I need you to help me,” Mayor Millner said with more force than Suzie had seen yet. “I want justice for my daughter.”

      Something invisible skittered down Suzie’s spine on tiny cold feet. What was he talking about? Did he think she had done something to Justine? Exactly how crazy had grief left this guy?

      “Justice?”

      “Yes. I want that bastard Mike Frome arrested, but the police say they don’t have enough evidence.”

      Suzie frowned. “Mike? You think Mike killed Justine?”

      “I don’t think he did. I know he did. And I’m going to make him pay for it, if it’s the last thing I do. I need you to help me.”

      “Mayor Millner, I don’t think—”

      “He did it, damn it. He never loved her. He just used her, and then, when he got caught, he had to marry her. He never gave a damn about her except as a plaything.”

      The tears she’d seen in his eyes a minute ago had been replaced by a fanatical gleam. She had a cowardly urge to just turn and get the heck out of here, but she forced herself to remain calm. Maybe she could make him see reason.

      Mike hadn’t loved Justine when he married her, that much was definitely true. Suzie had been with Mike the night he found out Gavin was his son, and that he would have to marry Justine. A sheltered Firefly Glen teenager, Mike Frome had been faced with the first problem so big his rich, loving family couldn’t fix it, and it had damn near broken his heart. He’d sat on the floor of her kitchen and cried like a child.

      She had thought back on that night often, and wished she had been more sympathetic. But her own heart had been a little cracked, and at the time she hadn’t been very good at tenderness or compassion.

      Still…Mike Frome, a cold-blooded murderer? Not until penguins ice-skated in hell.

      “But why would he kill her? Even if he didn’t love her, they were already divorced.”

      “That’s what the police said. But that doesn’t matter. He killed her. She had a new lover, did you know that? She was going to spend a month with him in Europe. Mike couldn’t stand that, so he killed her.”

      “But…” She tried again to be logical. “If he hadn’t ever loved her, why would a new lover bother him?”

      Millner shook his head roughly. “It’s not like that for a man. It’s not about love. It’s about…territory. Men get crazy when other men try to take away what belongs to them.”

      Okaaaay…so logic was out. This guy had crawled out of the Dark Ages. He thought women were chattel, and he assumed all other men agreed.

      “Well, assuming for a moment that you’re right, that he did kill her, how could I help you? I haven’t seen him in ten years.”

      Millner’s eyes began to glow again, sensing hope. “But you saw her. You saw Justine, back when you painted Gavin’s picture. She told me about that. You must have heard something. Seen something. Maybe you heard them fighting.”

      “No. I didn’t.”

      “Not even on the phone?”

      “No.”

      “What about bruises? Was there ever any sign that he’d hit her, or pushed her around?”

      Suzie scowled. “No,” she said firmly. “Mayor Millner, I’m sorry, but—”

      He frowned, but he didn’t look defeated. “I thought for sure—well, no matter. You can always say you saw things.”

      Good grief. She was through being gentle and logical.

      “Are you out of your mind? You want me to lie?”

      Millner didn’t seem to understand why she was so upset. “Not lie. You know what he was like. He toyed with you, too, didn’t he? Everyone says he broke your heart. Surely you’d like to see him pay for all the people he’s hurt.”

      “Actually, you’re wrong on so many counts I can’t cover them all. I would not like to see him go to jail for a murder he didn’t commit. For God’s sake, Mayor. Would you pin a murder rap on an innocent man?”

      His face was turning red. “An innocent man? You think Mike Frome is an innocent man? He didn’t love her. He used her. He broke her heart.”

      “But that’s very different from—”

      He looked at her through wet, bulging eyes. She wanted to look away, but the intensity of the gaze was mesmerizing.

      “Did you know he left her alone that day, that last day? He pushed her out of his car and left her alone in the dark, all alone on the side of the road. If he didn’t kill her with his bare hands, at the very least he delivered her, helpless, to the man who did.”

      Suzie stared at him. He was so red he was almost purple. She wondered if he had heart trouble. She thought of that trembling arm, and she wondered how long he had to live.

      “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I can’t help you.”

      He began to cry openly. They were harsh tears, torn out of him. Tears of frustrated fury, not simple grief. It was a horrible sound.

      “You could help me,” he said raggedly. “You just won’t. And I know why. You still hate Justine. You hate my poor baby girl because she has everything you wish you had. You’re willing to let a man get away with murder because you won’t let go of your petty high school jealousies.”

      She couldn’t even find the heart to refute it. How could she tell this man that high school jealousies died as soon as you hit the real world and discovered how big and rich and exciting it was—and that it definitely did have a place for you, after all?

      Envy Justine? How could she tell him that she wouldn’t live in this expensive marble mausoleum for anything on earth? That she would rather paint than get a manicure, that she’d rather read a book than go to a party? That she’d rather have a child when she was old enough, when she was ready. That she’d rather have no husband than one who hated her?

      Or the most unspeakable truth of all. That she’d rather be alive than dead.

      “I’m sorry,” she said again. She meant it. “I’m sorry you’re so unhappy. I hope you’ll come to terms with that before you destroy an innocent man.”

      He didn’t answer. He sank onto the Louis XIV chair beside the piano and put his face in his hands. The morning sunlight found a few black strands remaining in his silver hair, but it was like the echo of something sad. You knew it was already dying away even as you listened.

      She let herself out the front door, her heart heavy.

      When she heard footsteps, at first she thought it might be the gardener, and she took a deep breath, ready to breathe fire if he dared