Drenched to the skin and with fingers like ice, the two of them finally got into the police vehicle. Vincent reached into the backseat for his sports bag, pulled out a towel. He offered it to Will. “This is the least you deserve after coming out to get me.”

“No, that’s fine. Dry your forehead so we can check that cut. Head wounds aren’t something to just shrug off.” His headlights cut fleetingly across the wreck of Vincent’s Mercedes as he did a U--turn; the Baker property was situated relatively close to town, off a long drive. “What the hell were you doing out here anyway?” Vincent’s car had been pointed away from Golden Cove and his home.

“Just driving.” Vincent’s words were muffled by the towel, came out sounding oddly thick. “Trying to get my head on straight. Trying to understand how something like this could happen in Golden Cove.”

Will shot the other man a look, but Vincent’s head was conveniently covered by the towel. So he waited to ask his next -question—-it took a while, as if Vincent was deliberately attempting to wait him out. But the other man couldn’t keep on rubbing his hair forever without it becoming a noticeable point on its own.

When he did finally lower the towel to push back the -rain--dark strands of his golden hair, Will made him check his wound in the mirror on the back of the -passenger--seat sunshade. Only after Vincent confirmed it was shallow, with no sign of bruising, did he say, “Do you know Miriama well?”

“She’s the kind of person everybody knows. You can’t miss Miri.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

The other man sighed. “I like her,” he said at last. “She makes me think about being young and hopeful and going after your dreams.” A wistfulness that made it pretty obvious Vincent harbored a crush on Miriama.

“You ever say any of that to her?” He chanced a quick glance at Vincent, to see him staring out the window, his classically handsome profile shadowed by the darkness outside.

“I’m just a foolish married man who likes talking to a pretty girl, Will.” Vincent’s voice wasn’t aggressive but sad. “She’s so beautiful and so full of life. The idea that I might never again walk into the café and see her smile is a nightmare.”

Will had put his eyes back on the road a split second after his -glance—-he couldn’t afford to be distracted in this kind of weather. It frustrated him not to be able to see Vincent’s face, gauge his reactions. “Be honest with me,” he said. “Lies won’t help Miriama.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Did it ever go beyond talk with you and her?”

“No. I wouldn’t do that to my wife.” A long inhale followed by an even longer exhale. “I love my wife. But Miriama has something inside her that I lost a long time ago and it makes me happy to flirt with her a little and fantasize. I’d never shame my family by crossing that line.”

Had anyone asked Will a week ago about Vincent Baker, he would’ve said that Vincent was one of the most straight--up men in town, honest to a fault despite his political ambitions. He was no longer so sure of that belief. There’d been so much want in Vincent’s voice when he spoke of Miriama, so -much… Greed wasn’t the right word. It was softer than that. A desire almost to cherish.

But, as Vincent had pointed out, he was a married man with two young children. And Miriama wasn’t the right kind of woman to be the wife of a future prime -minister—-she was too wild to accept the strictures of a political life, too much a free spirit. Still, that kind of thing had never stopped a wealthy man from making a -less--than--honorable offer to a beautiful younger woman. Was it possible Vincent had approached Miriama, been rebuffed, and decided to take what she didn’t want to give?

The only problem was that scenario didn’t fit with what Will knew of -Vincent—-but he wasn’t about to rule out anyone or anything at this point. As soon as the weather cleared, he planned to go into Christchurch to talk to jewelers about Miriama’s watch. Someone had given it to -her—-and maybe, just maybe, it hadn’t been an out--of--towner.

Vincent had that kind of money. So did Daniel May.

And Christchurch was where Miriama had traveled to meet her mystery lover. It was possible she’d had a hand in designing the watch.

“I’m going to make a stop,” he said to Vincent. “I need to check on Mrs. Keith.” She was older, might be in bed if he waited till after he’d dropped Vincent off.

The other man said nothing in response to Will’s statement.

Pulling up beside the small -white--painted house minutes later, Will jumped out and ran up the steps. He couldn’t see any lights, but he knocked nonetheless. Then he waited. He knew how long it took Mrs. Keith to get to the door.

A light finally came on several minutes later; the door cracked open two minutes after that. “I knew it would be you.” A smile that made her wrinkles fold in on themselves, her makeup yet in place. “I’m all fine and snug in my house. And if it hasn’t fallen down in the past forty years, it’s not going to fall down tonight, either.”

“Do you have everything you need?” Will knew the people in Golden Cove were -self--reliant, but Mrs. Keith wasn’t in the best health. “Emergency supplies just in case?”

“Why are you asking this old dog if she knows all the tricks?” It was a chiding question. “I’m fine, honey.” She patted at the bouffant perfection of her hair, the color a pure, impossible black. “You get yourself to your own house before you catch a chill.”