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  I wasn't sure about the noble part, but I had to admit it was becoming something of an effort.

  Allison was standing out on the lodge porch leaning against the railing. "I thought I'd been abandoned," she said. "You two out there necking without me?"

  "Something like that," Billie said. "Were your ears burning?"

  "Everything's burning." Her smile was seductive. She leaned closer to Billie and whispered, "Did she tell you?" Billie nodded.

  "If it's all the same to you two, I'd like to turn in," I said. The truth was, I felt inordinately tired. My limbs had been stretched to the breaking point, my ankles and wrists both were gouged, my lip was throbbing and my thighs were still sore from riding Diablo. But none of that compared to the turmoil in my mind. I needed to think, and I sure as hell couldn't do that while dancing cheek to cheek with Allison Crane. Just thinking about it caused my stomach to do a ridiculous somersault which infuriated me.

  Billie insisted on walking us back to our cabin, claiming it was too nice of a night to be cooped up inside. Once we were away from the lodge, she spoke up. "Why didn't you tell me!" she said, punching Allison on the arm. Then she put her arm around her and held her close.

  I made Billie and Allison wait outside while I checked Allison's room. I didn't even have to go inside to know the stalker had paid a visit. On her porch, right where the welcome mat should have been, was a message spelled out in pine needles. Someone had taken a lot of time collecting the needles and arranging them just right. Someone was enjoying this little game. Allison and Billie stood beside me and we all three stared at the message: INTERFERENCE PENALTY. REPLAY THE DOWN!

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wednesday morning was overcast, with clouds drifting in from the west. It was cooler, too, and I pulled on a sweatshirt before heading out to the corrals in search of Buddy. Allison was sleeping soundly when I left, which didn't surprise me. She and Billie had stayed up half the night, sipping wine and giggling like schoolgirls. Even when I'd finally fallen asleep, their laughter found its way into my dreams, and for the first time in quite a while, I did not dream of the evil thing beneath the water.

  Maybe Billie was right — maybe the premonition had been about Allison falling down the cliff. But with the note on the porch, that wasn't too likely. Still, the dream had left me alone last night, so maybe the worst was over.

  Buddy was tethering a string of mules to a fence post when I found him. "I got your fax," he said, digging in his pocket for the folded sheets. "I thought you was in a hurry for it."

  "I was. I am. Thank you." With everything that had happened yesterday, I'd forgotten about the fax until this morning. I tried to tip Buddy with a five-dollar bill, but he waved it off.

  "Nah, that's okay. Say, there some kinda trouble up here? I couldn't help notice the return fax come from the police. That's why I didn't just leave it inside. I mean, I wasn't tryin' to read it or nothin', seein' as it says confidential on it but, well, it was just sort of sittin' there."

  "Tell you what, Buddy. If you promise not to mention this fax, or anything you might've read to anyone, just for a few days, I promise to tell you the whole story just as soon as I can. Deal?"

  "Deal," he said.

  Just what I needed, I thought. Now I had to worry about Buddy blowing my cover. I walked down toward the lake and sat on a boulder where no one passing by could look over my shoulder. One glance at the pages told me Martha had outdone herself.

  This will cost you, Cass. I'm thinking chocolate mousse with raspberry sauce at the very least, and a very good Cabernet. Just for starters.

  One of your pals has a record. Lacy Watkins was arrested in 1989 for disturbing the peace. She was harassing women trying to get into an abortion clinic. Pretty weird, if you ask me, for someone working for WOT. Her father was a minister for a church called Holy Savior, active in the pro-life movement, so that's probably the connection.

  Other points of interest: Karen Castillo got herself a dishonorable discharge from the Navy. With time, we could probably find out why. It could be nothing more than getting caught in some recruit's bed, but you never know. And speaking of the military, Fay Daniels checked out of the Army less than a year ago, after being in since high school. And get this — she's married. Who knows? Maybe she just recently came out.

  And just fyi, the lovely Ms. Crane is loaded. Could be relevant.

  Also, Reeva Dunsmore once threatened someone with a knife. Turned out to be a lovers' dispute. The woman didn't press charges. The police were called out, so they logged the call and her name came up on the computer. This was three years ago.

  Hope you're taking care of yourself. Sounds like you're surrounded by real interesting characters. Ha! Maggie's beside herself with jealousy, especially when I let it slip that you were posing as Allison's girlfriend. I can't believe you didn't tell her that part! Way to go, Cass. I think I smoothed it over, though. Sort of.

  Hugs and Kisses, Martha.

  Damn, I thought, walking back to the cabin. Now I had to worry about Maggie on top of everything else. The most intriguing information was that little Lacy Watkins, who hid her Bible under her pillow, had once been arrested for blockading an abortion clinic. What she was doing working for a lesbian organization like Women On Top was beyond me. Unless she was some kind of religious right-wing fanatic working undercover. But why?

  It's true, Allison's first thought when she found the bees in her office was that the attack had been political. But what would anyone hope to accomplish by killing Allison? Someone else would just step forward and take her place as president. Women On Top would survive, and considering Allison's inheritance, the organization would be, at least financially, better off. It just didn't make sense to kill one person when they could just as easily bomb the whole group, building and all. And it was becoming increasingly clear that the attacks on Allison were personal in nature.

  But were they really trying to kill her? So far, the only thing all the attacks had in common, aside from the football references, was that they were surprisingly unsuccessful. I was pretty sure that if I had wanted to kill someone, I'd have accomplished the task by now. There were plenty of ways to commit murder. It seemed to me that all of the attempts so far had been pretty much hit or miss. Maybe whoever was doing this, was more interested in scaring Allison than in actually killing her.

  On the other hand, had the bees actually attacked, had she eaten her cereal or her pate, had the cars not swerved out of the way when her brakes had been cut, or had Billie and I not come along when we did, it was quite possible that Allison would be dead by now. Or, at the very least, badly hurt.

  And why the notes in the first place? Obviously, the attacker was into games, and not just football. Perhaps the real motive wasn't murder so much as terror. If that were true, this person was achieving more success than I was giving her credit for. I shook my head and tried to focus on Martha's notes.

  I wondered about Karen's dishonorable discharge. It didn't surprise me that she'd been in the military. No civilian made beds that neatly. I'd been right about Fay, too. She had been in the Army and she had been married. That she still was, puzzled me. What was a married woman doing with WOT? I thought about Reeva's comment that half the dykes she knew were married and wondered if she'd been thinking of Fay. Could it be that Fay was just testing the waters? What I'd taken for shyness might have been ambiguity about her own sexuality.

  What didn't surprise me in the least was that Reeva had once attacked someone with a knife. I had a puffed lip attesting to the fact that she had trouble controlling her temper, and I'd already found a knife in her cabin. The more I learned about Reeva, the less I liked her.

  Smoke rose in a lazy swirl from Allison's chimney, so I knew she was up. I could smell coffee and cinnamon rolls when I entered my cabin and my stomach rumbled appreciatively. I tapped on the bathroom door.

  "It's open," she called. She was wearing turquoise sweats that matched her eyes and complemented her fair complexio
n. Her reddish gold hair was tousled and I realized with a start that she was, as Billie said, a strikingly beautiful woman. I forced the thought from my head. "Coffee?" she asked, handing me a cup.

  "Thanks. Allie, did you know Karen Castillo had a dishonorable discharge from the Navy?"

  "Oh, sure. She told me herself. She said it was a bogus charge. Supposedly, she decked an officer, but she says it was really just a lovers' quarrel that got out of hand. When the woman got physical with her, Karen slapped her. Unfortunately, another officer witnessed the slap and reported it. The lover, afraid that the truth would result in her own discharge, said Karen had been insubordinate."

  "Did you know Lacy Watkins was arrested once for protesting at an abortion clinic? And that her father is a minister with ties to anti-choice groups?"

  "Jesus, Cass, where are you getting all this?"

  I told her about Martha's fax.

  "Like I told you yesterday, I didn't even know Lacy was religious. And I don't care. Some of my best friends are religious." She smiled and I helped myself to a cinnamon roll.

  "It's just a little incongruous," I said. "Not very many right-to-lifers work in lesbian political groups. How well do you know her?"

  "Apparently not as well as I thought. But just because her father's a right-wing minister doesn't mean she is. How long ago was this arrest?"

  "Nineteen eighty-nine. She couldn't have been much over eighteen."

  "When I was eighteen, I was engaged to a guy named Wally Walbright. People do change, Cass."

  It was true. But I intended to ask Lacy about it anyway — if I could figure out a way to do it without blowing my cover.

  "What time is your meeting this morning? As soon as Holly leaves, I want to get a look at her cabin. Sooner or later I've got to be able to rule someone out besides Billie."

  "Ten o'clock. You're not coming?"

  "No. In fact, I think I'll skip breakfast, too. As long as you stay by Billie, you should be safe. I'll just have another of your rolls," I said, helping myself.

  "I hope we didn't keep you up last night." She stood with her back to the fire. "We got into reminiscing."

  "Can I ask you something personal?"

  "Don't be ridiculous. You saved my life yesterday. You've videotaped me naked. Of course you can ask me something personal."

  I ignored the videotape remark and took a sip of my coffee. "Have you ever thought about settling down? With one person? I mean, with someone like Billie, for example. It's obvious you really care about each other, and she's incredibly attractive. I just wondered if you ever got tired of playing the field."

  I expected her to laugh, or shrug it off with a witty remark, but instead she got up to pour more coffee. "Someday, maybe," she said finally. She let out a huge sigh. "I don't trust myself, I guess. It's not that I wouldn't love to have someone to share everything with, but I know I'd end up hurting them. Like before." To my astonishment, she started to cry, her eyes filling with tears which ran down her cheeks unchecked. There was no sound. Her shoulders didn't heave. She just stood there, letting the tears flow.

  "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

  She cut me off. "I've never spoken of it." She paused long enough for me to think she wouldn't continue, then she drew in a deep breath and went on. "My first true love was Mary Ann." She took another deep breath, closing her eyes, remembering. "Mary Ann Anderson," she almost whispered. "I called her Andy." She slowly exhaled and looked directly me. "Andy killed herself. Back in high school. Because I dumped her. I didn't want to be gay, you see, but I was so in love with her I couldn't help myself. It was incredible. We'd sit for hours, gazing into each other's eyes, just holding hands. My body was on fire, I loved her so much. My mother caught us kissing, and she refused to let me see her anymore. When I started dating Wally, Andy begged me to stop. I told her it was over between us, that what we'd felt was wrong, and that I didn't feel that way anymore. It was a lie, but I wanted it to be true." She paused. "She hung herself with the belt from her bathrobe. Her suicide note was written to me." Allison's pale skin was blotchy with emotion as the tears slid down her face.

  First Andy, I thought, and then her parents. No wonder Allison was afraid to love anyone. "You know it wasn't your fault," I offered lamely.

  She shook her head emphatically. "I know it was. I did the wrong thing. I tried to convince myself afterwards that I was in love with Wally, that I always had been. It was my way of justifying what I'd done to Andy. Poor Wally. He never stood a chance. I ended up hurting him too, of course."

  "I'm not an expert, Allie, but it seems to me you stand a better chance of hurting people the way your life is now than if you settled down with just one woman. This way, you just end up breaking everyone's heart."

  "But I tell them!" she yelled, making me start. She began pacing in front of the fireplace. I'd noticed the little cabin had grown quite warm.

  "I never promise anybody anything. I take nothing from them. I give what I can, and then I leave them alone. I never lead anyone to believe I'm in love with them. Even if I am."

  "Because you're afraid they'll love you back? And that you'll let them down? And that they might kill themselves because of it? Allison, you've got to get past it. What happened to Mary Ann was half a lifetime ago. You can't let it ruin your whole life."

  "I thought you said you weren't an expert," she said. "Now all the sudden you sound like Sigmund Fucking Freud. I'm going to take a shower!"

  Just like that, she was gone. I waited for the sound of the shower door closing before tiptoeing through the bathroom to my own side. I felt miserable. I'd had no right to pry, and less right to offer advice. I just couldn't believe that someone as shrewd and professional as Allison Crane could be so badly haunted by her past. Billie was wrong. Allison was no butterfly. She was still trapped in the cocoon she'd made for herself all those years ago.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Allison clearly didn't want to talk about it anymore, acting instead as if the conversation had never taken place. I left her at Billie's just before ten and headed over to Holly McIntyre’s cabin, glad that most of the women were already at breakfast or attending one of the morning workshops.

  I waited behind a cluster of trees just across from Holly's cabin, keeping an eye on the door. She seemed to have a habit of showing up late for meals, and just as I expected, it was almost ten before she emerged from her cabin. She was wearing an expensive-looking wool jacket over a silk blouse tucked into jeans and boots. As usual, she looked calm and collected, every blond strand of her Farrah Fawcett hairdo in perfect place. I watched her saunter toward the lodge, not a care in the world.

  Looking around to make sure no one was watching, I made my way to her door and let myself in. Holly's cabin was tidy but not sterile like Karen's. Right away, I noticed a book on mushrooms next to the bed and thumbed through it. I had a few similar books myself, and like mine, hers had a section on the poisonous ones. I noticed a few dog-eared pages and once again wondered what exactly had been in that pate someone had left for Allison. A few chopped mushrooms would be just as effective as rat poison, I thought, and harder to trace.

  Holly's clothes were neatly hung in the closet, revealing a surprisingly expensive wardrobe. She had enough clothes for a month and most of them were in the semi-dressy mode. I found a purse hanging on a hook in the closet and looked through it. Her wallet held no pictures, just credit cards, cash, driver's license and small change. The rest of the purse was equally barren. Small brush, mirror, nothing of interest. The bureau drawers were likewise neat, orderly and mundane. I'd given up worrying about pate, but I checked her refrigerator anyway and found nothing notable. About to conclude that Holly McIntyre was as boring as she was aloof, I thought to slide my hand under her pillow and felt the hard edges of a book.

  Another secret Bible reader? I wondered. Maybe Women On Top was teeming with religious zealots. I carefully slid the book out and willed myself to breathe slowly when I saw what it was. At last
, someone who really did keep a diary.

  Holly's handwriting was full of loops and curves. Her journal, as she referred to it, was apparently written with the intent of being of future use if and when she decided to write her memoirs. She was extremely factual in terms of dates and times, but more salient were the comments she made after each account. They weren't just biting and sarcastic, they were mean.

  5/23/95 — 3:00 PM — Reeva just called to invite me to a barbecue next Saturday. She made it clear she wasn't inviting everyone from WOT, just select members, and she wanted me to keep it quiet. Like I'd really want to go to one of her little barbecues. I can see it now. Football game blaring from the television in the living room (the fact she even has a TV in the living room should tell you something), a bunch of bulldykes swigging beer in the backyard while their femme fatale playmates ooh and ahh over them. But I told her I'd be there. A few of the women are at least interesting. They'll make great characters someday, should I decide to write about them. Of course, I could never write about Reeva. She's such a stereotype no one would find her credible.

  I flipped through the pages, reading one stinging comment after another. No one was spared. Holly's colleagues at the newspaper were blasted as often as the women from WOT. She even ridiculed the women she dated, calling one a "cloying pest." I was trying to hurry but found myself riveted. When I heard footsteps on the porch, my heart nearly stopped.

  There was no time to put the book back. No time to think. I dove under the bed, taking the journal with me just as I heard the key turn in the knob.

  The door banged open and Holly swept into the room. I held my breath, willing my heart to quit hammering, sure she'd be able to hear it.

  I could see her snakeskin boots, inches from my face. She was at the foot of the bed, apparently changing her shirt. When she flung her shirt to the floor, I saw why the sudden need for a change. Holly had spilled coffee down the front of her silk blouse. I'd never seen her lose her cool before, but she was definitely miffed at having ruined her outfit.