Pen stopped the car broadside in front of the garage door. She set the brake, shut off the headlights, and turned to Bodie.

He lifted the shotgun out of the way. He put his arms around her and drew her gently against him. They kissed. He slipped his hands beneath the sweatshirt, moved them up the velvety skin of her back.

'I wish we didn't have to go in there,' she whispered.

'We don't have to.'

Pen kissed him lightly, then eased herself away. She took the key from the ignition. She opened her door.

Bodie climbed out, taking the shotgun with him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

Pen stopped at the front door and searched through her keys with trembling fingers. 'I wish we knew whether Joyce is here,' she said.

'The garage have any windows?'

'No.'

She found the house key and opened the door. She started to enter, but Bodie put a hand on her shoulder. He stepped inside. Pen followed.

And heard Melanie's voice.

'a here alone, or I'll kill hera I don't think you want to do that. I've got a paper here that the cops would find very interesting.'

Pen silently shut the door and followed Bodie across the foyer.

'You'll see when you get here. You'd better make it quick. I'll kill her if you're not here in ten minutes.'

She hung up as they stepped into the den.

'Melanie?'

She turned around. 'The lovebirds,' she said, staring at them through strands of black hair. She stroked the hair away from her face, her fingertips drawing stripes of blood across her forehead. Her white blouse was untucked, its front smeared with blood as if she had used it repeatedly to wipe her hands.

'Oh, Mel,' Pen muttered, 'what have you done?'

With a smirk, she raised a sheet of paper.

Bodie took it from her and studied it.

'You guys would've let them get away with killing Dad.'

'They didn't kill him,' Pen said.

Melanie's lips quivered. 'You just wanted to take Bodie away from me. That was all you cared about. You didn't care what they did to Dad.'

'Of course I care,' Pen said, realizing that Melanie now seemed more coherent than she'd been when Bodie took her away from the apartment. More coherent, but no less crazy.

The girl's lips peeled up, a dog snarl that changed into a sick grin. 'You cared about spreading your legs.'

Bodie handed the paper to Pen. Its edges had b.l.o.o.d.y fingerprints. She read the shaky handwriting: This is my confession. I, Joyce Conway, conspired with Harrison Donner to murder my husband, Whit Conway. We were lovers behind his back. We wanted him dead so as to get his insurance and inheritance.

'That was Harrison you told to come over?' Bodie asked.

'Who else?'

'He'll probably show up with a G.o.dd.a.m.n SWAT team.'

'I don't think so.'

I let Harrison in on where and when we planned to have dinner and he waited in his car. When Whit started to cross the street, he hit him with the car.

It was a stolen car, as he didn't want to use his own.

Joyce's signature was scribbled at the bottom in the same handwriting as the confession.

'Where is she?' Bodie asked.

'Want to see her?' Melanie looked at her wrist.w.a.tch. It was Bodie's. 'I guess we have a few minutes.' She took the paper from Pen and stepped past them. As they followed her to the stairway, she glanced back. 'We'll have to hide before Harrison shows up. The element of surprise, you know.'

At the bottom of the stairs, Bodie looked at Pen. His face was gray. He took her hand. His fingers felt like ice.

They rushed up the stairs behind Melanie. She led the way along the corridor.

Pen knew they would find carnage. She felt lightheaded and numb. The lights seemed too dim. When she blinked, an electric-blue aura surrounded Melanie. Pen was nauseous. Just like Friday night, she thought, the mystery writers' meeting, the coroner's shock-show.

Post-mortem lividity, bite marks on the corpse's b.u.t.tock, the gray p.e.n.i.s of the dead man, fly eggs in the nostril.

I've gotta get out of here.

Fresh air.

Bodie stopped her at the door of the master bedroom. 'Wait here,' he said.

Pen leaned against the doorframe, her back to the room. Bodie let go of her hand. He stepped past her. Sliding down, Pen hung her head and stared between her knees at the carpet.

I shouldn't, she thought. Shouldn't let him face it alone. It'll help him if I'm there.

She forced herself to stand.

She heard nothing from inside the room.

Turning to the doorway, she saw Bodie and Melanie standing side by side. Their backs were toward her. Their bodies blocked her view of whatever they were looking at. Whatever? Joyce.

Pen walked slowly closer.

She smelled blood, and gagged. Quickly, she lifted the front of her sweatshirt. She pressed the soft fabric to her nose and mouth. It had a fresh scent that masked the coppery odor of the blood. She stopped gagging. She blinked the tears from her eyes and stepped to Bodie's side.

Joyce, on a straight-backed chair, gazed at her from a crimson face. She blinked away the blood that dribbled into her eyes from her cut forehead. She was gasping through her nose. A strip of cloth, probably a robe belt, was tied across her mouth.

'I had to do a little number on her,' Melanie said.

Bodie tipped the shotgun toward Pen. It was resting on the floor, barrel up. Keeping the sweatshirt over her mouth, she gripped the barrel with her other hand and held the weapon upright while Bodie stepped behind the chair.

Joyce's feet were tied to the chair legs. Her nightgown clung to her with blood, but Pen couldn't see any other wounds. All the blood, she thought, had come from the cuts on Joyce's forehead.

If that was all, she ought to recover.

Could've been worse, Pen thought. A lot worse.

She looked at Melanie. Melanie was staring at the shotgun. No, she realized. Not at the shotgun.

At me with my sweatshirt pulled up.

A chill squirmed up her back. She tugged the sweatshirt down. Melanie's gaze lifted to her face.

Pen could hardly believe the hatred in her sister's eyes.

The gaze shifted away from her as Bodie slipped the cloth from Joyce's mouth. 'What're you doing?' she demanded.

'For G.o.dsake,' Bodie muttered. He crouched to untie Joyce's hands.

'Leave her alone.'

Pen realized that Joyce's mouth was stuffed with something. Stepping closer, she shifted the shotgun barrel to her other hand and bent over the woman.

'Don't do that,' Melanie warned.

'Shut up,' Pen said, and dug fingers into Joyce's mouth. She pulled out a sodden rag. A nylon stocking.

Joyce gasped for breath.

'You want her to warn Harrison?'

'Are you all right?' Pen asked.

'Muha my face.'

'Are you hurt anywhere else?'

'Has a nasty b.u.mp on the back of her head,' Bodie said.

Pen patted the wadded stocking gently against Joyce's forehead. Lifting the nylon away, she looked at the wounds. The letters AM had been carved into her brow. Holding the cloth to the cuts, she scowled over her shoulder at Melanie. 'What the h.e.l.l is this!'

'You two are such f.u.c.king literary types, figure it out.'

'I can't get her hands undone,' Bodie said.

'Why did you do it?' Pen blurted. 'G.o.d Almighty, Mela'

' "A" for adultery, "M" for murder.'

'Why did you do it!'

'To get her confession, of course.'

'You idiot! That confession's no good. It's worthless. You tortured it out of her.'

'She wouldn't write it. I had to make her.'

'Lying,' Joyce murmured. 'She did thisa after. Justa to hurt me.'

'The confession's no good,' Pen repeated.

'Too bad,' Melanie said. Lunging sideways, she rammed Pen.

'Hey!' Bodie yelled.

Pen's feet tangled. She struck the floor shoulder first and cried out as the shotgun barrel hammered her fingers against the carpet.

Bodie sprang up from his crouch behind Joyce. He shouted, 'NO!' and flung his hands forward to shove Melanie away.

Too late.

The knife (where did that come from?) slashed Joyce's throat and a spray of blood whipped across the front of Melanie's blouse as Bodie's hands smashed her shoulders and sent her stumbling away.

She landed on her back.

Pen, getting up, watched Bodie run through the flying blood. He bent over Melanie. 'Give me that!' he yelled. He reached for the knife and drew his hand back fast as Melanie slashed at it. 'Give me that! G.o.d! G.o.d!' Melanie squirmed and twisted on the floor, kicking at his shins and slashing at him. Bodie kept yelling and trying to s.n.a.t.c.h her knife hand.

Pen picked up the shotgun. 'Get out of the way!' she snapped at Bodie.

He looked at her.

Melanie's right leg kicked up, her shoe smashing him in the groin. His eyes bulged. Clutching himself, he doubled over. His knees pounded the floor.

Melanie rolled away from him.

Pen aimed the shotgun at her as she scrambled to her feet. 'Stop!'

Melanie walked slowly toward Pen, hunched over, the knife in her right hand, her eyes almost hidden behind hanging ropes of hair. 'Gonna blow me away, sister? Go ahead. Well, do it. It's you or me.'