She struggled to separate herself from her father's pain and focus on the medicolegal facts. "Go on."

"The presence of smoke and soot in the throat and lungs is one of the ways the pathologist determines the victim actually died in the fire."

"Or if he was dead before he was set on fire." "Exactly."

"And Dr. Sands found both in his throat and lungs?" "Yes." He reached for her father's file, flipped it

open and read. "Yes," he repeated.

She cleared her throat. "What else would the pathologist look for in a case like my father's?"

"To confirm cause and manner of death?" She nodded. "Hemorrhages in the remaining soft tissue.

Evidence of drugs or alcohol in the toxicology tests. We test blood, urine, bile and vitreous fluid. Each serves as a check for the other."

"And in my father-"

"We found trace amounts of the drug Halcion in his system. It's a sleep medication."

She straightened. "Sleeping pills? Are you certain?"

He looked surprised by her response. "You didn't know? I spoke with Earl, the pharmacist at Friendly Drugs in Cypress Springs. Your dad had been taking sleeping pills for some time."

"Who prescribed them?"

He thought a moment, then held up a finger, indicating she should wait. He referred to the file again.

"There it is. Prescribed them for himself."

Avery didn't know what to say.

"Inability to sleep is not uncommon in people who are depressed."

She struggled to find her voice. He hadn 't been sleeping. Another thing she hadn't known about her

father, his state of mind.

What kind of daughter was she?

"Why would he do that?" she managed to say finally. "If he planned to kill himself the way he did, why take sleeping pills before?" "Pill," he corrected. "The level of the drug in his bloodstream was consistent with having taking a .25-milligram tablet at bedtime. Which, by the way, was the dose he'd prescribed himself."

"I still don't understand, then-"

"Why?" he finished for her. "We can't be certain, of course. Could be he wanted to take the edge off, dull

his senses. Or that he decided to act after he'd taken it."

It appeared as if he crawled a couple feet toward the door.

"Ms. Chauvin?"

She looked up. He held out a box of tissues. She hadn't realized she was crying. She plucked a tissue

from the box and dried her eyes and cheeks, working to pull herself together. "Was there anything...suspicious about his death?"

"Suspicious?" He drew his eyebrows together. "I'm not certain I understand."

"Anything that suggested his death wasn't a suicide?"

When he spoke, his tone was patient. "If you discount leaving a death unclassified, there are only four classifications of death. Natural causes. Accident. Suicide or homicide. We can eliminate the first two.

That leaves suicide. Or homicide."

"I realize that."

He frowned slightly. "What are you getting at, Ms. Chauvin?"

I'm just-" She crumbled the tissue. "Frankly, I can't believe he did this. He didn't leave a note. In our

conversations, and we spoke often, he gave no indication of being so depressed that he might take his

own life."

Another man mighthave been offended, might have thought she was questioning his skill or professionalism; Dr. Harris was sympathetic. She suspected he dealt with grieving family members a lot.

"The Cypress Springs police did a thorough investigation. As did I. Dr. Sands is a top-notch forensic pathologist. Toxicology revealed nothing but the Halcion. I found nothing about the body to suggest homicide. Neither did Dr. Sands. Friends and neighbors described him as acting strangely for some time before his death. Reclusive. Depressed. That behavior seemed consistent with suicide. I understand, too, that your mother had died recently."

"A year ago," she murmured, shaken. He got what he deserved.

You will, too.

Avery pressed her lips together.

He sat forward. "Is there something you think I should know? Something you're not saying?"

She met his eyes.What would he think if she shared her anonymous caller's message? Would he call it a

sick joke-or a serious threat?

She shook her head. "No. Nothing."

"You're certain?"

"Absolutely." She stood and held out her hand. "You've been very helpful, Dr. Harris. Thank you for

your time."

He followed her to her feet, took her hand. "If you need anything further, just call. I'm mostly here."

She started for the door. He called her name, stopping her. She looked back.

"I hope you'll forgive an old man for meddling, but I've done this job for a lot of years. Talked with a lot

of grieving family members. I understand tow difficult it is to accept when a loved one takes their own life.The guilt you feel. You tell yourself you should have seen it coming, that if you had, your loved one would be alive.

"The ones who do the best get on with living. They accept that the act wasn't about them, that it wasn't about anything they did or didn't do." He paused. "Time, Ms. Chauvin. Give yourself some time. Talk to someone. A counselor. Clergyman. Then get on with living."

If only it were that easy. If only it all didn't feel so wrong.

She forced a small smile. "You're very kind, Dr. Harris."

"Just so you know, I intend to tell your sister the same thing."

She stopped. Turned. "Excuse me?"

"Your sister. She called after you did. She's coming at three." At her expression, he frowned. "Is

something wrong, Ms. Chauvin?

"I don't have a sister, Dr. Harris."

CHAPTER 18.

Avery waited in the parking lot beside Dr. Harris's office, the SUV's windows lowered to let in the mild March breeze. She'd positioned the Blazer at the edge of the lot, alongside a dilapidated Cadillac Seville.

At two fifty-five, another vehicle pulled into the lot, a woman at the wheel. Avery slid low in her seat, not wanting the woman to spot her-yet. Not until she couldn't avoid coming face-to-face with Avery.

The woman parked her Camry, never even glancing Avery's way. She flipped down her sun visor, checked her appearance in the lighted mirror, then snapped it shut and got out of the vehicle.

Only then did Avery get a clear view of her. A small sound of surprise slid past her lips.

The woman from her father's wake. The one the group of men had been staring at.

Avery threw open her door and jumped out, slamming it behind her. The woman stopped. Turned toward her. Her face registered shock. Then dismay.

Avery closed the distance between them. "We need to talk."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't be coy. You were at my father's wake. And now you're here. Claiming to be my sister. I think

you'd better tell me why."

She opened her mouth as if to deny the allegations, then shut it. She motioned to the picnic table at the rear of the building, set up under a sprawling old oak tree. "Over there."