“Was she angry with you?”

“No. She lied to me.” Josie’s voice shook. “Laughed and said that I was mistaken, that she’d been talking to a friend. I knew she hadn’t been, knew that tone in her voice was for a lover, not a friend.”

“Did she ever admit the truth?”

“About a month ­later—­she came up to me out of the blue and said she was sorry for having lied to me, but that she couldn’t talk about the person she was dating. She said he was inappropriate and that she wasn’t ready for anyone to know about the relationship.” Josie extended her other hand toward Anahera. “Since you’re doing such a good job.”

Laughing at this small glimpse of the content, happy Josie she knew, Anahera switched her warming-­up attentions to her friend’s neglected hand. “When she said ‘inappropriate,’ did you have any idea what she meant?”

A shake of the head. “I nudged her about it, asked if there was anything I could do, even cautioned her against getting involved with a man who might not be good for her, but she just hugged me and said she loved me for caring.”

Josie sank her teeth into her lower lip. “Then she told me not to worry, that her guy wasn’t abusive or a drug dealer or anything bad like that, only someone it might take her aunt a little bit to warm up to, so she was going slow with it.”

It wasn’t much to go on. Inappropriate could mean all kinds of ­things—­the lover could’ve been significantly older, for example. “Did you two ever talk about it again?”

“I accidentally walked in on another phone call a few months later. She was out back having a break, but I needed her to come in because a tourist bus had turned up early and I knew we were about to be slammed. I pushed open the back door and heard her say, ‘We are sinners.’ ”

Josie’s face turned stark. “She hung up as soon as she saw me and we didn’t talk about it then, but at the end of the rush, she looked at me and said, ‘Will you still be my friend when you find out what I’ve done?’ ” Her fingers tightened on Anahera’s. “It was so sad, the way she said it. I told her nothing could break our friendship and then, because I thought she needed a laugh, I said the only caveat was if she attempted to seduce Tom. Then all bets were off.”

“Unless Tom has had a personality transplant, I don’t think you ever have to worry about him straying.” Even Anahera, with her dim view of men, couldn’t fault Tom’s loyalty or love. He’d do anything for Josie, including hauling over supplies for her crazy friend who lived in a cabin on the edge of ­town—­he’d also checked Anahera’s plumbing while he was there.

Tom Taufa was one of the good guys.

“That’s why it was so funny, the idea of him being seduced.” Releasing Anahera’s hand, Josie resettled herself on the chair. “But Miri’s face went kind of still and odd, and she said, ‘You never have to worry about that, Josie,’ and then she left to deliver a coffee to Glenda at the tourist center, and we never talked about it again.”

Anahera sat back in her seat. “A married man?”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Josie said with a sigh. “I really didn’t want to believe ­it—­I take marriage vows dead seriously. But I love Miriama. I decided my job was to support her. And I wasn’t about to blame her when she wasn’t the one who was breaking vows.” Her voice was harder on the next words. “If I ever find the man who convinced her to break her faith, however, I’ll have a few things to say to him. She was tormented at committing a sin.”

The small bell above the door tinkled.

Anahera turned to see Dominic de Souza; she recognized him only because Matilda had shown her a photo of Miriama with “her doctor boyfriend.” There’d been so much pride in Matilda at that instant, her ­tear-­swollen eyes momentarily suffused with happiness.

There was nothing of happiness in Dominic de Souza.

Grief had ravaged his face, creating new grooves in his skin, and his hair was as wild as his eyes behind the clear lenses of his glasses, but he had on a fresh white shirt over a pair of black pants. “I’ve got patients to see,” he said without a greeting. “I’m the only doctor in town.”

Pushing herself up by using the table as a brace, Josie walked over to take Dominic’s hands. “I’ll make you your usual,” she said softly. “If you need anything else, you just call from the clinic.”

Anahera rose and began to put on her anorak while Josie went around to make the coffee. The doctor just stood there, his face more than a little vacant. Anahera didn’t know if he should be treating patients today, but maybe being in the surgery would wake him up. And, unfortunately, he was right: he was the only medical help around unless you were prepared to drive fifty minutes to an hour ­south—­and that was assuming clear roads with no slips from the storm.

In a local emergency, Dominic de Souza was the only choice.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay treating patients?” she asked, careful to keep her voice nonjudgmental.

Blinking, he turned to stare at her. Intelligence sparked in the pale bloodshot brown of his eyes, his shoulders squaring. “I’m a good doctor,” he bit out.

Anahera couldn’t fault him for his edgy reaction to a complete stranger questioning his competence. She’d probably lose her shit, too, were their positions reversed. Looking back over her shoulder, she said, “Josie, I’ve put the money for my cappuccino on the table.” She left before her friend could tell her to take her money with ­her—­the way Josie looked after everyone, it was a wonder she was turning any kind of a profit.

Having walked into town, Anahera began to head toward the police station.

When a gleaming black sports car crawled up along the otherwise empty street littered with fallen leaves, dirty candy wrappers, and other ­storm-­borne debris, Anahera noticed it without paying it much mind. Not until it pulled to a stop a few meters ahead of her and the driver shut off the engine.

The door opened seconds later, a familiar man getting out.

34

Daniel May came straight toward her. “I thought that was you, Ana.”

“Daniel.” Anahera stopped, her hands in the pockets of the anorak. “How much is that car worth?” She recognized the ­make—­Edward had owned a sedan because he was far too sensible to drive around London in a car worth the same as a house, but he’d always lusted after fast cars that were all about speed and elegance.

Before everything had gone wrong and they’d broken so deep the fracture could never be patched, Anahera used to tell him he should buy one on his fortieth birthday and to hell with anyone who thought he was hav­ing a midlife crisis. Instead, he’d gone out and gotten himself a mistress.

“It’s a Lamborghini, isn’t it? Did you get it the same time you grew a pony­­tail?”

A bright white smile from the man who’d once been a boy on whom she’d had a crush. She’d been thirteen at the time, Daniel fifteen.

“Nice to know you aren’t going to give me the cold shoulder.” His sunglasses hid eyes she remembered as being unusually dark, but his tone was open ­enough—­and cuttingly bitter. “I’m getting sick of it from everyone else.”