Free Truth Or Dare by Jayne Ann Krentz Page A

manuscript?” Ethan asked.
    “The assumption is that it disappeared into the collectors’ market, but no trace of it has ever been found.”
    Ethan tapped his fingers together twice. “Anyone ever ask Maria about the murder and the missing manuscript?”

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    “Of course.” Paloma shrugged. “She died two years ago at the age of eighty-nine, and right up until the end collectors and academics routinely contacted her to ask her about the last Walter Kirwan manuscript.”
    “What did she tell them?”
    “The same thing she told her family and everyone else who asked about it. That Kirwan had been very dissatisfied with the manuscript, just as he had been with an earlier project. She said that he was morose and grim that evening. She claimed that the last thing he said to her before he closed the door of his study was that he intended to feed the manuscript to the fireplace, just as he had the other one.”
    Ethan frowned. “He told her that he was going to burn it?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, that would explain the missing manuscript,” he pointed out gently.
    “Not quite,” Paloma said. “It was midsummer, a very warm night. Maria told her family later that the hearth was clean the next morning. There was no evidence that Kirwan had lit a fire.”
    “Huh.”
    Bonnie nodded knowingly. “There are a couple of other details about this case that you might find interesting. I did a little preliminary research in the library’s collection of the back issues of the Whispering Springs Herald . Turns out that according to Maria, the door to Kirwan’s study was still locked from the inside the next morning. She had to get the key to open it.”
    “What’s the other detail?”
    “Walter Kirwan had a visitor on the day of his death. His name was George Exford. According to Maria, the two men quarreled violently over whether or not the manuscript was ready for publication.
    Exford left in a furious temper because Kirwan had refused to let him take the book with him.”
    “Who was Exford?”
    “Kirwan’s literary agent. He had a vested interest in seeing to it that the manuscript was handed over to the publisher. There was a fair amount of money at stake.”
    “Huh,” Ethan said again.
    Paloma glanced at Bonnie.
    “Don’t worry,” Bonnie said. “He always says that when he’s getting interested in an old case.”
    Ethan ignored her. He met Paloma’s eyes. “I get the feeling there’s something personal here, Mrs.
    Santana. What makes you think Maria Torres was telling the truth?”
    “She was my grandmother,” Paloma said coolly. “On behalf of the entire family, I would like to see her name cleared.”

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10
    They sat together at one of the outdoor cafes in Fountain Square. Arcadia ordered espresso. Zoe chose hot tea. It was midafternoon and the day had warmed up nicely. That morning it had been chilly, but Zoe had lathered on the sunscreen as usual. She had lived in Whispering Springs long enough to have developed a good deal of respect for the intensity of the desert light.
    Zoe had always been intrigued and attracted by contrasts and intense colors, but she had never expected to find so many of both here in this starkly etched land. The Sonoran desert was a study in opposites and ever-changing hues. A landscape that at first glance looked as if it could not possibly sustain life had proved to be stunningly rich in both flora and fauna.
    And the light was incredible. It dazzled the eye and created seductive shadows. The glorious yellows, purples and golds of a morning sunrise gave way to the unrelenting glare of the sun at high noon and then dissolved into the softest shades of twilight. The transition from the heat of late afternoon to the cool, silken air of the evening never ceased to fascinate her photographer’s eye.
    She took a sip of her tea, put