Sarah struggled to get her eyes open, aware of sunlight beyond the cream drapes. She fumbled for the bedside clock. Nearly nine, and she’d planned to get an early start today. At least she’d slept, and last night’s alarm was a half-forgotten dream.

      Once she’d showered and dressed, Sarah looked up the telephone number for the Donner house in her small personal directory. She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, staring at the phone. If she called, how likely was it that Trent would answer?

      If anyone else answered, she could simply ask for Derek, without giving her name. She punched in the number quickly, before she could change her mind.

      “Donner.”

      Sarah stopped breathing. Okay, she definitely didn’t want to talk to Trent this morning.

      “Is anyone there?” The words snapped, tinged with irritation.

      Carefully, holding her breath as if he might identify her by the slightest exhalation, Sarah hung up.

      Well, that little exercise showed that she was in no better shape to deal with Trent than she had been yesterday. She’d try again later. It must be possible to get through to Derek without Trent knowing about it. The man was powerful, not omniscient.

      She walked to the main house through air so wet it felt like a sauna. May on the island was like August in Boston.

      French doors fronted on the patio, and Jonathan sat with coffee and a newspaper in a sunny breakfast room beyond them. He sprang to his feet when she opened the door.

      “Good morning.” He laid aside the paper and pulled out a chair. “Sit down and have some breakfast with me.”

      She slid into a chair. A smiling maid appeared, setting a wedge of melon in front of her and pouring coffee.

      “You look better today.” Jonathan sounded as satisfied as if he were personally responsible.

      “I’m sorry about calling you last night. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

      Jonathan waved her concern away. “Not at all. You did the right thing.” He held up a section of newspaper. “Do you like to hide behind the paper at breakfast, or would you rather talk?”

      “Actually, I’d like to talk.” He had been frustratingly circumspect the previous night. Maybe if he understood what she was after, he’d feel differently. “About why I’m here.”

      He put the paper down on the glass tabletop, folding it neatly, not looking at her. “Forgive me for saying so, but this seems like the last place in the world you’d want to be.”

      “In some ways, it is.” Sarah frowned down at the scrambled eggs that had appeared in front of her. “A year ago, I never expected to come back.”

      “Anyone would feel that way.”

      “So you can’t help wondering why I’m here.” She couldn’t quite manage a smile.

      “Only if you want to tell me.”

      She didn’t, but she had to if she were to get his help. “I finally realized I couldn’t accept what happened and move on. The truth is, I don’t believe it.” Sarah dropped the spoon to the saucer, its tiny clatter accenting her words. “I don’t believe my husband was having an affair with Lynette Donner.”

      “Maybe it’s easier for you to feel that.” Jonathan’s voice was very gentle. “You loved him.”

      “You’re very sweet and tactful, Jonathan.” But she’d rather have honesty than tact. “It isn’t that I think our marriage was so perfect, Miles couldn’t fall for someone else.”

      “Then what?” He didn’t look at her, and she sensed his discomfort.

      “Miles. The kind of person Miles was. Honest, honorable. All those boring, typically New England virtues.”

      Puritan, Trent had said. There was nothing wrong with that.

      “Even the most honorable man might succumb to attraction.”

      “Miles wouldn’t betray his marriage vows. And he wouldn’t betray his friendship and respect for Trent.”

      “Anyone can make a mistake.”

      Her lips tightened. “You sound like Trent. He thinks anyone capable of betrayal. I don’t.”

      Finally his eyes met hers. “So you’ve come back to do what?”

      “To find out,” she said promptly. “If I’m wrong, I have to know that. If I’m right, then Miles had some other reason for being at the Cat Isle cottage that day. I intend to find out what it was.”

      “How, I wonder, are you going to do that?”

      She took a deep breath. “I thought you might help me.”

      For a moment, his expression froze. Then, quite suddenly, he laughed. “Honey, no wonder Trent’s trying to get rid of you. With you set to go prying, he’s afraid he won’t be able to keep things locked up anymore.”

      She blinked. “What do you mean?”

      “Power. The most blatant use of power I’ve ever seen.” He chuckled. “Didn’t you wonder why the papers didn’t have a field day with that story?”

      “I thought they did.” Even the Boston papers had run it.

      “Not like they could have. Trent gave out his version of the story and then he stonewalled those reporters. So did the local police. He called in every favor anybody in the state owed him to keep a lid on the story. Tragic accident—that was the verdict at the inquest and only a few scandal rags dared to print anything else. The story died for lack of fuel to feed it.”

      “People still talked. They must have. Not even Trent could control that.”

      Jonathan shrugged, lifting his coffee cup. “I suppose so, but for the most part, the islanders rallied around. No one wanted Melissa reading about her mother’s affair in the paper.” He stopped, reddening slightly.

      In other words, he believed Miles and Lynette were lovers. “Hurting Melissa is the last thing I’d do. She’s already been hurt enough. But I’ve got to know the truth.”

      “And just what part did you see me playing in this?”

      Something about his expression encouraged her.