Her dad replied, "I'm saying that the M.E. has chosen to emphasize different facts. There could be other explanations as well. Annabel Colbert might have used Malathion to kill fleas. For all we know, she could have been ingesting small amounts of Malathion over the past few months and it finally caught up with her. She may have been taking it to kill her appet.i.te."

"That's absurd," Bernie cried. "No one would do something like that."

"Not true," her father said. "Back in the early nineteen hundreds women used to swallow a.r.s.enic to make their skin glow."

"But they don't do things like that now," Bernie objected.

Clyde shifted position. "Ellen Tarbrush did it five years ago. Of course, she was trying to frame her husband for murder."

"Well, in this case Annabel's husband probably is guilty. Her husband probably put the Malathion and flee and tick spray in her wine. He was the one who was opening the bottles," Libby said. Then she added, "Or it could have been one of her friends. Although 'friends' is a misnomer. Everyone at the party seemed to have a real grudge against her. And she knew it, because she was getting ready to kiss them all off."

Bernie nodded her agreement. "Maybe that's why they felt that way. Maybe they knew or at least suspected what she was going to say."

Sean shrugged. "That's all very well. What you say may be true, but you have to prove it. That's a bit more difficult."

Libby raised her coffee mug to her lips and put it down again without having any. "What is Malathion anyway?"

"It's a pesticide," Clyde informed her. "People don't use it that much anymore, because it's so toxic."

"Evidently," Bernie observed.

Clyde continued, "But it used to be fairly common and people still have bottles of it around their houses."

"So," Libby mused, thinking aloud, "a ruling of accidental death means no homicide investigation."

"Exactly," Sean and Clyde said simultaneously.

"And they're cremating the body tomorrow," Clyde said.

"That was quick," Sean said.

Clyde nodded. "That's my thinking too."

Sean paused for a moment to eat the last bit of his pancake. Then he said, "Almost too hasty, unless you're an orthodox Jew, if you ask me."

"It's downright unseemly, to my mind," Clyde agreed.

"Well," Sean rejoined, "I hate to state the obvious, but it is hard to run a tox screen on ashes."

"Yup. Can't exhume a body when there's no body to exhume," Clyde said.

"Can't someone stop Richard?" Libby asked.

"On what grounds?" Clyde responded. "There's no legal basis. We need a reason."

"But that's going to end the possibility of any investigation," Bernie observed.

"Not necessarily," Sean said.

Clyde nodded. "Back in the day we used to get a fair number of convictions without any of that fancy equipment they have now."

"Yes," Sean agreed. "It's amazing what one's powers of observation and a little common sense can produce." He looked at Bernie and Libby. "I've found that funerals can be especially interesting places to people watch. Deaths do not necessarily bring out the best in everyone."

Bernie nodded. "That's what I was just thinking."

"Me too," Libby agreed. "We should probably offer to take a plate of something over to the grieving widower as well."

"If he's not too busy to eat because he's being consoled by another member of the fairer s.e.x," Bernie replied. "I've been told by reliable sources that on occasion s.e.x is seen as the antidote to grief."

Libby threw up her hands in feigned horror. "Why, Bernie," she cried. "What a wicked thing to say."

Bernie grinned. "I know. I'm truly repentant."

Libby turned to her dad. "You were right. A promise is a promise. We swore to Annabel that we'd find her killer and we will."

Sean beamed. He felt blessed to have two such wonderful daughters. Not that he would ever say that to them. At least not in those words. But he suspected they knew how he felt anyway.

"Mom would have had a fit," Libby said suddenly.

"This is true," Sean agreed. His wife had never approved of his career in law enforcement and would certainly never have sanctioned her daughters' involvement in such activities. But they loved it, so what could he do?

"Of course, she had a fit when you put c.u.min in the beef stew," Bernie pointed out.

Sean rose to her defense. "She was a good woman."

"We never said she wasn't," Libby and Bernie said simultaneously.

"She loved you both."

"We know," Libby said.

"She was just a little bit conservative," Sean observed.

Everyone fell silent. But a moment later Clyde brought up Annabel Colbert's funeral and they were off and running again.

Chapter 5.

Libby reflected that given Annabel Colbert's social standing her funeral was extremely modest by any standards. Marvin had told her that last night when he'd dropped by to retrieve his gloves. He'd said he'd heard that her husband had chosen the cheapest route possible. But it was one thing to hear it and another thing to see it.

The service itself was a graveside affair that took place in the Oakwood Cemetery, which was over in the old part of the town. Even though it had once been the final resting site of the Longely elite, these days anyone who was anyone was buried in the Mission Cemetery over in Pine Haven.

Although it was never explicitly stated, it was common knowledge that the Oakwood Cemetery was now reserved for the middle and lower-middle cla.s.ses. It seemed to Libby that Annabel Colbert, a woman who practiced the art of social climbing in all its myriad forms, would have been extremely unhappy if she had known where she was being laid to rest. In fact, she would have considered it a direct slap in the face by her husband, which was probably what he had intended.

There had been no obituary in either the local paper or the New York Times, another glaring omission by her husband. This was probably why there were a small number of people attending her funeral-that and the fact that she was an unpleasant person, although that never stopped people from showing up if the unpleasant person was sufficiently financially well endowed. In any case, Annabel would have been furious.

She would have wanted hordes of people pouring out of black limos, she would have wanted hundreds of roses covering her coffin, she would have wanted to be the center of attention at her last biggest event, but that's not what she got. No indeedy. The only people in attendance were the minister, the people who had been at the dinner Bernie and Libby had catered, their dogs, and Bernie and Libby themselves.

Richard had dressed Trudy in a little black shrug and a matching black leather collar for the occasion. Melissa's and Joyce's dogs were also wearing black, while Bree's dog, Rudolph, was wearing sungla.s.ses, a biker's hat, and a small black leather jacket with chains. Bree, on the other hand, was dressed in her usual pink Chanel except for the addition of the huge fuchsia Prada bag slung over her shoulder, which Bernie decided was almost worth killing for.

"I know Rudolph looks a little distingue in his leathers, but Annabel loved this outfit, so I thought seeing it would give her a lift wherever she is," Bree confided to Bernie and Libby as they trooped up to the grave site together.

She'd looked slightly surprised to see them when she'd pulled up behind Libby and Bernie's van, but so far she hadn't commented on their being there, which Bernie thought was a good thing. It meant that she didn't disapprove of their presence at the funeral. There was really no reason that she should, but with Bree you never knew.

The day was overcast. Even though this February had been atypically mild up till now, it was more than cold enough for Libby, who wound her scarf more tightly around her neck to ward off the chill. During the spring, summer, and fall, the old oaks and trembling aspens that dotted the landscape lent shade and color to the cemetery, but in midwinter their bare branches gave the place a melancholy air. But then maybe that was the point.

"I didn't know you were coming," Bree said as she paused to b.u.t.ton the blond, full-length shearling coat she had on. "You should have called. We could have ridden together."

So you could have pumped us for information, Libby thought uncharitably as she apologized for their oversight.

Bernie pulled the heel of her boot out of the semifrozen ground before replying. She kept forgetting that stilettos were not a good shoe to wear in this weather. "Well, since we were there when it happened," she explained, leaving the "it happened" conveniently vague, "we thought we should be there at the end."

Bree didn't look convinced. "How did you find out? This is a private affair. There's going to be a memorial service for everyone in a couple of months."

"Really," Bernie said. "How odd."

She didn't mention that she and Libby had gotten all the details from Marvin last night. His dad may not have been handling the funeral, but that didn't stop him from knowing everything.

"Not really," Bree replied. "It's the way it's done these days. Especially when the mourners are prostrate with grief. At least that's what Richard tells me."

Had Bree actually rolled her eyes when she'd uttered that sentence? Bernie wasn't sure. She'd have to ask her sister later.

Bree turned to Libby. "Who knew?"

"Not me for sure," her sister replied.

"Speaking of which," Bree said, "does Richard know?"

"That we're coming?" asked Bernie.

"No, Rudolph, that's rude," Bree said to her dog as he stopped to pee on a grave marker before turning her attention back to Bernie. "What else would I be talking about?"

Libby put a gloved hand to her mouth and feigned wide-eyed innocence. "Oh dear. Do you think he'll mind?"

Bree swallowed. Libby knew Bree wanted to say something on the order of Tell me you're kidding me. But she didn't. Instead she cast her gimlet eyes on her and said, "You girls aren't thinking of investigating, are you? After all, you did promise Annabel that you would."

"Oh no," Libby said. "Perish the thought. We just said that so we could call the ambulance."

"What's to investigate?" Bernie added. "Annabel's death was declared an accident."

"Yes, it was," Bree agreed. She paused for a moment while she considered her conversational options. Libby could see that she was having trouble finding a way to say what she wanted to. Finally, she came out with, "I know Annabel could be a bit overbearing from time to time, a bit hysterical, but I always admired her spirit." She paused again and fiddled with the brown leather b.u.t.tons on her coat. "She was a go-getter and I can relate to that." She looked down at the ground for a moment before fixing her gaze on Bernie and Libby. "I understand that investigations can be...reopened...from time to time if sufficient reasons are found."

"So we've been told," Bernie said.

"Good reasons," Bree reiterated.

"Very good ones," Bernie repeated.

Bree nodded. "Of course one has to tread carefully where the superrich are concerned."

"Especially when they're one's bread and b.u.t.ter," Bernie said.

"There is that," Bree said.

Bernie nodded. "Makes sense to me."

Bree bent down and picked up Rudolph. "I thought you would understand," she replied. "What does your dad say?"

Bernie scratched Rudolph under his chin. He snorted in pleasure. "He says that mistakes have been known to happen. They're not anyone's fault. It's just the way things occur."

The three women exchanged looks.

"Good," Bree said briskly. "Let's join everyone, shall we? I believe the service is about to start."

Bernie could tell from the scowl on Richard Colbert's face that he was not pleased to see them. Not pleased to see them was probably an understatement. And really, why should he be? she reflected. Essentially, they were crashing the funeral.

But before he could say anything, Bree chirped, "Look who I met walking up. Isn't it sweet of the girls to come and pay their respects?"

"I hope you don't mind," Libby said.

"Mind?" Richard's laugh at the absurdity of the notion was less than convincing. Bernie wondered if anyone there believed him as he continued. "Why should I mind? What a silly notion. It just never occurred to me that you'd be interested in coming."

"When we heard we just decided to come over," Bernie told him. "If you'd like we can leave."

"No. No," Richard said in an insincere-sounding voice. "Don't be ridiculous. We're having a bite after the service. I know you girls are terribly busy and probably don't have the time, but I know Annabel would have adored it if you could join us."

"We'd love to," Libby and Bernie said in unison.

"We brought some food," Bernie said.

Richard looked even unhappier, if that was possible.

Libby took up the conversational baton. "It's nothing much. Just some homemade bread, a couple of roast chickens, and a tossed salad. No one should have to cook at a time like this."

It was with great difficulty that Richard managed to get out the words "Great" and "You shouldn't have" as he turned to the minister.

"He was definitely not pleased," Libby told her dad later.

"Yeah," Bernie said. "He expected us to take the hint and leave."

Sean smiled. "Well, given the circ.u.mstances, of course he wasn't pleased to see you. If I were him, I wouldn't be pleased to see you either."