There were small canapes with smoked salmon, tuna salad, or seared vegetables, topped with tiny blobs of caviar, and an equal number without the caviar for those who didn't like it. Attendees weren't allowed to serve themselves the caviar. There were servings of delicious-smelling sausages with parsley, and several sauces for them in small white dishes with little spoons.

Several of the heated dishes were mixed vegetables cut cleverly, and there was one of Jane's favorite dishes-scalloped potatoes, with a dusting of paprika. In addition, there was a vast a.s.sortment of rolls. Some with salt, some with caraway seeds, some with celery seed, and many plain. The desserts were still in the trucks, being kept hot or cold as needed, the owner explained.

The napkins were generously sized and looked almost like real cloth. They were stamped with red stars. Sh.e.l.ley was impressed.

Jane had eaten at home before dressing and arrived shortly after Sh.e.l.ley. She was followed by members of the cast and crew and the honored guests Evelyn Chance had invited. The servers greeted them with smiles and started serving.

"This whole room smells heavenly," Jane said to Sh.e.l.ley. "I've already eaten but the aroma is making me hungry again."

Mel soon arrived, and Professor Imry came last. The doors were then locked to prevent casual pedestrians from joining the party.

A separate table was set up for drinks. Everyone had been given a chit for one free drink, and a list of the cost for second rounds was posted behind the table. Jane used her chit for a c.o.ke. Sh.e.l.ley opted for white wine.

Mel, apologizing to Jane for cutting her short on the phone earlier, went through the buffet line with her. He kept his conversation bland and cheerful, and so did Jane.

For about a half hour, people mingled and ate,chatting excitedly about the play. Then the serving tables started being cleared, full wastebaskets were replaced with fresh ones, the desserts arrived, and one waiter was dispatched to collect dishes, napkins, and gla.s.ses from windowsills where they'd been left. Some of the guests pa.s.sed on desserts and started going into the theater. The cast and crew had already withdrawn to the back of the theater. The only people left were Jane, Sh.e.l.ley, Ms. Chance and her special guests, and the catering staff. Even Mel had disappeared.

Twenty-four.

They all sat through the dress rehearsal, except for Sh.e.l.ley, who stayed behind to see to it that the caterers cleaned up, and made sure the yummiest leftovers were put in her minivan.

The play had been promoted as a "whimsical 1930s-style mystery," but the only thing approaching humor, much less whimsy, were the remarks that the butler made to the audience. Everybody found them funny. Imry was furious, of course. The last thing he'd said to the cast was that Cecil, the butler, wasn't to improvise.

The costumes looked fabulous and even Jane felt compelled to tell Tazz what a great job she'd done. It was hard to find her. Tazz had deliberately stayed as far away from Jane and Sh.e.l.ley as she could. She hadn't even turned up for the party in the lobby.

Ms. Bunting was by far the best thing about the play. She played Edina Weston with wry dignity and energy, and was clearly the star. John Buntingactually seemed almost sober. He said all his lines without slurring a single word. He didn't have to put his hand on the back of the sofa or his elbow on the mantel to keep himself upright.

Jane knew Ms. Bunting had to have been responsible for this unusual behavior, and wondered how she'd kept him from drinking.

When the play ended, the small audience seemed surprised. There was some muttering. Jane overheard one of Ms. Chance's contributors saying, "This must be fixed, Evelyn. There's no resolution to the plot. Why did the butler murder the younger son?"

Ms. Chance said, "You should have read the script I sent you early on. There could have been a better ending if supporters of the theater had spoken up sooner."

"She can't wiggle out that easily," Jane whispered to Sh.e.l.ley. "She'll probably never get more funding for anything from him."

"Serves her right," Sh.e.l.ley whispered back. "She could have influenced Imry to fix it. She was the only person he had reason to be afraid of."

The curtain calls were interesting. When the characters, in reverse order of importance, came on the stage, Bill Denk, the butler, was cheered, and the clapping went on for a long time-especially considering he had so few lines.

But when Ms. Bunting, elegant and smiling, came on stage, there was a standing ovation.

Flowers were brought on stage for her. A dozen red roses.

"We should have sent her flowers," Jane said.

"I've already ordered them for the opening night tomorrow. I wonder who these are from?"

"I'd guess they're from her daughter as a special early surprise. At least I hope so," Jane said.

As they followed the limited audience to the lobby, they overheard other complaints about the unsatisfactory ending of the play. The wives of some of the crew had been present. The prop master had brought along his daughter and her small son, who had fallen sound asleep within the first half hour. The scene painters were allowed to be in the audience with their girlfriends.

Before going home, Jane and Sh.e.l.ley went backstage to tell Ms. Bunting how good she'd been.

In the background, they could all hear Ms. Chance berating Professor Imry. "You're going to have a long night, young man. You're going to have to rewrite that ending. The investors who pitched in to help the college fund this are in revolt. Either change the victim and perpetrator, or figure out an explanation for why the butler would kill the younger son. It makes no sense."

Jane, Sh.e.l.ley, and Ms. Bunting were all smiling at this rant.

Jane had to ask, "Who were the roses from?" "My daughter. She always does this. Giving

me something to enjoy before the actual performance, no matter where it is. She's wonderful."

"We have to go home now," Sh.e.l.ley said, still grinning. "My car is full of leftovers from the party, and I need to get them in the fridge soon."

"Will you be back tomorrow?" Ms. Bunting asked.

"Probably just for the last act," Jane said. "To see how it ends the next time."

They all laughed.

Mel hadn't watched the dress rehearsal except for the last scene. He'd been at his office tying up some loose ends on another case that had just cropped up that afternoon. It involved one of those stupid criminals who didn't leave the scene quickly enough.

A skinny, weedy young man had burgled a house and walked out the front door with all the family's silver in a burlap bag. There he was confronted by the burly owner of the house, who had a big loop of rope he was going to use to make a swing in the backyard for his kids. The guy tied the perp up with the rope while his wife called the police to fetch the burglar.

Mel got the call and told one of his a.s.sistants to go pick up the bungling burglar. Both of them had a good laugh over this.

He was still chuckling to himself when he arrived backstage after the last scene and heard Ms.

Chance threatening Professor Imry. He waited in the hall until she'd gone, then went into Imry's office.

"I have something important to tell you. You better sit back down," Mel said.

"Okay. I guess it's that you're going to arrest me for murdering Denny, which I did not do! That's the way my day's gone. Are prisoners allowed to take their laptops into a jail cell?"

Mel had to suppress a smile. Imry had been inadvertently funny, probably for the first time in his life.

"I'm not arresting you," he said. "But I do have bad news for you."

Imry ran his hands through his hair. "Hit me with it."

"Understand, Imry, this is absolutely confidential. I'm only telling you this because I feel you need to know-but you have to agree not to mention it to anyone, not even obliquely."

"Okay. I'll pretend we never spoke of this."

Mel told him what he'd come to warn Imry about, and Imry turned so white and pasty that Mel feared he was going to faint.

So Mel added, "But I have a suggestion for how to solve the problem you're going to have."

Sh.e.l.ley was desperately anxious,to get home before any of the food spoiled. She hauled in all the leftovers and put them on Jane's kitchen counter.

"You pick what you and your kids most want, then I choose something, then you take another turn."

"Sh.e.l.ley, that's insane. You paid for all of it. You take everything you want. Just leave us whatever is left. By the way, is tonight's catering service on your list to provide meals for Paul's dinners?"

"Absolutely. They were fabulous. It's sort of discouraging that out of the ten I tried out, only two made the grade. I was hoping that at least three or four would be acceptable."

"Poor Professor Imry," Jane said out of the blue. "Having to rewrite the whole last scene overnight."

"I don't see how you can feel so sorry for him." Sh.e.l.ley was outraged. "He was simply too arrogant about his work to do the ending right. Or maybe too lazy. Or incompetent. I'll bet you good money he's never opened the first page of a good mystery book."

"Sh.e.l.ley, I'm seeing this from a different view. If I'd messed up an ending and had to fix it overnight, I'd probably just go to bed and hope for the best."

"No, you wouldn't," Sh.e.l.ley said. "You'd fix it."

"I guess I would. Now let's sort out this food choice thing. My kids will eat anything. Except that none of us likes caviar. Does that help?"

Steven Imry was still fixing the script as dawn broke on Friday. Now there was no murder, just a threat of one. And the younger brother didn't die. He just ran off with Angeline. After which his older brother Todd, now played by Norman Engel, admitted he was relieved. Imry knew, deep in heart, that this wasn't the best ending. But hoped it would satisfy the horrible Ms. Chance, her investors, and the audience. It was at least upbeat.

Best of all, only two of the actors had to learn new lines before tonight. Norman and Jake Stanton, both of whom were fast studies.

He printed out several copies of the new ending of the script, and paced around until eight in the morning, when he called both the actors involved in the changed script to tell them to meet him at the theater at nine promptly. Meanwhile, he'd have to contact the rest of the cast to tell them about the changes, so they wouldn't be surprised at the last minute.

At least he hadn't been forced to fix the script in a jail cell.

Twenty-five.

At a quarter after ten Friday morning, Ms. Bunting called Jane and said, "I hope I didn't interrupt your writing. I meant to call Sh.e.l.ley, but I've lost track of her telephone number."

"Here's her phone number," Jane said, rattling it off. "You didn't interrupt anything. I was just catching up on laundry. What's up?"

"I've finished my needlepoint project and called the shop to see if they'd finish it as a pillow."

"I think Sh.e.l.ley has finished hers as well. I'm not quite done with mine, though."

Ms. Bunting said, "When I talked to Martha, I asked her if she could show me this basket-weave st.i.tch so I can start a new project. She said she'd be free at one o'clock to teach all three of us, if we wanted."

"That's wonderful. I want to go along as well. Can we give you a ride?"

"That was what I was about to hint at," Ms.

Bunting said with a laugh. "John is still wasting time hunting for his golf club, and I don't want to take a cab. My last ride in one was harrowing, to say the least."

"I'll give Sh.e.l.ley a call and tell her this. We'll pick you up in time to be at the needlepoint shop at one."

Sh.e.l.ley was delighted. "I have finished my sampler and want to have it framed and then pick out new thread colors for this basket-weave project."

Jane laughed. "You just want to fill up more of the pockets in your jewelry holder thing. So do I. We still have thirty more pockets to fill with pretty colors."

They picked up Ms. Bunting, who was waiting in front of the hotel. "This is so nice of you girls to haul me around."

"You merely inspired us to go spend money," Jane said.

"It could turn into an expensive hobby, couldn't it? But well worth it," Ms. Bunting said. "I've already completed one in two weeks, and the play runs another three. I'd be bored senseless if I didn't have something do with my hands all day."

When they arrived, all three of them bought new canvases and new threads in gorgeous colors. They also learned how to do basket weave.

Martha gave them each a sc.r.a.p of leftover canvas and showed them how to do the st.i.tch. "Remember, keep a loose hand. This is the most durable of the patterns, but it will go all diagonal if you do it too tight."

Ms. Bunting said, "You know, I was a little afraid at first that I couldn't do needlepoint this well. I have a touch of arthritis in my right hand. I was surprised to learn that the st.i.tching was good for me. The pain went away after the first few days. It's been good for me in a number of ways."

"I'm so glad to hear that," Martha said. "I've heard the same from other people new to needlepoint. Sometimes it makes that big muscle in your thumb hurt a little for the first few days. But all three of you have mastered the right tension," she added, looking at the projects they'd brought along.

"Will you be able to turn mine into a pillow before the play is done?" Ms. Bunting asked.

Martha said, "I normally send it out to be done. But for you, I'll do it myself. Let's look over fabrics that you'd like for the back and the piping around the edges." She proceeded to rummage in one of her storage bins and spread out a dozen or so swatches.

"I like the Wedgwood blue," Ms. Bunting said. "Is it st.u.r.dy enough?"

"It's the perfect weight and heft. I have enough of it, and I can have the pillow ready for you early next week." She paused a moment, then added, "Mrs. Nowack, you're doing that basket weave just a tiny bit tight."