He shook his head. "Stay out of the investigation."

"Which one, Hazel's murder? Why Joe's not answering the telephone? Why I have to bring you coffee because n.o.body at the station can make a decent cup?"

"I mean it, Aggie."

"I know you do, Kirk."

He went his way; I went mine. I think he was muttering.

I'd already had fruitless conversations with both my daughters and now Roussos. It wasn't even nine thirty. This was a brand-new record. As if to make sure that fruitless was the word of the day, I saw Mabyn Booth and her daughter Shirley coming toward me.

I told myself I was lucky. Now I could find out about Mabyn's rummage sale purchases. But I knew the news wasn't going to be good. How could it be, unless the universe was finally about to take pity on my good intentions?

I didn't run, although I was tempted. I stood my ground and flinched as Mabyn and Shirley drew closer, waiting for the next blow.

Mabyn shifted Shirley so she could give a friendly wave. "I got your message, but it was so late last night I didn't want to call you back. You must have left the house early this morning."

"An errand day." I said h.e.l.lo to Shirley, now a contrary two-year-old. She glared at me. Mabyn is a charmer, and her husband is a regular nice guy. But Shirley skipped an entire generation of genes and seems to be a clone of her grandmother. I was glad Mabyn and Howard had years ahead in which to modify the worst of Grandmother Fern's traits.

"So what's up?" Mabyn asked.

I couldn't think of a way to ask about the boxes of gla.s.ses without an out-and-out lie. Mabyn wouldn't believe I was checking to see if everybody was happy with their rummage sale purchases, even if, for the most part, this was true. I mean, whoever opened the box with the punch bowl was probably very happy, a state I wished to correct.

I settled on a bigger piece of the truth. "I heard you bought a couple of boxes of gla.s.ses at the rummage sale."

"Uh-huh, I did."

"Have you opened them yet?"

"No, I just stuck them in the bas.e.m.e.nt. I'm taking them over to the Munchkin Theater next week. We serve punch after rehearsals, and we've had complaints that paper cups are environmentally unfriendly. I've signed on to do their PR. It's something I can do with Shirley in tow."

Munchkin Theater was a children's theater group that Teddy had evinced some interest in joining. From what I'd gleaned during our disjointed conversation this morning, I doubted Mabyn would be promoting my daughter anytime soon.

"Will you do me a favor?" I lowered my voice. "Will you open the boxes and look inside before you take them to the theater?"

"Sure, but why?"

"If I tell you, I'll have to kill you."

She laughed. "Do I need to paw around in them?"

"Nope, if you see gla.s.ses, feel free to take them to the Munchkins."

"Someday you'll tell me?"

"You bet. Oh, and please don't mention this to anybody, especially your mother-in-law."

"There's very little time in my conversations with Fern to mention anything. She is the mentioner."

I nodded in commiseration. "My mother-in-law lives in Boston and thinks transportation to Ohio is conducted by riverboat and covered wagon."

"She never visits?"

"She came for Ed's installation, but that didn't change her mind. She asked us to do all the visiting in the future. She gets palpitations when she has to leave New England."

"I'll trade."

I laughed, but now I wondered if Nan, who for all her faults did know Boston up one side and down the other, might be able to find out something more about the Belcore family scandal for me. I'd have to give that some thought.

We parted company, and I felt fairly secure that my secret-at least what Mabyn knew of it-was safe for the moment.

I had one more errand before I drove over to the Victorian to meet Lucy. I was close enough to City Hall that I had time to take a slight detour. I wanted another crack at finding Brownie.

Emerald Springs City Hall has nothing particular to recommend it. The building is three stories of ordinary tan brick, with narrow slits for windows, like Moonpie's eyes before he jumps on his favorite catnip mouse. The roof is flat enough to almost disappear, if not to cave in during a winter blizzard.

I looked at the directory in the entry hall and took stairs to the second floor. Brownie's office suite sat at the end, and even from a distance I could see that the walls were paneled in walnut and the floors carpeted in thick maroon plush.

I entered and nodded to the secretary who sat at a Louis XIV desk outside what was obviously Brownie's office.

That door was closed, and I heard voices from inside.

I stopped in front of the desk. "I was hoping to see the mayor."

"Do you have an appointment?"

I wondered how Brownie had gotten this babe past Hazel. She was exactly the kind of va-va-voom siren who walked into the private eye's office in a Mickey Spillane mystery. Blonde, stacked, and always trouble. This one was also too young to have any work experience.

"No appointment." I made a guess. "You must be new."

"My first week."

I really had to talk to Brownie. "What happened to..." I snapped my fingers, as if I couldn't remember the former secretary's name.

"Maude? Oh, she retired."

Before or after Hazel's death? And did it matter? Brownie needed arm candy sitting outside his office like he needed a Miranda warning. Va-Va-Voom was a neon sign.

"Brownie told me to stop by." I glanced down at my ragged fingernails, which compared unfavorably to Va-Va's red talons. "Is he tied up in a meeting?"

She shrugged. "There are people in there. I don't think they had rope."

I so hoped she had a sense of humor, but I was desperately afraid she was serious. "Any idea how long they'll be?"

Fortunately, she didn't have to answer another question, since I was afraid I had already unfairly taxed her. The door swung open and Brownie walked out with the police chief and several overweight men in suits. Brownie's eyes widened when he saw me. He wore a three-piece suit and a bright red four-in-hand tie with matching pocket handkerchief. My heart sank.

"Excuse me," he told the others. "I won't be a moment."

He extended a hand to me, then he gripped my shoulder and marched me to the other side of the room.

"What are you doing here?" He sounded frightened.

I had come to give him some much-needed advice. But clearly I couldn't do it with all these people watching. "I need to talk to you."

He nodded, even as he whispered, "Not now."

I realized my real mission was hopeless, but at least I could get one question answered. "I found some items of Hazel's in the clothing you donated to the rummage sale."

He raised his voice a little, to be overheard. "Yes, dear Hazel would have wanted her things to go to charity."

I smiled and lowered my voice to a whisper. "Not that fast, she wouldn't have. And do you want me to bring you what I found? I found keys, money-"

"I don't want-" He stopped himself. "How much money?"

No surprise he didn't want that going to charity. "I'll give it to you later. But there were some other things, like china-"

"Just throw them away. Give them away. I don't want them." He raised his voice again. "I'm too distraught."

I lowered my voice even more. "Be careful. People watch what you do."

He looked perplexed. The men had been talking among themselves, but now their conversation ended. Two of them were looking our way.

I held out my hand and we shook. Then I left. Brownie was under enough scrutiny as it was.

12.

I arrived at the Victorian a few minutes before Lucy. I hadn't expected to find anyone working since Closeur Contracting only agreed to work on weekends and occasional evenings. Still, the work had been progressing so well and quickly that I wouldn't have been surprised to see a Closeur pickup outside.

Unfortunately, there were no trucks, ladders, or tool-boxes on the porch, but I was surprised to see a light upstairs and a window open. Junie had been here with Teddy yesterday, and I guessed that after a bathroom break or a tour to investigate the renovations, the light and window had been forgotten.

I unlocked the door and called for Lucy, just in case she had arrived by foot and gone upstairs. There was no answer, but just as I was about to step over the threshold, I heard a door close.

Window open. Gusts of wind. Bedroom door slamming shut. Perhaps I could have accepted this as an explanation if the door had slammed, not clicked quietly. And if the sound had come from upstairs.

It hadn't.

I froze in place. The sound had come from the back of the house right here on the first floor, not far from where I was standing. I was fairly certain someone had been inside, then left by the back door. I wondered if I sprinted through the house and into what had once been the kitchen, flung open the back door, and screamed "I got you!" who I would catch.

n.o.body, it seemed, because I was still rooted to the spot.

"What are you doing, Ag?"

"Yikes!" Uprooted at last I whirled to see Lucy right behind me.

"You didn't hear me?" She sounded incredulous. "Are your ears plugged from that cold?"

I shook my head and held my finger to my lips, actions that required more coordination than I seemed to have. My finger landed on an earlobe.

"I heard somebody inside," I whispered. "The back door closed when I opened this one."

"Why didn't you check it out?"

"You wanted me to confront whoever it was by myself?"

"You said you heard the door close, as in, helalo, whoever it was had already left!"

"Maybe. But maybe they were just coming in."

"What, to find you standing here like you're playing statues?"

I stepped aside and ushered her past me. "Be my guest, oh brave one. Are you carrying Mace?"

We were still whispering. She rummaged in her purse and came up with a small cannister. "I've always wanted to see if this works."

"You might get your wish. Just don't spray me."

"Tiptoe," Lucy said.

"Really? I thought I'd do my fe-fi-fo number and clump over there like the angry giant!"

We tiptoed, and without patting myself on the back, I will say that those years of ballet we'd both endured as children hadn't been a complete waste. We were as light on our feet as the fairies in Sleeping Beauty. Tchaikovsky would have wept.

No one was in the kitchen, a relief so great that I almost wept. I peered out the back door, and Lucy peered out the back window. Of course by then whoever I'd heard was long gone.

I breathed a deep sigh of relief. Lucy jammed the Mace in the pocket of her blazer. "Let's check out the house and see if anything's been disturbed."

We each grabbed a soft drink, then, together, we began our search.

The downstairs looked the way it always had, but upstairs I put my hand on her arm and stopped her. "What do you notice?"

"Just tell me."

"Smell. The bathroom's been tiled."

She frowned. "Yesterday?"

"n.o.body was here yesterday except Junie."

"Then I guess Hank came last night."

I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and handed it to her. "Let's find out. Call Hank. Dial his last name."