"You seem down, Charlotte."

"I guess I am. I'm thinking about Anabel Beauchamp, and how one day she's happy and beautiful and helping people and making the world a better place and the next day she's dead." I snapped my fingers. "Gone. Like that."

"I knew her, too. That was very bad."

"Remember I told you I was doing a closet job for Lorelei? Seven closets jammed with high-end goods?"

"You didn't say who for. But I guess I should have figured it out. Who else would have seven closets? Sort of our local glamour queen. Would you call her a celebrity?"

"I don't know. I've known her as long as I can remember. She and my mother had a strange, love/hate relationship. At first I thought she was deluded by grief. Now I'm not so sure. Maybe, she's just-"

"Huh. Are you going to eat the rest of that General Tso's chicken?" This came as no surprise. Jack took a lot of calories to keep that rangy frame of his filled.

"Yes I am, and exactly what do you mean 'huh'?"

"It's an expression."

"It's an expression that means 'I think that's a crock.' "

"I-"

"Don't bother to deny it."

"I am denying it. It's a speech filler, like, 'um' or 'like.' "

"Is not."

"Is."

"Listen, Jack. We're getting our groove back, but you can't play word games with me."

"Okay, fine. Huh! It means in this case, don't go finding more trouble, Charlotte. You almost got killed last time. And the time before and . . ."

"And you took a bullet to save me. I am very grateful and sorry I dragged you into it, Jack. You take the chicken."

"It's not about the chicken, Charlotte. It's about you living a normal life without murders in it."

"I'm trying. These are my clients, and they, well, she brought it up."

"And you should let it go."

"Trust me, there's nothing I'd like better. And I think I can. Anabel's father said there was nothing odd in the way she died. He thinks this is the form that Lorelei's grief is taking. What I have to do is get enough information to reassure her."

"Must be awful for the parents."

"The pits. Anyway, I had already decided that there was nothing to it. A grief-stricken mother seeking answers, although there's nothing high-strung about Lorelei. So I asked Pepper what she thought."

"You saw Pepper? And the little dude?"

"Yes, today and-"

"Did you ever see a baby so cute?"

Here's where I was in an awkward moment. I don't mind babies. But I am not captivated by them. For one thing, they all look alike. Give me a toddler any day. Naturally, I would have cut out my tongue before I admitted this.

I tried a neutral comment. "He's cute all right."

"Unbelievable," Jack said.

I upgraded my end of the conversation to say something sincere. "Pepper wanted that baby so much. She seems happy."

"Who wouldn't be?" Jack said.

Well, I for one wouldn't be. Particularly if Nick the Stick came as part of the package. I felt a chill. Better to let it go. The thing was, of all my baby-crazy friends, Jack turned out to have the worst case. I'd learned to change the subject, early and often.

"I figured Pepper would be in the know, and sure enough, she had even been to the funeral."

"So was I," Jack said. "St. Jude's was overflowing. Everyone liked Anabel."

"And Pepper said to her knowledge there was nothing untoward about her death. Tragic, but an accident."

"That's good."

"It was. I need to know how to deal with Lorelei. Harry seems to humor her. Maybe I need to, too, but if she's going to badger me to do something about this death, then-"

Jack's level blue eyes met mine. "Then you tell her you're not going to. Period. No arguments."

"My plan exactly, perhaps stated with a bit more tact, considering this is a grieving mother."

"Excellent," Jack said. "Are you finished eating?"

"No! I told you to take the leftover chicken, but I still want the rest of my meal."

"I'm just asking."

"And I'm just saying no. With an exclamation mark. Maybe two."

Jack shrugged, resigned to not getting the rest of my food.

We both knew that he doesn't give up that easily.

I said, "So it was all good until Nick came home, in the middle of a shift."

"I thought Pepper realized that you don't have designs on her sleazy husband."

"She does, but that's not the issue."

"Let me guess. It has to do with Anabel."

"Got it in one, Jacko. Nick was on the scene immediately after, and he'd thought there was something not quite right about the whole thing. But then he realized it was an accident. Of course, he's having nightmares."

"But Charlotte-"

"So before I go back to see Lorelei and her exploding closets, I should get a third opinion. A tiebreaker. Someone neutral. And knowledgeable."

"You mean a cop?"

"Makes sense, no?"

"Like the guy with the silky shirts? And the creepy eyes?"

"They're not creepy. They're just icy blue."

"Like from a horror movie. Bad idea to talk to him, Charlotte."

"I thought you might come with me."

Jack's jaw dropped.

I said, "I gave you the General Tso's chicken. You can have all the leftovers. Everything. All I want is one fortune cookie."

My fortune cookie said, Everything is not as it seems.

Jack's said, Beware a tall man.

Mondays are busy. I always try to hit the week running, so I was up early. As it seemed to be closet season all over Woodbridge, I had three potential closet clients waiting for a slot and one lined up for a consultation in the morning, as well as a lot of people I'd referred to my website for information. If I ended up doing the job for Lorelei, her seven closets would extend the waiting time.

My To Do list said: Call Connor Tierney Dog training-find anti-bark techniques Client consult: 10 a.m.

Library: Ramona re: Anabel Keep lunch for Tierney?

Lorelei: 3 p.m.

I put on the coffee, walked the dogs, apologized as they barked at an elderly couple, and returned to enjoy a cup of medium Guatemalan. Before I took the first sip at seven fifteen, I left a message for Tierney asking if he could join me and Jack for lunch to discuss something. If lunch was not possible, we could probably make it for breakfast.

I took a quick shower and got ready. I put on the outfit I'd laid out the night before, right down to the underwear and spangly earrings to perk up the look. I fixed my hair and did a better than usual job on my makeup. I changed my shoes twice, finally settling on a pair of electric blue leather spikes with four-inch heels. I felt like Superwoman in them.

The dogs watched me suspiciously. They can always spot the most minuscule change in pattern. Must have been the extra makeup.

Tierney called when we were in the middle of a training session. It involved startling them with a loud noise and them not barking. I did my part well, but that was still one of our tricky ones. So I was embarrassingly breathless when I answered the phone.

"Breakfast would be better," he said. "Betty's Diner? Half an hour."

"Sure thing. But make that forty-five minutes so I can locate Jack." I did not emphasize the fact that Jack and I live in the same house and he would still be snoring away. I'd have to throw a bucket of water on him or something. He sleeps like the dead.

"Come on," I said to the dogs. "We're going downstairs."

Jack doesn't lock the door to his first-floor apartment. Hell, sometimes he doesn't even shut it. This was one of those times.

"Go get Jack," I said. "He has treats in his bed."

It wasn't good news for my anti-bark program, but the resulting yelps were quite amusing. I hoped I didn't crack the layer of foundation I'd slathered on my face by laughing too much.

Jack sat up in bed, by which I mean his mattress on the floor, and said, "Wow. Are we going to a party?"

"What do you mean?"

"You seem, well, I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't say anything."

"I'll say this. Betty's Diner, forty minutes."

"But it's a twenty-minute drive."

"Right, so don't waste time picking fights."

I stomped back upstairs and scrubbed my face. I removed the three applications of midnight blue mascara and went back to my usual look. I replaced the blue spike heels with a pair of tan sling backs and the spangly earrings with my trusty gold hoops. Smart, businesslike, but not quite so ready to party.

As we arrived at Betty's just after eight that morning, I mused that I never saw police officers in that particular diner. As usual, our server was Patsy Magliaro, always on duty when I show up. Patsy's one of Woodbridge's long-time hippie residents as evidenced by her tie-dyed skirt and hemp peasant top. Sometimes I think there's a bit of marijuana mist surrounding her.

"Three for breakfast," I said when she sashayed over, Birkenstocks slapping on the floor.

Across the room, I spotted Tierney already waiting in a booth. Jack gave him a dirty look, maybe because Jack's idea of getting dressed up is a clean pair of baggy shorts and a fresh vintage Hawaiian shirt. Jack had found today's shirt at the Goodwill and it featured dancing pineapples. Tierney was as usual dressed to kill.

I said, "Just don't."

Tierney was looking particularly silky when we approached the booth. He was also jingling his keys. That meant something I supposed, but who knew what.

Tierney had coffee going already.

Patsy hovered. "Breakfast folks?"

"Coffee for me." Tierney probably didn't want to get crumbs on that immaculate shirt.

I slid into the battered red leather booth ahead of Jack and across the table from Tierney. Even so, every now and then I got a gentle whiff of his aftershave. I am particularly susceptible to that.

"Wheat toast with raspberry jam and cream cheese," I said.

"Are you people crazy?" Jack said with the enthusiasm of a person who has no kitchen skills, and who finds himself in the place that serves the best breakfast in town, poised to order said breakfast on someone else's dime. Mine in this case. "I'll have the Americano special, extra eggs, extra hash browns, extra bacon, and extra toast. Extra jam, too. Very large coffee."

"Cheese with those eggs?" Patsy said.

"Sure."

"I'll make it extra then. Orange juice?"

"Absolutely."

"Large, I'm guessing."