Patsy filled up my coffee cup, sauntered off toward the kitchen, her tie-dyed skirt swaying, her gray braid keeping time with it.

"I don't know why we came all the way out here if you guys don't even want breakfast," Jack said. "The food is great."

I had a theory that Tierney probably didn't want to be seen eating breakfast with me. I don't know how he felt about my buddy, but Jack's hungry presence certainly made me look less like I might be pursuing Tierney.

Jack's food arrived in what seemed like seconds. We'd hardly got past the awkward part. While Jack stuffed his lanky frame, I filled Tierney in on the background of Anabel and her parents and then got to the point. "I know you haven't lived in Woodbridge all that long, but I wondered if you could tell me, honestly, if there was any question at all about the way she died."

I felt the ice blue eyes on me. Tierney can be a disturbing man.

Jack swallowed and said, "I told her that she shouldn't get involved in anything to do with murders. What if-?"

"Jack," I snapped. "I'm merely getting information so that I can reassure Lorelei, that's all. I need facts."

"Lorelei? That's the mother? Cover girl? Model?"

"Right."

"I remember her."

"Oh. I guess I should have realized that."

"I do live here now. And I'd met Anabel, too. She wasn't much like her mother. Very down-to-earth, casual dresser, kind of boyish even. I don't think she wore makeup."

I was glad I'd scrubbed my face. "I didn't realize you'd met her."

Still jingling those keys. "Woodbridge is a pretty small place, hard to avoid people."

Was he talking about yesterday? Was he talking about me avoiding him or him avoiding me?

Back to topic. "How did you meet her?"

"She was working with some kids at Hope for Youth at Risk, and we thought they were a little too close to some badass types we were keeping an eye on. There are some serious criminal activities in that area, and we're having trouble keeping a lid on."

This took me by surprise. "Did she cooperate with you about that?"

Tierney laughed. "Not even a little bit. Basically told me to get lost. Her job was helping these kids, not the police."

"Do you think there's some kind of connection? I mean with these badass types you were keeping an eye on?"

"No I don't. We didn't find any connections, so I don't think there's anything there. Bad as they are, these people have no history of attacking unconnected civilians. Anabel was a special young woman, and she died accidentally. It was a horrible tragedy, but it shouldn't be too surprising. I saw the site myself. It was a muddy mess the day she died. It had been raining for a week or more, and the earth from the excavation had turned completely to mud. There must have been five feet of water in that hole. The walkway around the inside of the site was a slick disaster waiting to happen. And anyway, it was all investigated thoroughly by competent personnel." He paused before adding, "I hope you realize that not every police officer is like Nick Monahan."

I nodded. "I do."

Jack said, "Five feet of water and a slippery walkway. Sounds like the company was irresponsible."

Tierney shook his red head. "I heard there's a lawsuit pending, but Anabel was definitely trespassing. She wasn't wearing any safety gear, and she had the wrong kind of shoes for sure. I think it would be hard to make the case that she died because of negligence, but I'm no lawyer. The main thing is that her family has a lot of influence in these parts, so there were no chances taken in the investigation, no sloppy work."

"I suppose you talked to every possible witness and all that?"

"We did, in fact. Even though we didn't think it was murder, we still needed to know what had happened. Our guys interviewed people on the street, neighbors, and anyone who might have been able to see the site."

I said, "But-"

"They even did a door-to-door. I'm telling you: This is not some rinky-dink force and Anabel Beauchamp's death was taken seriously. Her father thanked us for everything we did."

"And her mother?"

Tierney shrugged. "Can't blame her. But it doesn't change the facts any."

Harry was always gracious. Lorelei's words wouldn't count as she was not the most grounded woman in the world even when not ripped up by such a tragedy.

"Okay then, so I'm going to ignore what Nick said about his own initial impression."

Oddly enough, Tierney didn't ask me what Nick had said. "Sometimes you have to consider the source."

"That's more or less what Jack told me. Pepper didn't seem to think anything was out of the ordinary."

"You should listen to her. She's a first-rate detective."

I smiled and lifted my coffee mug. But the unwelcome thought kept skittering through my head. If someone had killed Anabel, then they definitely got away with it.

4.

Don't overlook your public library as a great source of organizing books and magazines. You can always purchase copies of the ones you can't live without.

I arrived at the home of my other new client ten minutes early. I like to build in a time buffer in case of traffic. I sat in the car and used the buffer to check my voice mail.

At ten sharp I knocked at the door of the faded bungalow. The paint was peeling slightly, and the awnings showed rust at the edges. Still, the lawn was neatly kept, and the place had a welcoming air about it. A pair of hanging baskets held impatiens in a riot of color. I felt a cheerful vibe about this home.

The door swung open and a round smiling face greeted me. I swear the woman actually bubbled. "I am so glad you are here! I can't wait. Come in! Bluto is very excited to meet you, too."

Beside her a golden retriever wagged his tail furiously, waiting-without much patience-to be stroked.

I stepped through the door into a home: a real home, not just a house. Unlike Lorelei and Harry's glamorous glass and metal sculpture, this was a place where people lived and loved and relaxed. I always approve of that. A stack of sports gear was contained by a plastic bin in the front hall. Four pairs of running shoes-in giant sizes-sat on a mat near the front door.

Wow, I thought, who lives here and what species are they?

"I made some-" She stopped herself. "Oh boy. I almost forgot to introduce myself. I'm Wendy Dykstra." She ran a hand through her curly salt-and-pepper hair.

I grinned. "In that case, I must be Charlotte."

"Everybody in Woodbridge knows you after . . ." She turned pale and averted her eyes.

"Don't worry," I said soothingly, "I'm well aware that in the last year and a half I've been all over the WINY news showing up on every television in town looking crazed and dangerous."

"You don't look dangerous," she interjected. "And not crazed, either."

"I've seen the tapes. I've adjusted to it. Anyway, this is the real me. Sort of normal."

"I got your name from Rose Skipowski. She was a pal of my mom's, and she speaks so highly of you. She said you solved the second biggest problem of her life."

"Rose is a good friend. Makes great cookies, too."

"Oh boy, that reminds me. I whipped up some ice tea for you and lemon squares, too. Please come in and have a seat."

I would have liked to take a peek at Wendy's kitchen. Sometimes you get an idea of how the household is run by checking that, but I am well aware of the etiquette of waiting until asked. People need to keep their dignity when allowing someone like me to see into their darkest organizational problems. It also pays to see their living rooms. Wendy's was a celebration of her family. A wedding picture of a much younger Wendy and a huge grinning groom sat on the mantel. It shared space with larger framed photos of three boys who took after their father: big lads with oversize grins. All of the photos seemed to involve sporting events or graduations.

The coffee table held magazines: Woman's Day, National Geographic, and Sports Illustrated.

Wendy was back in a flash with a glistening pitcher of ice tea and lemon squares that looked like they'd melt in my mouth.

"I am so nervous," she said, putting the plate of lemon squares on the Formica coffee table. "This is a big deal for me."

"Please don't be worried."

"I know I'm going to feel pretty goofy when such an organized person sees the state of my closets."

"If it's any consolation, I could no more make lemon squares like these than I could fly."

"They're as easy as pie."

"I can't make pie, either, although I could eat one all by myself."

Wendy passed me a napkin with the image of a golden retriever. I had a feeling there would be more retriever icons around the place. I wasted no time in testing the lemon squares. Perfect. The ice tea was perfect, too. I made a bet with myself that Wendy was a woman with firm priorities and that she herself came well down the list of those priorities.

I said, "These are fabulous, so tangy."

"One other thing that's kind of embarrassing," Wendy said.

Of course, I'd popped my second lemon square and my mouth was full. I lifted my eyebrows to indicate that she should go on.

"I, um, don't have a lot of money for this project."

I nodded.

"Money is tight because we have three boys in college."

This time I managed to say, "Expensive time of life."

"They all work part-time during the term, and Seth is able to live at home, but Aaron and Jason are at Cornell. Jason has a scholarship, but we're scrimping. I'm not complaining. I think it's the best investment we could ever make, and our boys deserve everything we can do for them."

I nodded again. Nodding is a good way to keep the conversation going.

Wendy continued. "What I'm trying to say is that my hubby and the boys chipped in to give me a hundred dollars and told me to get as much closet advice as I could for that. Is that nuts?"

"Not at all."

"I realize now that I should have told you this before. You probably charge that much to look at a place."

"Well, I sure won't be charging you for the time and opportunity to eat these fabulous squares. But let me have a look at what we're dealing with, and I'll give you the best value I can. You may have to do some of the groundwork yourself, but we'll make that one hundred dollars go as far as we can."

"Thank you! I'll throw in the recipe for the squares, if that helps."

"Sure does." Maybe I could talk Sally into making them.

I smiled and raised an eyebrow at Wendy. "Let's have a look. If I stay here any longer, I might even eat the plate those squares came on."

"All right," she said, "but I'll be holding my breath."

The bungalow had three bedrooms, and it must have been bursting when those boys were all under the roof.

Wendy said as I followed her down the hallway, "Luckily my boys spend a lot of time in the rec room downstairs. You must be wondering if anyone can even inhale in this space."

I admired the framed photos of the boys that decorated the hallway walls. "Wendy, your home is obviously full of love."

"That's kind of you to say."

It was a sincere comment. My own upbringing had been in a series of fairly glamorous surroundings with whomever my mother's latest husband had been at the time. My happiest years had been growing up in Woodbridge when hubby number three, an IBM executive, had been in the area. I'd always envied the kids whose moms made cookies and squares. I'd had lots of smoked salmon and caviar as a child, but I'd hidden most of it behind the designer cushions.

Wendy had a sheepish grin as she opened the bedroom door. The furniture was probably the same set they'd bought when they married more than twenty years ago. Seemed as solid and enduring as it was dark and gloomy. The closet doors stood open, revealing everything that Wendy was worried I would see. Clothing hung on a sagging closet pole that was so jammed it would be hard to extract anything. I spotted a mix of women's and men's duds as well as what looked like uniforms.

"Is it beyond hope?" she whispered.

I said, "No way. This may be the best hundred dollars you've ever spent."

"Really?"

"It's a promise."

I spoke with absolute confidence. I could see at a glance at least ten minor modifications that would make Wendy's closet easier on the eye and improve her life at the same time. I liked this woman. She seemed to have no connection whatsoever with murder, madness, schemes, or any of the other plagues I'd faced in recent months. I decided on the spot that if I gave her the lowest possible hourly rate, that was no one's business but my own. That was the great part about working for myself.

She sat on the bed and said, "Oh boy, that would be wonderful."

"Is your husband handy with tools? Or are the boys? Or maybe you are?"

"Not me, my talents are in the kitchen, but all the boys are except for Jason. Why?"

"We'll probably need the odd bit of hammering and a shelf or three. Do you want to put them on alert?"

"Sure will. They won't mind a bit."

"So now I don't want to waste any of our time. Tomorrow I'll be here with some bins and we'll sort out your clothing into keep, toss, donate, and sell. Do you want to prepare yourself mentally for the big purge?"