I sighed. I'd already told the investigators down at the department that I couldn't tell if the place had been robbed, that I'd been concentrating on Dusty...and then I remembered I hadn't yet told Tom about the bracelet. Where was my mind?

"Tom," I began, "I need to talk to you about a piece of jewelry that Dusty was wearing last week." Tom raised his eyebrows and c.o.c.ked his chin, as in Go on. I told him all I'd shared with Britt and how I'd been unsure whether Dusty had been wearing the opal and diamond piece around her wrist when I'd found her.

"You don't know where she got it?" Tom asked.

I shook my head. "She promised to wear it last night, and to tell me about it."

"And you can't remember whether she had it on when you found her."

"Nope. It's as if the memory is just out of reach."

He told me to sit down, then pulled up a chair for himself. Then he took my hand and told me to shut my eyes. This I did.

"Now picture the office after you tripped and got up," he said softly, "and describe every aspect of it to me."

I did this, too. At one point Tom told me to imagine that I was seeing Dusty, and gently rolling her over.

"Was the bracelet there?" he asked.

In my mind's eye, I looked at Dusty's wrists. They were empty. I said, "No. There's no bracelet, no watch, nothing."

"Now open your eyes and talk to me."

I hesitated. "Do you think Sally Routt would tell us if she'd seen Dusty wearing an expensive bracelet?"

"She might tell you. I doubt very seriously she'd tell me, or any cop, for that matter, given her att.i.tude toward law enforcement." Tom stared out the window, where new snow clung to every pine needle, every branch of aspen leaves. "The last few weeks or days," he said finally. "How did Dusty seem? Didn't I hear Sally Routt talking to you about that?"

"Sally said Dusty had been secretive."

"And was she? I mean, apart from dodging the bracelet question?"

I stopped to think. "She did seem like...like someone with a secret."

"Or secrets," Tom said, his voice low.

Gus and Arch were not due back for a while, so I slipped back over to the Routts' house. Sally was still crying incessantly. I said I had something important to ask her, and she quieted for a moment. Had she seen Dusty wearing a bracelet? I asked. Opals interwoven with diamonds? I drew a quick sketch on a piece of paper offered by Sally's father, who tapped his way to the kitchen and opened a drawer to pull out a single sheaf. For a blind man, he could get around remarkably well, but he undoubtedly had every inch of the house memorized. Sally blinked at my crude drawing. She said she'd never seen anything like it, on Dusty or anywhere else. When she described the bracelet to her father, asking if he had felt anything on Dusty's forearm when she hugged him, he simply shook his head.

"Dusty didn't tell us everything," Sally told me, handing the paper back. "And as I told you before, she'd been keeping something to herself, or so it seemed to me, lately. Of course, I was always worried when it came to our relationship. You know, I'm a single mom who's made a bunch of mistakes. She knows I didn't want another repeat of the Ogden mess."

"Um, did the cops take everything from her room? Jewelry box, everything?"

"Yes," Sally said, with a sharp intake of breath. "She had a jewelry box, but they showed it to me, and there was just an old silver charm bracelet in there. I told them they could take it, but they didn't. They did turn her mattress upside down, since that's the main place people hide things, apparently. They looked in our freezer, too. Second place people hide things. Nothing there either."

"Yeah. Well. If there's anything you think of, Sally, anything she might have said to you, anything she might have been keeping that seemed strange to you, would you please tell me? It would help."

Sally bit her bottom lip so hard I thought it would bleed. But she merely nodded before she began weeping again. I told her I could see myself out.

Back at the house, I told Tom I'd come away empty. Did this mean the killer had stolen the bracelet? I asked.

"Not necessarily," he replied.

"Maybe it was in her purse," I said numbly. "Did the cops find her purse?"

"Yeah, they did. I think they would have told me if they'd found a real expensive piece of jewelry in there." I must have looked despondent because then Tom said, "Why don't you give me your Pica.s.so there, and I'll fax it down to the department with a note? They alert all the p.a.w.nshops, in case something turns up. A twenty-thousand-dollar bracelet ought to raise a few eyebrows on East Colfax, in any event."

"Aren't there p.a.w.nshops anywhere else in Denver?"

"Just a figure of speech, Miss G." He finished his note to the department and punched in the fax numbers. "It's always a good idea to cover all your bases."

I was wondering if that was a figure of speech, too-did it mean you had to have a guy on each base defending it, or did it mean you had to cover the bases if it started raining-probably not that one, I reasoned-when the boys returned. It was already five forty-five. Gus clutched such a large handful of twenties and checks that when he slapped them triumphantly on the kitchen table, a third of them drifted to the floor. Behind him, Arch, cautious as ever, had folded his much smaller take into a careful package that he placed on the counter, along with the magazine order form. Gus's blond-brown hair, several shades lighter than Arch's toast-colored locks, framed his face, halolike, as he grinned, ebullient. The two of them resembled the faces of Ja.n.u.s: Arch ever worried and scowling, and Gus optimistic and br.i.m.m.i.n.g with confidence.

"Arch, where do you put your stuff?" Gus demanded as he unzipped his down jacket and dropped it to the floor. "Oops." Gus, his appealing face shiny with melted snow, gave me a wide smile and scooped up the coat.

"I'll show you," Arch said, frowning. He hung his and Gus's jackets on the hooks in the kitchen, then turned to give me a serious look. "We invited somebody to dinner."

"What?"

Immediately defensive, Arch retorted, "It's what you would have done! We found her crying in her house. It's Wink Calhoun, Dusty's friend. You know, the one who adopted Latte? Anyway, she's coming, and she's bringing Latte. Hope that's okay. They'll both be here in about five minutes-"

"I've already invited Wink, but not Latte-" I began.

"C'mon, Mrs. Schulz," Gus pleaded, his cheerful, red-cheeked face upturned to mine. "That's a really cool dog, and we don't have one at my grandparents' place. Anyway, he took right to me! We both said it would be okay if she brought him."

"Call me Aunt G.," I told him, and he broke into a huge smile.

"Okay, Aunt G.," which came out sounding like Angie, "we had to do it. Wink was Dusty's best friend. Plus, she lives in a garage or something."

"I know, I know, I've already asked-"

"Actually, Wink lives in a guesthouse," Arch corrected, in a tone that made me cringe, since it echoed my own. "It's a garage that somebody turned into a guesthouse on Pine Way. n.o.body was at the big house, so we backtracked to the driveway and followed the sound of the crying. And get this, she's only a receptionist, and she bought three subscriptions."

Tom asked, "Is that how she described herself, 'only a receptionist'?"

"Yeah," the boys chorused.

"She's the receptionist at Hanrahan & Jule," I informed the boys as the doorbell rang. Then I said, "You boys need to go find Scout the cat and put him in the cage we use to take him to the vet. If he attacks Latte again-"

But the boys were already scrambling away, calling exuberantly for the cat.

When I opened the door, Wink Calhoun, tall, pretty, and pink-eyed, hesitated before stepping across the threshold. Her flat, oblong face always seemed just a bit too large for her body, and a p.r.o.nounced underbite prevented her from being beautiful. But she had a ready smile and a retro look, complete with finger-waved light brown hair that gave her an undeniable charm. She wore a navy blazer over a white oxford-cloth shirt and a long blackwatch-plaid kilt that complemented her slender, shapely figure. She also wore ta.s.sel loafers, which I noted were soaking wet.

Her lack of movement at the door frustrated Latte the ba.s.set hound, however. He let out several loud barks and bolted into the house, tearing the leash out of Wink's hands.

"I'm so sorry!" Wink began as the boys tumbled out of the kitchen to welcome the dog. Wink called to Latte to calm down. Not only did the ba.s.set hound ignore her, he started barking wildly as he raced around in a circle from the front hall, through the living room, then the dining room, then into the kitchen, back through the hall and the living room...until he hit the dining room again. Scout the cat, who had been hiding in the bas.e.m.e.nt, took that opportunity to streak up the stairs, where the boys squealed and pounced on him. Jake the bloodhound, who had been sitting in his usual spot out on the deck, was clawing madly on the back door to be let in, all while howling at the top of his lungs to be allowed to be part of the fun. Latte, who seemed to be encouraged by the chaos, continued to make a mad circular dash through the rooms on the main floor, until Tom scooped him up in his arms.

"I'm telling you, Miss G.," Tom called over Latte's hollering, "apprehending criminals is nothing to this!"

"This is so cool!" Arch said, smiling gleefully, when he and Gus returned to the kitchen.

"Here, let me have him," Gus was insisting to Tom. Tom allowed a squirming Latte to be taken by Gus. Latte, sensing the weakness of the transfer, wiggled madly and leaped out of Gus's arms, only to begin his crazed circuit once more. Tom caught him again in the kitchen, and quickly transferred the dog outside.

"I made it!" Wink said. "You wanted me to come over, and the boys said-"

"Tom's fixing a roast. Come on in."

I shut the door behind her and opened my arms. She walked into my hug and began to shake with sobs.

"I'm so sorry, oh, dear Wink, I'm so sorry," I repeated over and over.

Tom peeked out the kitchen door. The boys' voices behind him were querulous. Where's Mom? Why won't you let the dogs in? Why doesn't Wink come into the kitchen? But when Tom caught my eye and saw the embrace, he backed silently into the kitchen and quieted the boys.

At length, Wink stopped crying. She took a tissue out of her blazer pocket, cleaned up her face, and regarded me.

"Let's talk in the living room," I said gently. "How about a gla.s.s of sherry?"

Wink swallowed and didn't move. "Sorry about falling apart. Dusty was my best friend in the firm. This happens to other people. It doesn't happen to people you know."

"The cops are working on it," I rea.s.sured her. "It's a good sheriff's department. And later on, you and I can talk about what they were all up to."

Wink pressed her lips together firmly. "I don't think the cops are going to find out what happened to her."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't know these people the way I do."

CHAPTER 9.

So tell me about them," I said.

"I wasn't trying to scare you. I really do want to find out what happened to Dusty," she said. Her mouth turned down. "I just don't want to hear any of the gory details, you know?"

"Don't worry."

"And I can't divulge any, you know, of the confidential business stuff, although I really don't care at this point."

"The cops talked to you, right?"

She looked over at the fire. "Yeah."

"You told them everything pertinent, I hope?" When she nodded, I said, "Let's go sit down."

I led her into the living room, where I poured two gla.s.ses of sherry. I knew I probably shouldn't have more booze, especially after I'd had only a few hours' worth of sleep the previous night, and part of that slumber had taken place in a moving car. But I'd hardly touched the gla.s.s Tom had given me, and I wanted Wink to feel better. Plus, I wanted to loosen up her tongue, even to facts she might not think were pertinent.

"What do the cops know so far, about Dusty's death?" she asked, once she'd thanked me for her gla.s.s of amber liquid.

Immediately wary, I said, "Not much." The coroner and the rest of law enforcement usually kept secret the cause and manner of death, in the hope that a killer might unwittingly give away some detail that had not been released to the public. I wished Tom would join us, but I could hear him out in the kitchen. He'd closed both doors, had let both hounds back in, and was now listening to Arch and Gus alternate in telling stories about the people who'd bought magazine subscriptions. Without thinking, I checked Wink's wrist. I was ashamed to be looking, even unconsciously, for Dusty's bracelet. But crooks, Tom was always telling me, were notoriously stupid. Wink's shirt had long sleeves, and I couldn't see anything. Still, I told myself I was being ridiculous. Wink had been Dusty's best friend.

I said, "What did you mean when you said I didn't know these people the way you do? Do you think someone will hurt you if you tell the cops something? Or even if you tell me?"

"I'm just spooked." She took a sip of sherry and looked around the living room, apparently as confused as most visitors by the combination of cheap orange upholstered furniture and clearly valuable antique wood pieces. "Somebody has good taste," she said, but without sounding b.i.t.c.hy.

"Tom's a collector."

"How's Sally doing, do you know?"

"She's doing terribly, Wink. And if it will make you feel better about telling me about the folks in the firm, she's asked me to investigate Dusty's death. On my own, that is, without law enforcement." I sipped my sherry and decided just to wait. It didn't take long.

"I do have something to tell you," she said, glancing up at me. "Something I didn't tell the authorities, because they didn't ask me a direct question about it, you know?" She shook her head. "Listen to me, I sound just like them." She thrust out her small chin, as if steeling herself. "I wanted to tell you over the phone, but I wanted to think about it first. Then King Richard came over, wanting me to do some typing, if you can imagine." She took a long slug of sherry. "Louise Upton needs money. She was married once, if you can believe it." Wink shook her head, as if forestalling my question. "She just tells people to call her 'Miss Upton.' There's no law against that, I think. Anyway, her ex-husband doesn't work, and he sued her for alimony. He came into the office one time, screaming and yelling that Louise was late with that month's check. He was such a brute, I almost felt sorry for Louise. After he left, Claggs told me about the alimony situation."

"And so you think this has something to do with Dusty?"

Tears erupted from Wink's eyes. "Oh G.o.d. I told Dusty. I mean, we were close, you know? And last week she was complaining about what a b.i.t.c.h Louise was, always wanting to have everything just so. She'd started calling her Miss Uptight, which I thought was hilarious. She said between Miss Uptight and King Richard, it was a wonder we got any work done at all. So I just told her about Louise having an ex, and how she had to pay him alimony. I shouldn't have, but since I didn't technically break my vow of confidentiality to Louise-I mean, I didn't tell any of the guys at H&J-I thought it was okay. Listen to me. I'm starting to sound like one of them again."

"Do you think Dusty threw it back in her face? Maybe one time when she was angry for being corrected?"

"Well, that's what I'm afraid of." Wink rubbed her forehead. "It was a disaster waiting to happen, since Dusty and Louise didn't get along."

"What did you get out of promising not to tell the guys about the alimony? Did Louise offer you anything?"

She looked down at her hands. "No," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I guess she sort of wanted to be friends. Maybe not, though."

"Do you know if Dusty didn't get along with anyone else? Or if she had any romantic liaisons?"

Wink, still staring at her hands, shook her head forcefully. "Didn't get along? I don't know. Romantic liaison? I don't think so." She paused to think. "Okay, Claggs had just won a lot of money in a poker game in Central City. I heard them laughing about it. Dusty and Alonzo, I mean. But Claggs is married to Ookie. Happily married, I think."

"So Claggs is a gambler?"

Wink shrugged. "I think he does it for fun. You know, to relieve stress. Until ski season starts, anyway."

"Any idea how much money he'd won? Or how he'd spent it?"

"Not a clue. But there is something I've always wondered about. I mean, Ookie teaches squash at the Aspen Meadow Country Club, and most of the other lawyers work out there, too. So why does Claggs work out at the b.u.t.terfield Rec? Why did he work out with Dusty, I mean?"

"Because Dusty couldn't afford to join the country club?" I offered.

Wink's tone turned stubborn. "I just think she would have told me if she was romantically involved with him."

I thought, Would she have told you, if it was meant to be a secret? "So except for working out together, you had no inkling as to whether she was seeing Claggs outside of work?"

"I'm telling you, she really didn't talk to me about Claggs!"

"Do you know if she was seeing anybody?" I pressed.