"Trying to help," Marla replied under her breath, surrept.i.tiously rolling her eyes at me.

"That's quite a dress," said Louise. Marla obliged by twirling in the black-fringed dress. Louise made her voice caustic. "So for Halloween, you're going as a jellyfish?"

"You work for H&J, right?" Marla replied evenly. "Doing something? Do you really think your employers would be happy about you interrogating their guests? Why don't you see if you can be useful somewhere else?"

"Uh!" cried Julian, as he heaved two boxes through the doorway and dumped them on the island. Sensing the tension in the kitchen, he looked from Marla to Louise Upton and exclaimed, "Wow! That's such a pretty dress, Aunt Marla." He nodded at Louise Upton. "You look nice, too, ma'am."

Louise said, "Thank you, young man."

"His name is Julian Teller," I offered. "He's my a.s.sistant, Miss Upton, and-"

"Yes, this is Louise Upton," Marla informed Julian, "and she doesn't have to wait until Halloween to be a witch!"

Why is this happening to me? I thought. But I was spared an all-out catfight by the appearance of Donald Ellis. He slid into the kitchen wearing a gray sweatsuit and high-top sneakers, his hair damp either from exertion or a recent shower.

"Happy birthday, Mr. Ellis!" I called.

"Would you please start setting up the buffet?" Louise Upton demanded of me. To Donald Ellis, she said sweetly, "Mr. Ellis, your wife had to go out to pick up a few things she forgot. She said she'll be home before the party. Don't worry, I'm taking care of things here in the kitchen."

"G-g-goodness," Donald Ellis stammered, sweeping his bright red bangs off his forehead. "Well, that's great."

"Maybe you want a sip of this wine I brought you, Donald," Marla offered, pulling a bottle from her gift bag. "You could have a happy birthday now, quickly, before this witch starts swooping through this great big house, cackling and-"

The slicing look that Louise Upton gave Marla could have bisected a pumpkin.

"Oops!" Marla chuckled. "Guess I shouldn't have been such a b.i.t.c.h. Hey! That rhymes! b.i.t.c.h! Witch!"

But her words were lost as Donald Ellis slithered out of the kitchen, with Louise Upton fast on his heels.

"Are we having fun yet?" Julian asked.

We managed to get started on the prep. Julian busied himself unwrapping the potato puffs. I pressed cloves of fresh garlic and kneaded them into unsalted b.u.t.ter along with dried herbs. When the concoction was thoroughly mixed, I placed it into the refrigerator until it was time to coat the tenderloins.

"You told me to keep my ears open for things about Dusty," Marla said, when she returned from a sneaky trip into the living room, where she'd managed to pour herself a rather hefty brandy snifter full of what looked like sherry. I certainly hoped it was sherry, because if it was brandy, we were all going to be in trouble even sooner than I'd thought possible. And also...had I asked her to keep her ears open for news about Dusty, or did Marla just imagine I'd asked her? After taking a long sip of the golden liquid, she said, "And I did. Keep my ears open, that is. Now, though, I've been witness to an actual event. But you won't ask me what it is."

"I'm asking," I said eagerly, as I began to wash the vegetables.

"Vic Zaruski took a diamond ring back to Aspen Meadow Jewelers when it opened today. I know, because I was there, too, looking for some earrings with orange in them. Did you know there are no precious gems that are orange?" She took another slug of liquor. "Anyway, Vic talked in a real low tone, which made me edge closer to the conversation, of course. Vic said that the ring had never been worn, and he wanted to return it. 'Please,' he said, 'cuz he didn't have much money. Our town jeweler, who, remember, is not the most tactful person in the universe, said, 'So things didn't work out, eh?' And Vic, who needed the money from the ring, let's remember, threw that little velvet-covered box through the window of Aspen Meadow Jewelers. Do you know how hard it is to break plate gla.s.s? Oh, well, I guess you do, Goldy. In any event, even if a diamond is the hardest substance on earth, it was still inside that little box, so it couldn't have helped-"

I turned away from the vegetables. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Nah. There was gla.s.s everywhere, and the jeweler yelling, 'You're going to have to pay for that, buddy! And I don't take back used jewelry!' Vic was outside searching in the debris for his little box, which I guess he eventually found, 'cuz then he took off."

"Oh, man, he's playing the piano for the birthday party today," I said mournfully, thinking now we had one more person not in a party mood. I felt guilty, too, because I'd precipitated the wave of gla.s.s-breaking that was now taking place in our little town. "Do you know who the ring was for?" I asked. "Dusty?"

Marla took another long pull on her drink, then smacked her lips. "Well, you know what I always say: 'One can only presume.' But yes, I'd say it was for Dusty."

"Doggone," I said, the vegetables momentarily forgotten. Luckily, Julian picked up where I'd left off.

But wait. Since Vic was playing the piano today, why couldn't I ask him myself about the ring? How deeply had he been disappointed by his breakup with Dusty? And did he happen to catch the license plate of the SUV that supposedly tried to mow him down when he was carrying Dusty's computer?

"And there's more." Marla's husky voice indicated something of a s.e.xual nature was about to be divulged. "Donald Ellis? Our birthday boy?" she whispered. "According to one of my friends who called after I asked for info at Creekside Spa, Donald had an affair with Wink Calhoun last year."

I turned to her. "You're kidding. Donald and Wink?"

Marla drew herself up. "I am not kidding, or at least my friend isn't. She's not the most reliable person in town, but she does pick up a lot of scuttleb.u.t.t."

"I can't believe it," I said, thinking of Donald Ellis's short stature, unappealing red hair, completely nonathletic build, and poor-me demeanor. "Did Nora know? Is she the jealous type?"

Marla shook her head and downed more of her drink. "Neither, according to my friend. Nora was and is clueless. Rich, but clueless."

"I just hope she's rich and generous," Julian said.

"Maybe that's why Wink wasn't invited to the party today," I commented. "Nora didn't want to see her."

"Wink is staff, Goldy," Marla said, before draining her snifter. "She wouldn't have been invited anyway."

Julian, intent on the vegetables, said, "You never know."

And indeed, you never do know, because when I tried to call Wink back on my cell, there wasn't any answer. Swallowing hard, I left what I hoped was a benign-sounding message. I really needed to talk to her, and could she please meet me in the St. Luke's kitchen the next morning, at half past eight? The christening ceremony didn't begin until ten, but I needed to be there early because of the food. And because I want to see the expression on your face when I ask why you conveniently left out a big chunk of H&J gossip, I thought, but of course didn't say.

As I energetically juiced the lemons for the vinaigrette, I was kicking myself for not wondering why Wink had had so much time to visit with a supposedly inebriated Donald at the H&J Christmas party. Was it possible Donald had actually told Wink that whole long story about Uriah...as pillow talk? Was it possible she'd said Uriah was always poking around at H&J because the bishop had once caught them in flagrante delicto?

I twisted the last lemon down hard on the juicer. Of course, Wink's s.e.x life, and what she might have done with Donald, was none of my beeswax. But I had to pose another, more troubling question: Was there any chance meek, mild Donald was "New O.," and that Dusty had supplanted Wink, thus making Wink murderously jealous? If so, how in the world was I going to ask Wink such a thing?

I groaned. Dusty and Uriah. Dusty and Alonzo. Dusty and Donald. And then there was the client, Rock Ode, whom I was set to meet today. These were definitely too many possibilities to contemplate.

I resolved to turn my attention back to the party, even though this was becoming difficult. But then Marla announced she was going next door to visit a friend from the country club. Louise Upton was nowhere to be seen or heard. So Julian and I finally had a chance to finish the setup, uninterrupted. Better yet, we eventually mustered up pretty good moods.

At half past eleven, tall, blond Nora Ellis, looking juicy in raspberry-sherbet-colored Juicy Couture sweats, came into the kitchen looking harried. She dropped off four bottles of wine and called for Louise Upton, who made a silent appearance by the island. Nora said she was dashing up for a shower and could Louise please greet the guests? Louise responded in the affirmative, then disappeared again. If I'd been Louise, I wouldn't have wanted to risk another encounter with Marla either. I decided not to tell Louise that Marla had gone next door.

At half past twelve, Vic Zaruski, looking solemn, knocked on the kitchen door. He wore an impeccable white shirt and perfectly creased black pants. In his right hand, he was clutching what looked like sheet music.

"Um, is this where I'm supposed to be?" he asked, smiling nervously. "I'm playing the piano for the party."

"You're in the right place," I a.s.sured him. "Have you had anything to eat?"

He eyed the tenderloins and potato puffs, and shook his head. "I haven't been hungry since, since...you know." He lowered his voice and avoided my eyes. "Were you able to get any information off of Dusty's computer?"

"Not yet," I lied. "It was pretty banged up after being dropped in the street. Listen," I said as if it had just occurred to me, "did you make a police report about that attempted hit-and-run?"

He gave me a startled glance and blushed to the roots of his mop of curly hair the color of straw. "No, I just thought...I didn't think it was that big a deal."

"I don't suppose you had a chance to catch even a part of the license plate."

He shook his head ruefully. "I didn't even see the make of the vehicle. Or whether it was, you know, black or dark green or, uh, navy blue."

"Right," I said. I kept my voice sympathetic. His answer felt a bit too rehea.r.s.ed. Had the police spent much time with him after I found Dusty? Did they consider him a suspect? Julian was out in the dining room arranging the serving utensils for the buffet, so I said quickly, "I heard you had a troublesome incident at Aspen Meadow Jewelers."

Vic opened his brown eyes wide. His cheeks were still flaming. "Well, I guess I need to go set up my sheet music." He quickstepped out of the kitchen.

I didn't get a chance to ask him any more questions before the party, nor did I feel comfortable snooping anywhere in the house. I still had to unwrap the chilled cake, a job that had to be done at the last possible moment. It was a good thing it was my final task, because once I was done, two of the three neighbor couples appeared at the back door bearing gifts. I supposed the main entrance was so imposing, n.o.body wanted to use it. I ushered them into Louise's waiting hands in the living room, then hustled back into the kitchen.

As Julian and I were pa.s.sing around the first platter of appetizers, Vic began playing "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts' Club Band." Out the front window-one of them, anyway-I could see that Richard and K. D. Chenault were arriving in separate black BMWs. A nanosecond later, Alonzo and Ookie Claggett pulled up in their black Beemer, which they parked behind Nora's, which was also black. What, did these people all go shopping for cars together? If so, did they get a discount?

I moved into the living room with a platter of stuffed Portobello mushrooms. Richard Chenault, wearing a silvery gray turtleneck and charcoal slacks, caught my eye and nodded. He looked ragged. When K.D. saw our exchanged glance, she sidled up to me and nabbed a mushroom. Her chestnut hair was swept over to one side, and she wore a loosely cut black silk top and black pants. She looked ravishing, and I thought Richard Chenault was an idiot. Or maybe they were both idiots. K.D. whispered that she'd try to come into the kitchen to visit soon.

Unlike the Chenaults' subdued appearance in the living room, Claggs and Ookie made a grand entrance, shouting their h.e.l.los so loudly all the guests could hear. Ookie, her shiny brown hair pulled up into a windblown coif, looked lovely in a slim black dress hemmed with a blue ruffle. Her noisy greetings to friends had caused heads to turn...and they stayed turned. I watched her for a moment as she seemed to pounce on one guest after another, like a bee buzzing impatiently from one blossom to the next.

To my great astonishment, she eventually sashayed forward, took a mushroom, and then called to Richard, "Hey, partner guy! How does it feel to have one of your a.s.sociates living in a place that's twice as big as yours?"

Richard Chenault merely pursed his lips and looked away. Had Ookie's javelin hit its mark, or was the Chief just feeling so low about his niece's death that he didn't care what Ookie did?

Without missing a beat, Vic shifted into "Yesterday."

Returning to the kitchen, I replaced the empty mushroom platter with a large gla.s.s platter that held smaller gla.s.s dishes, plus room for rows of empanadas and a gla.s.s bowl of guacamole. With a pile of napkins held snugly in my left hand, I began a lap of the enormous living room. Nora Ellis appeared, looking radiant. She had changed into a calf-length chocolate-colored corduroy jumper and matching long-sleeved turtleneck. She'd swept her blond hair up into a twist, and she wore more gold jewelry than a rap singer.

She smiled broadly until her glance fell on Ookie, whose strident voice was hard to miss. Nora's expression became grim until she noticed I was right next to her, watching. Then she smiled.

"Empanada, Nora?"

"No, thanks. But they look wonderful."

I was hurt, since she'd claimed to love them back at our tasting. I was about to move on when Bishop Sutherland, wearing a purple shirt and clerical collar, walked into the center of the living room. He put one arm around Nora and the other around Donald.

"My dear daughter and son-in-law have made every day in my life feel like a birthday!" he cried. Everyone clapped as Uriah hugged first Nora, then Donald, who appeared mortified, like Goofy when Mickey squeezes all the air out of him. Julian caught my eye and surrept.i.tiously pointed to a large, elaborately framed needlepoint sign hanging on the wall behind me. It read: "Have You Hugged Your Lawyer Today?"

Once Uriah had released his son-in-law, I moved up to Donald and Nora and offered them empanadas, even though Nora had already refused them. Donald gave me a look that indicated what he really wanted was a shot of Demerol.

"Birthdays are rough," I whispered conspiratorially.

His smile was resigned. "Yes, but consider the alternative."

Nora's expression hardened. "Goldy, don't you want to make the rounds of all the guests?"

Instead of saying, "I was just getting to that," I nodded deferentially and moved off with my tray. Nora had been exceptionally nice to me so far, and I didn't want to ruin our chance of a supersize gratuity.

Alonzo Claggett, who looked dashing in khaki pants and a long-sleeved light blue shirt that complemented his Italianate features, olive skin, and dark curls, was talking to Marla. They were discussing tax-avoiding trusts. Bishop Sutherland was standing with them, his head leaned in to their conversation. Vic was playing "I Want to Hold Your Hand."

Marla said, "I thought the IRS wouldn't go for that unless the trust was irrevocable."

"Why don't you come over to my office sometime?" quipped Alonzo.

"Why don't you come over to my house and see my etchings?"

"We could meet at my place in the Bahamas," Alonzo countered.

"How about Trancas?" Marla asked. "It's more upscale."

"There's always Lichtenstein."

"But would the trip be deductible?"

At this juncture, Marla reached for my proffered tray. Bishop Sutherland drank from his gla.s.s. When Marla dipped her two empanadas into the guacamole, Alonzo winked at me. Of all the folks at H&J, Alonzo was the one person who didn't seem broken up over losing Dusty. He'd acted upset at first, but then had bounced back with vigor. What was that about?

After Marla had finished chewing, she sucked in her cheeks and glanced in the direction of Donald Ellis, who was standing by the ma.s.sive hearth. "The birthday boy looks as if he's at a funeral."

Alonzo followed Marla's gaze. "He's always like that."

"Should I have him draw up my trust?" Marla asked playfully. "Would it cost less to have one a.s.sociate do it than to have another a.s.sociate do me? Oh, dear, did I just say that?" She opened her eyes wide and stuffed another guacamole-slathered empanada into her mouth.

Alonzo flashed his pearly whites. "I would love to do you, Marla. Come to think of it, Donald's more of a generalist, while I specialize in trusts. I'd make it worth what you pay me."

Marla finished her appetizer and a.s.sumed a disappointed tone. "You mean I'm going to have to pay?"

Only Bishop Sutherland laughed.

Alonzo and Marla moved off to greet some friends from Aspen Meadow Country Club, and I was left with Bishop Sutherland. Since caterers are fine-tuned to noticing when their guests' moods have fallen off, I was suddenly aware that the bishop's facial expression had turned bleak.

"Bishop Sutherland?" I inquired. "Are you okay?"

He pressed his lips together and shook his head of white hair. "Not really. Birthday parties always make me feel low, the way some people say they can't stand Christmas. It reminds them, or us, I should say, of folks who aren't around anymore."

I nodded sympathetically. "You seemed so happy hugging your daughter and son-in-law."

"I'm a good actor," he replied, then was quiet for a few uncomfortable moments, during which I didn't know if I should leave or stay.

"Well," I said finally, "are you missing somebody in particular?"

His shoulders slumped. "Yes, Mrs. Schulz, I'm missing somebody in particular. Today was Charlie Baker's birthday. My poor dear friend. I miss him. When he had shingles on his birthday, one of the nurses made him a cake, and we had a party in the hospital. It was one of the best celebrations I've ever attended, because everyone who was there-patients, nurses, even a doctor-was there because he or she wanted to be there. We sang and laughed and ate cake and ice cream..." He sighed. "Oh Lord. I miss my friend."

"I'm sorry."

He gave me a half smile. "Thanks. Most people don't care about clergy...they want clergy to care for them. Sometimes I just...get real lonely all of a sudden."

"You don't have to stay here, you know," I said in a low voice.

"Yes, I do. But thanks for being nice." And before I could say anything else, the bishop had moved off to visit with some people who were standing near the kitchen.

At this juncture, since neither Marla nor Alonzo seemed to want more empanadas, I moved off in the direction of the Ellises' neighbors, who were standing near Donald beside the ma.s.sive hearth.

"I'd love to have something from your plate," came a s.e.xy male voice from behind me. I turned, startled. "Please."

I was facing a belt and a pair of white slacks. I looked up, up, up at a man as tall as any guy playing for the NBA. This fellow was at least six foot ten, with ink-black hair parted boyishly on the side. He wore a black shirt that matched his hair, but the effect would have been more appealing if the shirt had not had the first five b.u.t.tons undone, revealing a dark, hairy chest. The guy had bright blue eyes and was drop-dead gorgeous, although it was a little hard to see his face without a telescope. And what if I trained the telescope on his chest? It would look like a rain forest. So I turned to the tall fellow's right, where an ultraslender young woman stood. Like her tall companion, she was also quite beautiful.

The woman said, "I am Natasha Oat." Oat? Oh, wait. Ode. So these were the famously beautiful Odes. One of the tidbits I'd learned working for the fashion photographer was that Natasha's thick Russian accent, as much as her looks, gave away the fact that she was a model. The United States, I had observed on my former gig, imports a lot of beauty from the former Soviet Union. No doubt, modeling pays more here than it does, or ever did, over there. Natasha nodded upward. "And zis eess my husban', Rock. He eess clien' of Donal'."

"I'm Goldy Schulz." I lifted the platter of empanadas. To my great horror, Rock dipped two of his long fingers into the guacamole, then transported the load of green stuff up to his mouth, far, far away. Honestly. In the catering biz, something always happens to lower your already subterranean view of the human species.