"Really?"

"We'll be ready."

And surprisingly, we were. The guests all loved the beef, so much so that they downed it and the accompaniments in record time. Vic Zaruski played a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday" as we presented Donald with his cake, complete with tall candles. He still didn't look entirely happy. But he did brighten up during the opening of the presents. Richard gave him a couple of expensive silk ties. The neighbors gave him history books, to which he was apparently partial. And Marla gave him four bottles of wine that I knew had cost her two hundred bucks a pop.

"Oh, Marla, thank you," Donald said, with the first truly appreciative tone he'd had all day.

"Well," Nora announced, "I have two things for you. First is a trip to a place where they make that wine, the Burgundy region of France."

"Oh, honey, you shouldn't have," Donald Ellis said, and leaned over to give his wife a kiss on each cheek.

"And your final gift," said Nora, "is behind the needlepoint I gave you last year."

Donald wrinkled his brow while his wife carefully removed the lawyer-hugging needlepoint. Behind it was a framed picture by Charlie Baker. It was ent.i.tled Journey Cake.

It really was gorgeous, and vintage Charlie Baker, which tugged at my heart. While Nora explained to Donald how valuable the painting was, part of the Cake Series II that Charlie had been doing when he died, I read Charlie's list of ingredients. Flour, cinnamon and other spices, sugar, b.u.t.ter, cider. But I stared at the painting. Something was still wrong with this recipe; I just didn't know what. I happened to glance over at Richard, who was smiling more widely than Donald.

Alonzo Claggett commented, "That must have set you back a few pretty pennies, Nora."

Nora ignored him and put her hand on my forearm. "Don't you like it, Goldy?" She seemed eager for approval, even if it was from the caterer. Richard was murmuring praise of the painting.

"It's fabulous, Nora," I said. "Happy birthday, Donald. You're a lucky man."

Donald Ellis gave me another Demerol-deprived look. I smiled sympathetically and bustled back out to the kitchen, where I could quietly begin to round up our supplies and almost be done with this job.

Arch and Gus arrived just before two, their faces flushed from walking. Arch's countenance was its usual pessimistic self, as if he didn't believe I was actually going to let him drive. Gus was bubbly, as usual.

"This house is so cool! And you worked here? Did you fix tacos? Just kidding," he burbled on, in typical Gus fashion.

Julian tousled Arch's hair, a show of affection my son still permitted, but only from Julian. "Big Arch! Going to drive us home, eh? And in the Rover, too?"

"I'm going to go study your dashboard," Arch announced, his voice serious. "So I can know where all the controls are."

Julian and I used the last of our time packing up the steamer and other utensils I'd brought. Nora Ellis actually came out to help us.

"Hi there!" Gus greeted her. "I'm Gus Vikarios. Were you Goldy's boss today?" When Nora replied that she was, Gus piped up, "How did she and Julian do? Did you have a nice party?"

"Yes, it was very nice," Nora said, pushing her blond hair out of her face.

"Are you going to give them a good tip?" Gus asked brazenly.

"Gus!" I cried, although I was wondering the same thing myself.

We immediately followed Nora back in for our last box so she could be spared an answer. As we were leaving, she said, "Could you take the trash out, please? Lorraine has so much to do."

With a quickly mumbled "Of course," I started toward the enormous black plastic sack she was pointing to. And then, out of the blue-the unconscious, or wherever these things come from-I remembered Wink's comment about Uriah Sutherland: He likes to poke around, ask questions and I caught him going through our trash. My question was this: Why? Furthermore: Hadn't he seemed a bit too attentive to Alonzo and Marla's discussion of trusts? And hadn't that also been Dusty's area of expertise? Also, how about that bracelet? Had Uriah's champagne tastes-in women, say, or jewelry-made him look for a receipt for something he'd given to a young lover-say, Dusty? Or what if you flipped things upside down? Maybe doesn't-like-birthdays Uriah Sutherland had poked a little too hard in the wrong place, been discovered, and been forced to destroy the evidence-that is, Dusty.

"Let me get it," Julian said, his voice edgy. Without looking at Nora, he handed me the box, which was, I was quite sure, about twenty pounds lighter than the trash bag.

"And oh!" Nora said, as if she'd just remembered it. "Your gratuity!" She reached into her purse and pulled out four twenty-dollar bills, which she tucked into one of my hands that was holding the box. With a smile and a wave, she walked back into the living room.

"What's that, about a thirty percent tip?" Julian asked. "Fantastic!"

"Yes," I said quietly. "It's great. But listen, I want you to put that trash in your Rover. And put any other trash in there that's outside in their cans."

"What?" Julian cried.

"Just do it. With hired help taking out the garbage on a regular basis, they'll never miss it."

Once we were all settled in the not-smelling-too-great Rover, Julian said, "I'm going to back out, and then you can take it the rest of the way, okay?"

"Sure," said Arch, who sounded none too sure.

Unfortunately, Julian was unable to make even a five-point turn to get us going forward. "You want to back down the driveway, Arch? The house is on a dead end. You'll be fine."

"I'm not so sure," I began, but received a furious look from Arch.

Julian and Arch exchanged seats. Arch, unaware the car was on, turned the key in the ignition. The engine shrieked.

"Happens to everybody," Julian said from the backseat.

Stay calm, I told myself, very calm. I closed my eyes and did a yoga breathing exercise while Julian quietly told Arch that he'd have to take the Rover straight back, then gradually turn to the left, so he could make it into the street.

"Wait!" Julian said sharply. "Somebody's coming."

It was Donald Ellis. He was a little out of breath.

"I wanted to thank you all for doing such a great job," he said. "I had a fabulous birthday. Here." He pressed a hundred-dollar bill into my hand.

"Mr. Ellis, your wife has already tipped us, and that is far too much-" I began. But he was already gone.

"Can we go now?" Arch asked. His voice was so nervous I wasn't sure he really wanted to drive, but there was no way I was going to embarra.s.s him in front of his half brother and Julian.

I looked in the rearview mirror on the pa.s.senger side. "Sure. Give it a little gas."

Arch began to inch down the driveway, tapping the brakes every two seconds in the way of new drivers, giving all of us in the car whiplash.

I frowned at the mirror, and realized we were up so high in the Rover that I couldn't see exactly where the driveway was. Since the very last thing I wanted was to whack into Nora Ellis's carefully planted fruit trees, I opened my door a smidgeon.

"Okay," I said encouragingly, my heart light from having received two big tips. "Give it just a teensy bit more gas."

Which is what Arch did. In fact, he gave the Rover a rather large bit of gas, with the big SUV still in reverse. This sent it catapulting into the Ellises' serpentine wall, which tore off the open pa.s.senger-side door.

CHAPTER 15.

I raised Tom on his cell. He had been investigating another case nearby, and could be at the Ellises' house within fifteen minutes. He told us he would call a tow truck, because he knew a guy who would respond right away. I thanked him profusely.

"And see what Julian's schedule is like," Tom added. "If he can stay with us until the department cleans up this murder, so much the better."

"You mean, because it'll take forever to get the door replaced? Or do you think our family is in danger?"

"Neither," Tom replied calmly. "But we've got a lead on who tried to hit Vic out in our street, and I just want as many folks in the house as possible, to watch each other's backs. Plus, if you're going back to do any cooking for that law firm, I don't want you alone."

I exhaled, thanked him again, and signed off. Then I checked out the serpentine wall. That thing must have been made of concrete, because it was completely unharmed. Thank the Lord for small favors.

As if he'd heard Tom discussing him, Vic Zaruski came ambling down the driveway. His smile was wide. "Mr. Ellis just gave me a hundred-dollar tip! Man, I want to come back here! They've got a Steinway that n.o.body plays. What the-" He was staring at the Rover door, which was lying halfway across the driveway, where it had landed. Then he looked up at our foursome: Julian, Arch, Gus, and yours truly. Vic's grin returned. "Somebody is screwed!"

Arch and Gus were still young enough that any untoward use of profanity could send them into paroxysms of laughter.

"Vic, please. Not in front of the kiddies."

"You should sue Rover," Vic said, his voice suddenly serious. "A door shouldn't come off like that, you know?"

"Well," Julian commented, "help is on the way. And I don't think Rover would pay for someone backing into a wall."

"Julian," I began for at least the fourteenth time, "I am so so so sorry-"

"No, it was my fault," Arch said. He'd been alternately apologetic and upset since we'd all hollered for him to "Stop!" This in turn had sent me backward, then rocketing forehead-first into the dashboard. I fingered the spot gently; the bruise was already swelling. I wanted to think about something, anything, besides Arch driving. Or not driving, as the case might be.

"It was my fault, Arch," I said with a finality that I hoped would close the argument.

Gus said, "This is just like what my grandfather is always saying." Gus lowered his voice. "'Take responsibility, Gus. That's what no one does these days. Take responsibility!'"

"I'm going to run inside," Julian said. "You need to get some ice on that forehead, Goldy." The very last thing I wanted was to bother the Ellises, and have them come out here. But Julian was already racing up the driveway. I prayed that he would meet Lorraine, who would help him out.

"Vic," I said lightly. "Your playing was great. I love those old sixties songs. You did a marvelous job."

He blushed to the roots of his tightly curled straw-colored hair. "Why, thanks." Then his face turned glum. He shook his head.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Oh, I used to hope that, you know..." He looked into the street, as if thinking about what he used to hope.

Gus and Arch had moved into Woods' End, where they were throwing a Frisbee that had popped free from Julian's storage area behind their seat. So with just Vic and me in the driveway, I wondered if he'd talk to me a bit about Dusty. About why he threw a diamond ring through the window of Aspen Meadow Jewelers. About what he had hoped.

"No," I said, my voice low. "I don't know."

To my great surprise, as well as Vic's, I imagine, tears spilled out of his eyes. He muttered another profanity and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. I pulled a tissue out of my pants pocket and handed it to him. Julian still hadn't returned, and the boys were yelling and racing back and forth as they tossed the Frisbee.

I said, "Vic, is there something you want to say to me?"

"Yeah," he mumbled. He searched in his pockets and brought out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. "Mind if I smoke? Think the Ellises will mind?"

"I'm sure it'll be okay," I said, although I was sure of no such thing. Still, some folks' tongues were loosened up by booze; maybe nicotine could do the same thing.

The match flared; Vic took a deep drag and looked at me. "You probably heard Dusty and I broke up."

"Yes, I did."

He looked toward the trees that edged the far border of Woods' End. "Well, that's what I told the cops, you know, when they took me down to the department. We broke up, end of story. 'So what were you doing in that copy place at that hour of night?' 'Yo! I work there,' I told them." Vic shook his head. "I just thought you would have heard about when I was in interrogation, because you're married to a cop. I figured, you know, they talk."

"Well, that's not the case with Tom. Sometimes I hear things, sometimes he discusses cases with me, but I know to keep my mouth shut."

Vic took another drag on his cigarette. I guessed Julian and Lorraine were waiting for the ice maker to fill. At length, Vic said, "I hoped Dusty and I would be able to tour together. She wasn't a great singer, but she was a pretty good one. And she loved the music, man. She just dug it." Another drag on the cigarette. "But she didn't dig me. In the end, she didn't dig me."

"Look, Vic, I'm sorry. Is there something you want to tell me that you haven't told the police?"

Vic dropped the half-smoked cigarette and twisted it under the toe of his black boot. "I hit her. Oh G.o.d; now there, I've said it. It was only once." He began to cry again. "I'm so sorry, and you with your history and all, that the whole town knows."

Very softly, I asked, "Did you tell the cops you hit her?"

He put his head in his hands. "No. I couldn't."

"Where did you hit her, Vic? Where on her body, I mean. Where and when?"

He blew out air. "I slapped her face. It was that night, around seven. She came over to Art, Music, and Copies to return a ring I'd given her. I was so-" He couldn't finish the thought.

I said, "Did you trash her car? Because if they find the hammer or whatever it was at your place-"

"No, no, I didn't trash her car. I even wanted to apologize to her. But I was just so mad. I was just so d.a.m.n mad."

Angry and mad, perhaps. But I was still treading gingerly. "Was there someone else?" I asked. "Someone else in her life, and that's why she broke up with you?"

"I asked her. She said no. I wasn't sure I believed her. She yelled at me, and I yelled at her, and then I-" He closed his eyes at the memory.

"The pathologist will find the mark you made on her face," I said solemnly. "Sometimes slaps even match certain people's hands-"

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked. His eyes flared. "Call the sheriff's department and say, 'Uh-oh, I forgot to tell you that I hit my girlfriend, I mean, my ex-girlfriend'?"

"That is precisely what you need to do," I said as Julian came sauntering back down the driveway, using both hands to hold a cloth towel bulging with ice. Just then, Tom's trustworthy car came into sight, with trustworthy Tom behind the wheel. The boys snagged the Frisbee and raced toward us. "Let me say something to you, Vic," I said, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice. "You need to tell the cops just what you told me. Because you're right, they're going to find out. Sooner or later. And if they discover you haven't been forthright with them, things are going to get very bad for you."

Tom pulled his car into the Ellises' driveway within a foot of the hapless Rover door. "Hey, everybody!" he sang as he jumped out. He looked over his shoulder at Vic's Sebring, which was parked on the dead end. Tom hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Now that's a convertible." He shook his head at the doorless Rover and pointed at it. "That is not how you want to get air inside a car." When he saw my expression, his joviality disappeared. "C'mere, Miss G. You look like the Jerk just walked back into your life."

"Not quite," I whispered, and glanced at Vic. He gave a barely perceptible nod. "Vic has something to tell you, Tom. He's going to do it now."

So all our plans changed. Tom, as might be expected, was immediately somber. He wanted to take Vic down to the department right away to make a statement. Vic agreed.

When we were discussing how we were going to do the vehicles, Julian, who could sense something was up without being told what it was, said, "I could wait here for the tow truck, ask the guy to take you all home, then come back for me after he drops off the Rover."

"No, thanks, but no," I protested, unwilling to calculate how long it would take to have the tow-truck driver chauffeur us. .h.i.ther and yon, even if he was willing to do it. The next day was the christening reception, and like it or not, Julian and I needed to do the prep.

Vic pulled his keys out of his pocket. "Take the Sebring." When I gave him a dubious look, he said, "It's okay. I trust you." He gave a humorless laugh. "Just park it on the street by the Routts' place and I'll get it later."