She retrieved the .380 Walther I'd insisted she lock in the glove box this morning.

Simon stared at the Vincent House. His face was drained of color and lucidity. His mouth was agape and hands hung motionless at his sides. He looked lost, frightened, and unfamiliar. Twice he glanced at Angel and twice he tried but couldn't speak.

I pointed at Simon and said to Hercule, "Watch him, boy. He's a cat person."

Grrrrrrrrr.

Inside the Vincent House, I found Simon's demon.

Chevy lay face down in the middle of the lounge. His arms were outstretched and his legs bent-he'd fallen where he stood. His right shoulder was b.l.o.o.d.y-he'd been shot-and he was not moving. I knelt down beside his body and touched his arm.

He was alive.

I ran back outside. "Angel, Chevy's been shot, but he's alive. Call for an ambulance."

"Andre?"

"I don't see him."

Simon was bent over beside Andre's Mercedes retching. When Angel connected with 9-1-1 and told them the situation, he looked up, listened, and retched again. Then he stood, leaned on the car, and wiped his mouth. "I didn't kill Chevez. You have to believe me, Angela. I was meeting him inside when Cartier showed up. He fought with Chevez and shot him. Then he ran off."

I checked the gun lying on the ground. "It's been fired, Angel. Just now."

Angel covered the phone. "We heard a shot, Simon. Your gun has been fired."

"No, yes ... I shot someone-you wouldn't believe me. Yes, I shot at someone, but not Chevez."

"Are you sure you didn't shoot him?" Angel asked. "Who did you shoot?"

"I don't know ... someone ... appeared behind the bar watching me. I was trying to help Chevez and this ... this ... mobster ... He told

me to get out of his house. He had a gun and I panicked. There

was a gun beside Chevez so I grabbed it and shot the man. He ... was ...

disappeared."

"Who, Simon?"

I already knew the answer-and more. "Simon is Chevy's client, Angel. He came here to get the book. I don't know how Chevy got it from Andre, but he did, and he was selling it to Simon. The question is, why?"

Angel gestured for him to sit against Andre's convertible. "Chevy was working for you? To get the book?"

Simon's face fell. He looked at his blood-covered hands and began shaking. "I'm so sorry, Angela. I am. I just wanted Ernie's position at the University. The Regents think you're so perfect-brilliant-amazing. I had no choice. The job should be mine!"

Oh c.r.a.p, I got it. "Simon had Chevy following you, Angel. He was gathering everything he could to discredit you with the Regents. Chevy recorded anything to make you look bad-talking to me and visiting Poor Nic. Then, when Grecco was murdered, he saw an opportunity to sink you. He was trying to connect you to it all."

"Connect me? He was trying to ruin me," Angel said. She walked over and slapped Simon across the face. "You were stalking me for a job? My job?"

Simon stared-wide-eyed-as a red mark blossomed on his cheek. He cried. "I'm sorry, Angela. It got out of hand. I wanted the job. It was mine, after all. I've been waiting years for Ernie to retire. Now they wanted you. You talk to yourself-to him-and you act like he's right there with you. The Department needs someone grounded-"

"Grounded?" She slapped him again. "Like someone stalking and lying and trying to destroy me over a job? The Regents need someone like that?"

"No. No. You don't understand."

"I understand everything."

He pushed off Andre's car hood but Hercule suggested he sit back down. He did. "No, Angela. I did not shoot Chevez. He met me to give me my recordings and get paid. Cartier shot him. I tried to help him but I heard someone in the house and got scared. Then I-"

I said, "What about the book?" And Angel repeated me.

"Book?" Simon's face twisted. "Chevez had videos showing you on this insane investigation. He gave me half last night and was to give me the rest this morning. The videos had you and Braddock, together, talking to your dead husband. That would keep Braddock off my back, too. What book are you talking about?"

There was something about Simon's delivery that was believable. Maybe it was the confused look on his face when Angel mentioned the book. Maybe it was the stupidity of his confession. Or maybe it was the vomit caking his shoes and slacks.

"Angel, stay here. I'm going to look for Andre."

"Okay, Tuck. Bear should be here soon."

Simon's eyes went wild and he looked around. "Tuck? You're talking to him again?"

"Yes." Angel didn't hesitate. "He never left me, Simon. He's been here the whole time."

His face was ashen. "Yes, I believe he has."

W. Simon Hahn-"W" for wrong place, wrong time, bent over and retched again.

sixty.

Andre Cartier was nowhere in the Vincent House.

I'd searched it top to bottom and returned to the lounge, hoping to find Vincent and get his help. "Vincent? Ollie-ollie-oxen-free."

Frankie Carle-Oh, What It Seemed to Be played ...

"You're making a mess in my home, Oliver." Vincent appeared behind the bar with a long Cuban and a hefty gla.s.s of bourbon. "I hope this will be over soon." He poured me a drink. "You have my book?"

"Not yet." I swooped up the gla.s.s and downed it before he changed his mind. "It's here somewhere. But then, you know that already, don't you?"

He grinned and refilled my gla.s.s. "Of course I know. And I know my Frannie is gone, too. You never got to meet her."

"No, and I'm sorry I didn't." I sipped my drink. "Do you know who killed her?"

"No, if I did, they would be dead already. Do you?"

I considered the possibilities. "The jury's out on that one."

"Ah, interesting phrase. Be careful, Oliver. Juries are often wrong, and they can be bought. I should know. I've owned a few in my time."

I took a long pull on my drink and wiped the warmth from my lips. "Okay, Vincent-or should I say, Great Granddad?"

He laughed-a big, raucous belly laugh. "Yes, yes. There is so much more to tell you, too. But I'll let Doc fill you in. Hurry, you must find my book and get Frannie's killer. Avenge our family, Oliver."

"Avenge? We'll see, Vincent. My friend Andre is here somewhere."

"Did he kill my Frannie?"

"I don't know. But he found your book. Someone else has it now."

Vincent puffed on his Cuban and watched me through the smoke. "The Cuban fella-Chevez-they're all as bad as the Reds -he had it but now he doesn't."

"Who took it from him?"

"Your friend-and I'm displeased."

Sa.s.sy appeared beside me. She smacked my cheek with a big kiss. "Your friend is in the carriage house, Tuckie. You better hurry. I'm not sure how long he's gonna be breathin'. He's in big trouble."

"You mean Andre?" I emptied my drink. "What's happening?"

"The bimbo's with him. And he's in big trouble-"

_____.

Andre Cartier was in big trouble. He was in the carriage house, standing outside the old horse stall. The false wall was open to the stairs behind him. His hands were bloodied and his face was ashen. Blood stained his pants and shirt, but he seemed unaware of it all. His eyes were fixed on the gun pointed at his face.

And Bonnie Grecco held it.

I walked in and stood beside her.

"Andre, what have you got yourself into?"

Bonnie was shaking and waving the gun around. "You stay back, Andre. You stay away from me."

"Bonnie, put the gun down. I had to do it-I had no choice."

"Had to do what?" I asked.

"Why, Andre, why?" Bonnie wailed.

He didn't answer me of course but he did speak to Bonnie. "To get the book back, Bonnie. We need the book. It's the key to Stephanos's murder. It'll prove everything."

"But you shot him, Andre," Bonnie cried. "I can't believe it. Did you kill Steph, too? Tell me you didn't, Andre, please."

I went to Andre. "Yeah, Andre, tell her. Tell us both. I'm not sure anymore."

He raised his hands and took a step toward Bonnie. "Put the gun down, Bonnie. Let me explain."

"Explain? You shot a man over this book? Did you kill Stephanos for it, too?"

"No." Andre's face twisted and he stepped closer. "I didn't kill Stephanos. Agent Dobron did."

Bonnie thrust the gun out. "Dobron? He said you-"

"Yes, of course he said it was me." Andre patted the air. "I've been working with Ruth-Ann Marcos, Bonnie. She's been after Dobron for months-he works for the Russian mob."

Bonnie's face flushed. She lowered her gun a few inches and looked over it at him. "No, no. Steph made a deal with Agent Dobron-to get us a new life-we were going into witness protection. And then we found all the money in those paintings at the Vincent House. We were-"

"No, Bonnie." Andre took another step. "Dobron wanted the book for the Russian mob. He was using Stephanos to get it."

"The mob? It was all a lie?" Bonnie shook her head and lowered the gun more. Her eyes welled up and she had trouble forming words. "What about you and me, Andre? It was all a lie, too? To get the book?"

"No, it wasn't a lie. I didn't know anything about the book when we met. I didn't know about you and Stephanos either. But when we got together, Ruth-Ann Marcos approached me to find the book first before the Russians got it."

"She came to you because of me?"

He nodded.

Right. I get it. The question was, when did he know what he was doing and how deeply was he involved?

Bonnie wiped black mascara from her cheeks and choked back tears. "Everyone thought I was using you. And it was the other way around."

"No, Bonnie. I wasn't using you. I can't explain-not here. But I'm on your side, Bonnie. You and I are real."

"You didn't kill Stephanos? You promise?"

"Yes, I promise. I told you, Dobron killed him." Andre started to move closer but Bonnie lifted the gun and he stopped. He went on. "Stephanos made a deal with Dobron for the book, but he double-crossed him and tried to sell it to someone else. Dobron found out and killed him before he could."