"No, I'll call him."

"Kind of like reverse psychology? Make him think I'm being stoic so he'll be more inclined to give me a break? Might work."

"You dope. You are being stoic. Mostly I don't want you to fly off the handle at him."

"Meghan! You make me sound like a raving b.i.t.c.h."

"Nnooo...but sometimes you're, uh, less than gracious under stress."

"Fine," I said, and began getting ready to take a shower. It wasn't until I was rinsing shampoo out of my hair that it dawned on me I'd just proved her point. I turned the shower faucet to the right, gasping in shock at the sudden change in temperature, forcing myself to stay under the cold needles long enough to bathe all my b.u.mps and bruises.

TWENTY-THREE.

DOWNSTAIRS IN THE KITCHEN, a powerful pot of Bewley's Irish tea brewed on the counter while Meghan stirred up corn bread to go with the chili bubbling on a back burner. As she poured the dark liquid into a stoneware mug, I realized I'd lost the box of teabags when I'd fallen. I drank the Bewley's black, no sugar, and the tea went down stronger than Starbuck's dark roast.

Ambrose hadn't been in his office when she'd called, so Meghan had left a message. I didn't hold out a lot of hope regarding his response once he learned of the afternoon's events, but we didn't have many choices.

I went down to my workroom to see if Kyla had managed to wrap all the holiday soap. The festive little packages sat in a neat pile in the center of the island in the middle of the room. Not only had she covered each in a tight skin of cellophane-we use plain old Saran wrap because it's best for keeping the volatile essential oils from escaping into the air-but had also scrounged up some labels preprinted with my company name and logo, but otherwise blank. She'd hand printed each with either "Peppermint Swirl" or "Cinnamon Stick" and the average weight of the soaps in ounces, and affixed them to the bars.

A note lay next to the soaps: Hi Sophie Mae-You've seemed kind of busy lately, so I went ahead and made up the names and labeled the soaps. My sister Cyan came with me today and helped. We had some extra time, so I also staged the shipments you have lined against the wall. Hope that was okay. See you Thurs. Kyla. P.S. Cyan would like to help out to make some extra Christmas money, if you need her. Thanx. P.P.S. You're getting kind of low on lotion bars.

In front of each box lined against the wall was the packing list I'd printed, with corresponding soaps and bath products from the storeroom cl.u.s.tered on top of it. If she'd been standing there, I might have kissed that girl. All the work she'd done that afternoon was the only good thing that had happened all day. Plus, she'd found me another helper.

Meghan's voice floated down the stairs, angry and frustrated. I shut off the lights and went up to the kitchen. In the hallway I could hear her talking on the telephone, and for a moment I thought Detective Ambrose might have called back. But soon it became clear she was talking with Richard.

"No! I won't say it again. You can't take her out of school for something like that. That's the kind of thing you should be doing on the weekends you have her, instead of bailing on her like you did last week....Don't give me that c.r.a.p, Richard! I couldn't care less about yet another one of your money-making schemes. Here's an idea for you-get a real job! Go to it every day, get paid, and then pay your bills-including Erin's support-before you drive north to the casinos....What? That's not my problem... Of course I know you're her dad. You're the one who seems to forget. Why is this so important, if your mother's going to be here a while?" Then her voice lowered, taking on a decisive chill. Brodie whined in his throat when he heard the tone.

"I said no, Richard. That's the end of it. And don't try an end run. I'm calling the school first thing in the morning."

The phone clanked onto its base on the hall table. After a few moments Meghan rounded the corner, high spots of anger on her cheeks. She didn't seem surprised to see me.

"How much of that did you hear?"

"The last bit. Sorry."

She waved my apology away. Not a lot of secrets in this house.

"So what did he want?" I asked. "And where's Erin?"

"She fell asleep upstairs on my bed. She's exhausted-I don't think she's been sleeping very well lately."

The timer on the oven went off, and Meghan took the pan of corn bread out of the oven. It smelled heavenly, and I was famished. Nearly getting killed is apparently good for the appet.i.te.

Stirring the chili, I said, "And d.i.c.k? What does he want now?"

Meghan sighed. "He wants to take Erin out of school tomorrow to have lunch with his mother."

"His mother? d.i.c.k actually has a mother?"

A small smile pa.s.sed over Meghan's face. "Yeah, if you can believe it. Lives in California, where he's from. I met her once before we got married. She doesn't like me much. Didn't come to the wedding."

"Why on earth not?"

"I got the impression she didn't think I was good enough for her baby boy."

"Oh. One of those. So why lunch?"

"No idea. I guess she's staying at Richard's; he said she flew in Sunday. Anyway, he said she'll be here for a week, so I don't see why Erin can't meet her grandmother on the weekend or after school."

"Was that her in the car with d.i.c.k after Walter's service?"

"Now that you mention it-"

But the doorbell cut off her words. Brodie barked, and Meghan shushed him, not wanting to wake her daughter upstairs. But Erin slept like only children can, and I doubted the ruckus would disturb her.

Through the window next to the front door I saw a police car parked out front. Opening the door, I expected to see Detective Ambrose, but instead found the patrolwoman who had come about our burglary the previous afternoon.

So Ambrose couldn't even be bothered to talk to me himself. A simple phone call would have sufficed.

"Ms. Reynolds," she said in a tone several degrees chillier than the outside temperature. What had Ambrose told her? For that matter, what had Meghan told his voicemail?

"Officer Danson," I said.

"Please come in, Officer," Meghan said from behind me.

We led the way to the living room and invited her to sit down, but she insisted on standing. Meghan sat on the sofa and I leaned awkwardly next to the fireplace mantle. I could already tell this wasn't going to go well.

"I know you're upset about what happened, Ms. Reynolds, but you have to leave the investigation to the police. Your interference has already made things more difficult."

"Of course I'm upset about what happened! And I have yet to see any evidence of an investigation. All I was doing was walking home-"

"Walking home? I don't think so. From what I've been told you were questioning people, and I'm sorry, but you may have muddied the waters by doing so."

Had Debby and Jacob told the police I'd been questioning them? I'd only asked how to get in touch with them. I opened my mouth, but Meghan spoke before I could.

"Officer, could you be a bit more specific about what Sophie Mae did?"

I swear the woman harrumphed. "She went up and down the street, talking to the neighbors, trying to find out if anyone saw anything during the time of your burglary." She turned to me. "Luckily, it doesn't sound like many people were home when you did your door-to-door this morning, but you've done enough damage."

Oh. That.

"A lot of people were at work," I said.

"Which is why I waited until this afternoon to check with your neighbors about what they may have seen. Please leave it to me. I know you have good intentions, but I really do know how to do my job. Better than you do, Ms. Reynolds."

"I thought you'd just fill out the case report and file it away. Last night you said it's nearly impossible to find household thieves."

"It's hard to find stolen items. Usually thieves sell them right away. But that doesn't mean we just file the paperwork and forget about catching the perpetrator." "

I misunderstood," I said. "I'm sorry."

Meghan stared at me. So did Officer Danson.

"What?" I asked, feeling a little defensive.

"So I can count on you to leave this burglary investigation to me?"

"No problem. I won't say another word to the neighbors. Are you working on this burglary alone?"

"A detective is also a.s.signed, but right now he's busy with other cases. So I'm taking care of it."

"What's the detective's name?" I asked. Her face reddened, and she glared at me.

"The department has only one. Detective Ambrose."

No wonder he was so busy. But that didn't explain Danson's anger.

"But he does know about our break-in yesterday?"

"Well, technically it wasn't a break-in," she said.

"Does he know?" I asked again.

"He should, if he read the shift reports. He works days, and I work swing."

"So he might not be aware of it?"

"His sergeant would have pa.s.sed it on, too." A stubborn expression settled on her face "There was a death in our bas.e.m.e.nt a few days ago," Meghan said. "Detective Ambrose came to investigate. And Officer-what was his name, Sophie Mae?"

"Owens," I said.

Danson didn't look happy. "I didn't realize that death occurred here. You think they're related?"

Before Meghan mentioned Walter's missing papers, I said, "If we did, we would have said something yesterday." Meghan's amused look a.s.sured me she hadn't planned on spilling the beans. "It's probably just coincidence. But Detective Ambrose should be made aware of it."

"Of course. I'll double-check with him."

She turned to go, and Meghan stood. We walked her to the door, Brodie's nails clicking on the tile entryway as he accompanied us. Before she left, she gave me a hard look.

"I have your word?"

"I said I wouldn't question the neighbors anymore. I won't."

She seemed satisfied with this and walked down the sidewalk to her patrol car. As we stood in the doorway and watched her drive away, Meghan asked me if I'd just lied to the nice policewoman.

"Of course not. I promised not to quiz the neighbors about seeing anyone here during the burglary. She's obviously already doing that and no doubt better than I could. But that's all I promised."

Meghan surprised me by saying, "Good. Because somebody needs to figure this out. If talking to Ambrose about your attempted hit-and-run doesn't work, then it's back to us."

"You really feel that way?"

"We can't just leave it hanging, not if it's hanging over our heads."

TWENTY-FOUR.

IN THE KITCHEN I made a quick salad, chopped onion, grated cheese. Upstairs Meghan rousted Erin from her nap and led the yawning girl to the table. We ladled the fragrant chili into bowls, topped it with the onions and cheese and sour cream, and dug in. Someone said hunger makes the best gravy, and I heartily concur. I didn't think I'd ever eaten food that tasted so good.

The doorbell rang again as I was spreading a second piece of corn bread with honey-b.u.t.ter. I sighed. Well, at least tonight we'd actually managed to eat dinner.

Licking my fingers, I got up to answer the door, certain this time it was Ambrose. But on the doorstep I found d.i.c.k and a woman I a.s.sumed was his mother.

"Well, aren't you going to ask us in out of this rain?" This from the woman, in a querulous voice.

I stepped back from the door, suppressing a sigh.

"Meghan," I called.

"Here," the woman said, thrusting her umbrella and coat at me. If the rain was that bad, I wondered why she hadn't bothered to unfurl the umbrella. I took them and laid them across the back of the chair inside the door, a move that did not meet with the woman's approval, judging from the look on her face. d.i.c.k still hadn't said a word.