Detective Grant nodded and stepped out onto the terrace, shutting the door behind him.

There was a two-second pause before all h.e.l.l broke loose.

Elsie led the charge. "You ridiculous buffoon!" she hissed at David. "I knew you were a wretched person, but I didn't know how wretched until now."

"Me? I'm the bad guy?" David spit out indignantly. "I didn't do anything! That detective wants the truth. If we try to hide facts, then we'll only bring his wrath down on all of us."

"Have something to hide, do you, David?" said Graham from his chair.

"Me? Hiding something? Don't be stupid," David snapped back.

"I don't know. You seemed in a pretty big rush to direct the detective's attention to Harry. Why is that?" Graham's voice was deceptively calm. If you ever wanted a read on Graham's emotions, you watched his eyebrows. They were a barometer of his emotions. Right now they were bristling. When Bridget and I were little, bristling eyebrows meant it was time to run for cover.

David's own brows pulled together ominously and he aggressively shifted his shoulders. "I'm not trying to direct anything. I'm only trying to help."

In a deceivingly casual move, Graham stretched his long legs out in front of him and stood up. Next to him, Blythe tensed. "Graham . . ." she warned.

"No, I'm interested in hearing about how David wants to help." He crossed the room and stood directly in front of David's chair. Graham moved so quickly that David had no time to react. He sat pressed against the back of his chair, forced to stare up into Graham's face.

"For instance," Graham went on, "when you get blind stinking drunk, how are you helping? When you verbally abuse my sister, how exactly are you helping?"

"Graham, please," said Claire.

"Now listen here," David barked, but Graham wasn't listening.

"And when you stupidly try and pin this tragedy on Harry, how the h.e.l.l do you think you are helping?"

These last words were shouted, and David shoved his large frame out of his chair and faced Graham. His body was trembling and his hands were balled into fists. "You know what?" he hissed menacingly. "I don't care what you think of me because I know that I'm innocent. I was with Claire all night. I have an alibi. Do you?" He turned to the rest of us and sneered threateningly. "Do any of you?"

A soft cry escaped from Megan, and David's eyes landed on her. Strangely, upon seeing her pinched expression, his face blanched with regret. "Megan," he said, his voice oddly constrained, "I am so sorry about . . . about all of this. If there is anything I can do . . ."

"Anything you can do!" Megan shot back. "Just what do you think you can do, David? From what I've seen, you've done quite enough!"

"From what you've . . ." He stopped abruptly. "Megan, I know you're . . . upset. But I'd like to help."

"Help," Megan scoffed. "Here's an idea, David-how about you do the right thing? For once, why don't you just do the right thing?"

"I-" David began.

"Leave it. I can't deal with you now," said Megan quietly.

"Megan?" began David.

Graham cut him off. "David! Shut the h.e.l.l up! Can't you see that every time you open your mouth you only make things worse?" Graham's eyebrows were now standing straight out and I looked for a place to seek shelter. Before I could find one, the terrace doors swung open, letting in a chilly gust of rain and wind and Avery.

"It's gone," Avery gasped.

"What's gone?" Elsie said.

"The necklace, Roni's necklace. The one she was wearing last night. The one I gave her. It's gone!"

We looked mutely at one another.

"Someone killed her for her necklace?" asked Elsie. Her voice held a tinge of hope. If Roni had been killed for the necklace, then the realm of potential suspects would widen considerably. Right now, it was decidedly claustrophobic.

Detective Grant stepped into view behind Avery. "We haven't come to any conclusions yet," he said, "but I'd like a guest list from last night's reception."

Elsie nodded and hurried off to the study.

"How much was that necklace worth?" asked Blythe.

"I just had it appraised for two hundred thousand dollars," came the reply.

Someone gave a low whistle.

My sentiments exactly.

CHAPTER 12.

Anything that begins "I don't know how to tell you this" is never good news.

-RUTH GORDON Still stunned by this latest development, we all heard the front door slam and Bridget's voice carry into the living room. "Mom?" she yelled. "Dad?"

"We're in here, honey," Blythe responded.

Bridget rushed into the room and ran straight to her parents. Bridget and Colin were booked to go to Bermuda for their honeymoon and Bridget was clearly dressed for the trip. She was wearing neon yellow Bermuda shorts, a blue-and-green-striped tank top, lace-up espadrilles that added a solid three inches to her height, and what appeared to be a small frog on her right shoulder blade.

With a mother's instinct, Blythe's eyes homed in on the mark. It was a tattoo. Bridget had told me that she was planning on getting one. From the "Oh, s.h.i.t," expression on her face now, it was clear that she hadn't planned on sharing this acquisition with Blythe. Colin saw Blythe's expression and quickly draped his arm over Bridget's shoulder, blocking the tattoo from view.

"We came as quickly as we could, Mrs. Matthews," said Colin smoothly. "What's going on?"

"It's about Roni," said Graham, his eyes darting to where Avery sat. "She's dead. Murdered."

Bridget let out an exclamation. It would have earned her few points with her new mother-in-law, but it managed to accurately sum up the general mood.

Graham nodded his head. "Exactly. Elizabeth found her this morning." Bridget's eyes flew to mine. I could see her thoughts taking shape and knew what she was going to say. The only problem was, I couldn't stop her.

"You found her! Jesus! Not again! Christ, what are the odds?"

"I'm sorry," interrupted Detective Grant, his voice ominous. "What are the odds about what?"

I winced. Bridget answered breathlessly, "Elizabeth found a body before. Last New Year's . . ." Belatedly, she saw the dark suspicion building in Detective Grant's eyes. "Oh, I mean, Elizabeth had nothing to do with it, of course. She just happened to find the . . . um . . . body."

Detective Grant turned and stared at me. For a long time. I tried to calm my shattered nerves by thinking of Detective Grant as a kind of modern-day singing detective, but it was no good. My nerves won out. Unfortunately, when I get nervous I tend to ramble. I did so now in rather spectacular fashion.

"That was different," I said. "I mean, yes, I found a body. She'd been beaten, though, not stabbed. Not that any of that matters, of course. But I didn't have anything to do with it. I mean, I did, kind of. I helped the police find the killer. Not that I'm saying you need any help, of course . . ."

Peter moved next to me and squeezed my hand-hard. With relief, I realized that I had finally stopped talking. "What Elizabeth is trying to say, Detective," Peter said calmly, "is that she found a body this past New Year's. There was a murder at her aunt's inn and Elizabeth was instrumental in finding the killer. I can put you in touch with the detective in charge of the case, if you have any questions."

Detective Grant's cold eyes never left my face. "Oh, I'm going to have questions," he said. "I can promise you that."

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Chloe openly studying me. I didn't need a translator to interpret the faintly raised eyebrows and the tiny line of confusion etched between them. She was wondering how Peter had ever gotten involved with someone like me. I quickly rearranged my face into an expression I hoped suggested fierce intelligence and a brilliant wit.

Elsie returned from the study clutching a thick sheaf of paper. "Here's the list of wedding guests, Detective." Seeing Bridget and Colin, she stopped. "h.e.l.lo, dears. I didn't hear you come in." Kissing them both on the cheek, she sadly shook her head from side to side. "I see you've heard. It's all very shocking. Detective Grant here." She paused, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "I'm sorry, have you been introduced? Bridget, Colin, this is Detective Paul Grant. He's been put in charge here. Detective Grant, this is my granddaughter Bridget and her husband, Colin Delaney."

Bridget, Colin, and Detective Grant nodded at each other. "We were just talking," Bridget said with an apologetic glance in my direction.

"Apparently, Roni's necklace is missing. Detective Grant thinks it might be related to her mur . . . death," Elsie said, with a sideways glance at Avery.

"I never said that, Mrs. Matthews," protested Detective Grant, but Elsie wasn't listening. Like Blythe, she had homed in on the mark on Bridget's shoulder. "Is that a tattoo, Bridget?"

Bridget sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yes. Okay? I got a tattoo. It's no big deal."

Blythe stepped forward. "I knew it!" she said. Pushing her gla.s.ses firmly up on the bridge of her nose, she turned Bridget around and peered at the mark.

"Good G.o.d," she said. "A tattoo. Why ever did you get a tattoo? And of a frog, no less."

Bridget craned her neck, staring at her shoulder. "It's not a frog," she said defensively, roughly pulling back and facing Blythe. "It's a shamrock."

"It doesn't look like a shamrock to me. It looks like a frog. Doesn't it look like a frog?" Blythe asked, addressing the rest of us.

We all stared at it in silence. Even Detective Grant silently considered it. I had to admit it looked like a frog.

"For G.o.d's sake, why do you have a tattoo of a frog on your shoulder?" asked Blythe.

"Shamrock," interjected Bridget.

"Whatever," Blythe replied. "You're not even Irish!"

Bridget lifted her chin. "No, but Colin is. I got the shamrock as a wedding present for him."

Blythe stared at her in open-mouthed amazement. "A tattoo? You got him a tattoo for a wedding present? Who does that? What's wrong with a nice watch?"

Detective Grant stepped forward. "Excuse me, ladies, but I am trying to conduct a murder investigation. Could we discuss the frog tattoo another time?"

Blythe and Bridget fell silent and nodded, although I saw Bridget mouth shamrock.

"I'm sorry, Detective," Blythe said, shaking her head apologetically. "Forgive us. We're really not as callous as we appear. I think we're all anxious to focus on anything other than the tragedy at hand."

Elsie stepped forward and thrust the list at Detective Grant. "That's everyone who attended last night," she said. "Phone numbers and addresses are included."

Detective Grant took the thick stack of paper and idly thumbed through it. "Thank you," he said.

As the meaning of this exchange dawned on Bridget, her jaw fell open. "Wait a minute! You can't possibly think that one of our guests had anything to do with this!"

"I understand your concern, Mrs. Delaney. But it's a possibility that we need to take into consideration." From his tone, I suspected he considered it to be only a faint possibility. "There was a key found near the body, found by your friend Ms. Parker," he said with a nod in my direction. "It is from the Jefferson Hotel. Additionally, we found an anonymous note in the deceased's purse. It demanded a meeting at two A.M."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean . . ." Bridget began.

"It was written on stationery also from the Jefferson," Detective Grant added.

Bridget's mouth snapped shut. All of the out-of-town wedding guests had stayed at the Jefferson.

A sudden chirping noise broke the uncomfortable silence that followed this statement. Glancing down at the silver beeper on his belt, Detective Grant pushed a b.u.t.ton and silenced the machine. "Excuse me a moment," he said, turning back toward the study. "I need to make a phone call. I'll be right back."

No one spoke until the study door shut behind him. Bridget whirled around and faced her parents. "He really thinks one of our guests killed Roni? This is absurd. We're . . . we're nice people! Our friends are nice people. None of them could have done this. It's not possible!"

Blythe stepped forward and wrapped her arm around Bridget's shoulder. "I know, dear, but-"

Before she could continue, David interrupted, "But the alternative is an even less attractive possibility."

"What do you mean?" asked Bridget.

"I mean, that if one of them didn't do it, then one of you did," David said.

"David!" gasped Claire. "How can you even think that?"

"Because, unlike some people, I have half a brain."

"Yes, but we've never actually held that against you, David," said Elsie, her voice tight with anger. "Although, if you keep talking like this, we might have to revisit that decision."

Elsie was one of the few members of the Matthews family who weren't afraid of David's unpredictable temper. She considered him nothing more than a bully and firmly believed that when dealing with bullies, you had to push them harder than they pushed you. I admired her courage: David, angry, made me just want to run like h.e.l.l.

He ignored her. The rest of us held our breath as we watched their showdown.

"I don't recall you having any kind words for her when you realized she wanted Avery to sell the Garden," Elsie continued.

"That's different!"

"Is it? I don't see how."

Elsie took another step closer to David. She gripped the cane in her right hand, and for a wild moment I thought she was going to bash David over the head with it. Whether she would have or not, I don't know because Millie suddenly yelled out, "Mr. Matthews! Avery! Oh, dear G.o.d! Avery!"

At the sound of the panic in her voice, I jerked my head in her direction and saw Avery slumped in his chair. His face was a sickly shade of gray and his breathing labored. After her moment of panic, Millie transformed back into her role of efficient nurse. Leaning over his rec.u.mbent form, she grabbed his wrist and closed her eyes in concentration.

"Dad!" Harry said, crossing the room in a few steps to Avery's side.

"Avery? Can you hear me? Are you ill, dear?" Elsie asked.

Avery answered weakly, "Just a little dizzy."