Before I could argue the truth of this, she went on. "And we all know David has a terrible temper, especially when he's mad or drunk. And he was certainly drunk last night."

"True, but he's drunk nearly every night and so far he hasn't killed anyone."

"There's a first time for everything." Bridget looked meaningfully at me. "Think about it. Based on what you overheard between the two of them yesterday, we know that David needed money and Roni refused to give it to him. He's furious. He slips Roni the note, telling her to meet him outside. He's going to blackmail her into giving him the money. She either gives it to him, or he'll 'tell all.' But something goes wrong. Maybe he realizes that she's going to double-cross him."

I saw Sandy approaching with our food and tried to stop Bridget from continuing. "Bridget!" I hissed.

"Wait! I think I've got it," she said, shutting her eyes again. "Having just seen Harry threaten Roni, David decides to kill her, take her necklace, knowing he can probably shift suspicion to Harry given the fight they've just had. David grabs a knife from the kitchen and voila! he stabs her in the chest."

From the sharp intake of breath to my right, I knew that Sandy had overheard. Glancing up, I saw that her earlier perkiness was gone. Her rosy complexion had paled, and her eyes were wide with horror. I gave her what I hoped was a rea.s.suring smile and said, "It's a plot for a TV show."

From the way she quickly deposited our plates and bolted from our table, I don't think she believed me. I couldn't really blame her; I wouldn't have believed me, either.

Bridget went on, oblivious that the entire staff was probably being informed that crazy, homicidal people were eating at table ten. "That works," she said, slapping the table triumphantly. "David, drunk and angry that Roni has been playing him for a fool, kills her knowing that Harry will most likely be blamed. Plus, with her gone, his job is safe. I doubt Avery will sell the Garden now."

The image of Roni's body sprawled on the chaise longue, an enormous kitchen knife protruding from her bloodstained chest, swam before me. Bile rose in my throat and I pushed away my eggs Benedict. Losing the few pounds I'd gained over the past months would be easier than I'd thought.

"So how did the necklace end up in Elizabeth's drawer?" asked Peter.

"I haven't figured out that part of it yet," said Bridget with a casual wave of her hand. "Maybe he stashed it there and meant to get it later. We know he's in need of money. And if that necklace really is worth two hundred thousand dollars, then he'd definitely take it. Besides, it confuses the motive."

"Well, that works, then, because I'm definitely confused," agreed Peter. I kicked him under the table.

"Bridget, I'm not disagreeing with you," I said, "but there's so much that we don't know. If it really was David, then wouldn't Claire have noticed that he was gone? And why would David write a note on Jefferson stationery? He wasn't staying there . . ."

"That doesn't mean he didn't have a room there," she countered.

I shook my head. "Why on earth would he have a room there?"

"What about . . ." began Colin.

Bridget ignored him. "Oh, don't be so naive! People having affairs need hotel rooms for their rendezvous!"

I sighed. "Bridget, you have got to stop reading those Harlequin novels."

"One thing we could do . . ." ventured Peter.

Bridget talked over him. "Whatever," she said, "we need to tell the police."

"Tell the police what?" I asked. "That you think David might have done it? We have no proof! I know you don't like David-I'm not fond of him, either. But just because you can't stand him doesn't mean he's the killer."

"Just because I can't stand him doesn't mean he isn't the killer, either," Bridget said with surprising logic.

"We have no evidence!" I insisted. "And besides, he's not the only one who had a reason to dislike Roni."

"So Peter, what do you think of the Colts' starting lineup?" Colin suddenly interjected.

"Not bad," said Peter. "Of course, I'm a Pats fan myself, but the Colts seem to be having a pretty good season so far."

"Did you see last week's game?"

"No, I missed it. They won, right?"

Bridget turned to stare disbelievingly at Colin. "How the h.e.l.l can you jabber on about football at a time like this?" she burst out.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Colin with mock surprise. "I didn't think you were interested in our opinions. You seemed to be handling everything just fine without our input."

Bridget tapped her fingers in annoyance on the table. "Okay, you've made your point. Can we move on now?"

"Absolutely," Colin agreed with a grin.

"So, who do you suggest, then?" asked Bridget.

"I'm not suggesting anyone," said Colin, "but I agree with Elizabeth. I don't think we can leap to David."

"Meaning you can't think of anyone else. And the reason you can't is because I'm right." Bridget smirked.

"No . . ." said Colin.

"Then tell me one other person who has motive."

The memory of Julia hugging Megan floated before my eyes and I realized the reason for my earlier feeling of discord. "Becky," I said to myself.

"Becky?" Bridget repeated in surprise, turning to me. "What are you talking about?"

"I just realized that when Julia hugged Megan, it reminded me of-"

"Becky!" Bridget finished, seeing my meaning.

"Becky's father was a lot like Roni," I said softly.

Bridget nodded, her spiky red bangs falling into her eyes. "Except for the tight dresses and the enormous b.r.e.a.s.t.s, he was exactly like Roni."

"Well, that's a big exception, but do you see my point?"

"Sort of, but-"

"Wait!" interrupted Peter. "Who is Becky?"

"Becky was Julia's daughter and a close friend of Harry's," I explained quickly. "She died of an alcohol and drug overdose a few years ago." Turning back to Bridget, I continued. "Julia may have thought she could prevent Megan from ending up like Becky," I said, remembering the way Julia reacted to seeing Roni and Megan fight at the wedding. "Do you remember how devastated she was about Becky's death? She blamed herself for not preventing it. I don't think she ever forgave her husband for his treatment of Becky. Remember how when he died a few years later, she didn't seem that upset? And there's the fact that I think she's still in love with Avery."

"It's possible," Bridget conceded, mulling over this information. "But I just can't see Julia stabbing someone. However, I can see David doing that."

"I really can't see Julia doing it, either. But you can make a case based on motive for just about anyone. Let's face it, Roni wasn't a popular woman. But until we have proof, we have nothing."

"That's just what I propose we get. I refuse to sit still and let the police think Harry did it." Bridget pointed a triangle of toast at me for emphasis. A yellow glob of egg yolk dripped off its corner and landed on her plate. "Maybe we can bug David's room."

"Bug his room?"

Bridget nodded eagerly. "Yes. If we work together, I know we can find out-"

"No," I said.

"No," Peter echoed.

She stared uncomprehendingly at me, as if I'd suddenly launched into a torrent of French. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean, no." I spelled it for her to be extra clear. "I see no reason for us to get involved. Detective Grant seems capable. I'm sure he can handle this investigation just fine without our help. You may not like him-and I'll admit, he's not high on my list of People I Want to Spend More Time With-but he does seem competent. I don't think he'll bow to pressure from his bosses and rush an arrest. I'm sure that he can find Roni's killer without our help. And especially without us bugging David's room!"

"But you were so great helping Aunt Winnie last New Year's!"

"That was different! I got involved in that because the police suspected Aunt Winnie. I was trying to clear her name."

"Yes, but-"

"Bridget, wait! The police are still investigating. We don't even know for sure that they've focused on Harry! I'm not about to pull some Lucy-and-Ethel stunt with you simply for the h.e.l.l of it!"

"This isn't for the h.e.l.l of it! It's got to be David. I just know it. Didn't I tell you that something terrible was going to happen at my wedding? Well, something bad did happen. Roni was killed!" She slapped her hand on the table for emphasis.

"Bridget," I said slowly, "most brides are convinced something is going to go wrong on their wedding day."

Bridget's eyes narrowed underneath her spiky red bangs. "I am not most brides." She emphasized these words by jabbing her finger onto the table on each syllable. "You know that I've always been sensitive to things."

Sensitive. In the sixth grade, Bridget's "sensitivity" to the weather convinced me that there was no need to study for our upcoming math test because we were going to get a huge snowstorm that night. It rained. In high school, Bridget's sensitivity to my love life convinced me to buy a nonreturnable purple Calvin Klein dress because she was sure that Joe Ca.s.sidy was going to ask me to the homecoming dance. He didn't. Two years ago, her sensitivity to numbers convinced me to give her my grocery money to buy lottery tickets. We didn't have even one of the final numbers and we were forced to eat crackers and jelly all week. Now her sensitivity was telling her that David killed Roni. I bit my tongue. Hard.

She went on, outlining the need for our involvement, oblivious to my reservations. Which, in my opinion, showed a definite lack of sensitivity to anything.

When she finally finished, she saw my unmoved face and shifted her glance to Peter. Seeing his doubtful expression, she sighed and turned to Colin. "Colin? What do you think?" she asked.

He put his arm around her and hugged her close. "Bridget, I love you. I love your enthusiasm and your loyalty to your family, but in this case, I have to agree with Peter and Elizabeth. I think we should let the experts handle it."

She looked pleadingly into each of our faces one more time and, with a shrug, gave up. "Fine, but will you at least promise to help if things change?" she said to me.

"I promise," I said, hoping it was a promise I would never have to keep. Seeing that everyone was finished eating, I signaled for the check. Sandy practically threw it in my lap and ran off. I insisted on paying. "Think of it as another wedding gift," I said, pulling out my credit card. Besides, I wanted to give Sandy a hefty tip. We'd given her a h.e.l.l of a morning.

The ride back to Barton Landing was quiet. Colin drove, and I was actually able to relax and enjoy the scenery. The rain had stopped and the sun looked as if it would soon break through the cold, gray clouds. Hope rose in my chest that it was a sign that all would turn out well.

We pulled into Barton Landing's drive. No sooner had we stepped out of the car than the front door burst open and Elsie ran out, Anna barking at her heels. "Oh, thank G.o.d you're here," she cried.

Bridget ran forward. "Why? What's wrong? What's happened?"

"It's that d.a.m.n detective," Elsie said. "He's gone and taken Harry to the station!"

Bridget gasped and turned to me. She didn't need to say a word.

Somewhere, in the deep recesses of my brain, I heard a faint cry. "Luuuucy!" it called. "I'm home!"

CHAPTER 16.

Look for the ridiculous in everything and you will find it.

-JULES RENARD Bedlam reigned inside the house. Graham paced the length of the dining room, shouting into his cell phone about lawyers and Harry. At the long table, Blythe and Julia were trying to console Megan, as she sobbed uncontrollably. The only living being not animated was Anna. Her large brown eyes solemn, she curled up under the sideboard to watch the action.

Bridget and I pressed Elsie for details. "What happened exactly?" asked Bridget.

Elsie ran a shaking hand across her face before answering. "Well, as you know, after that detective finished his interview with David, he asked to see Harry. I should have guessed what David had said by the way he scurried out of here." She paused, shaking her head. "Anyway, Harry was in there a long time. Then the detective came out and told us that we should get a lawyer for Harry, a good one, as he was sending him downtown for further questioning."

"He said, 'a good one'?" asked Bridget.

"He did."

"s.h.i.t," Bridget whispered.

"At the very least," agreed Elsie, nodding.

"Is Detective Grant still here?" Bridget asked.

"He's in the study," said Elsie.

"So, wait," I said. "Was Harry arrested, or was he just taken in for further questioning?"

"Officially, it's just for questioning. But I saw the look in that detective's eyes. He's convinced that it's Harry. He's ready to call it a day on Roni's murder."

"Then we're not too late." Bridget exhaled with relief.

"Too late for what?" said Elsie.

"Too late for me and Elizabeth to find the real killer! Elizabeth promised to help!" said Bridget with giddy confidence.

Elsie turned to me for either confirmation or explanation. Unfortunately, inasmuch as my mouth was hanging open in shock, I doubt I was a rea.s.suring sight. Not that it mattered, of course. Bridget kept going.

"Elizabeth has a knack for this sort of thing," she said. "You should have seen her last New Year's. Remember that horrible murder at Aunt Winnie's B and B? When the police suspected Aunt Winnie of being the killer, Elizabeth immediately began her own investigation. Elsie, she was amazing." Bridget beamed at me. "She not only figured out who the killer was, but overpowered her!"

Next to me, m.u.f.fled choking sounds emerged from Peter. His eyes were suspiciously bright. And no wonder-he had been with me when I had "overpowered" the killer. As flattering as Bridget's version of events was, it was far from reality. The sad truth was that I had been kidnapped and held captive in a bas.e.m.e.nt; I escaped from my bonds long enough to bash who I thought was my captor over the head with a flashlight. Only it was Peter's head that I bashed. And while the reasons for this slight goof on my part were completely understandable, they were nevertheless a constant source of teasing by Peter. I suspected that his portrayal of my detective skills would be vastly different from Bridget's.

"And," Bridget continued, "you yourself said that the whole experience was so exciting that you wouldn't mind getting involved in another investigation!"

My jaw dropped in astonishment. "I said no such thing!" I protested. "Don't palm your own absurd thoughts off onto me!"

"Bridget," said Colin, "I know you want to help, but maybe we should-"