"Oh, you know. Just curious."

"Andy called a meeting this morning for all the employees at the paper. He skirted his involvement in the whole mess, but he's going to institute some badly needed changes. Actually, I ran into him as I was leaving. Something he said, well, it really bothered me."

"About the 911 call?"

"Yes. In a way. He said he was glad he had an alibi for that night."

"And it was-?"

"He said he was with Anika."

"But . . . you ran into her that night at the Rookery Club."

"And she said she was looking for Andy."

"So he's lying."

"Without a doubt."

"But that doesn't necessarily mean he was the shooter."

"No."

"Sophie, look at me. You actually think he murdered his brother?"

"If Bob is really dead."

Bram groaned. "Are we still acting like your mother's newest theory has merit?"

Sophie snuggled next to him. "No. Not really." She'd been thinking about it all day. "Andy might have lied to the police because he felt he needed an alibi, even if he's not guilty."

"But why not simply tell the truth? I mean, isn't that always the best way to handle it?"

"I suppose," said Sophie. "But maybe we don't have the whole picture."

Bram put his arm around her shoulders. "So he got Anika to lie to the police for him. That's not smart. If he did kill Bob, it could make her an accessory."

Sophie hadn't considered that.

"You could blow his alibi out of the water."

"Apparently Anika has forgotten that little detail- or hopes I have."

"Maybe you better talk to her."

That's exactly what Sophie had concluded. "I thought I'd call, ask her to stop by."

"Tonight?"

"If possible, yes."

"What about dinner?"

"Let's order in. Whatever you want."

"Hey, how about I go get us some of that Thai food from that restaurant up the block? I'll make us a pitcher of martinis. And we can put a movie in the DVD."

"Sounds perfect." Too perfect, thought Sophie. Margie was always out there lurking, waiting to ruin an otherwise wonderful evening.

"Have I told you lately that I love you?"

"Not today," said Sophie.

"Well," said Bram, lowering his voice and whispering in her ear, "I'll remedy that later."

Anika agreed to stop by the Maxfield Plaza at six thirty. Sophie couched her request by saying they needed to talk about Anika's position at the hotel. Sophie explained that she had no time to meet tomorrow or the day after, but was free tonight and hoped that Anika would have a few minutes to get together. She never mentioned the real reason for the meeting.

Sophie had a few minutes to kill before Anika arrived, so she drifted through the hotel, checking the appetizer buffet for Maxfield Club members on eleven, the Fountain Grill on the mezzanine level, and finally the hospitality suite, otherwise known as the Lindbergh room, on the main floor. She wasn't exactly surprised to find her father polishing the brass knocker on the hospitality room's door.

"Hey, Dad," she said, giving him a kiss on his cheek.

"Don't tell me we have a staff to do these kinds of things. I know about the staff. I hired most of them. The fact that they don't do their job in a timely fashion isn't my fault."

Sophie sat down on the edge of one of the club chairs.

"That old boyfriend of yours was here again today."

"Nathan?"

"That's the one." As always, he chewed on an unlit cigar. "He had some sort of meeting with Margie. Elaine Veelund was with him."

"Nathan and Elaine are getting married."

Her father hooted. "Well, if two people ever deserved each other-"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Their mothers spoiled them both rotten."

Sophie stood up. "You liked Nathan. You always said that."

"Your mother liked him. Not me."

"You never said you thought he was spoiled before."

"You mean back when you two were teenagers? What good would it have done? You were head over heels in love with the guy. I was just your father. What the hell did I know?"

Sophie was aghast, but also intrigued. "Tell me more."

"Well, if I'd figured you were going to marry him, I would have sat you down and tried to talk some sense into you. But then you went off to that college in California, so there was no point. Nathan was history."

"He was a beautiful young man. Poetic. Sensitive. He worked hard for important causes."

"Okay, he was nice-looking enough. But hard work? Nah, I never saw that. In my day, we would have called a young man like him a playboy-and it wasn't a nice term. Nathan expected the whole world to be impressed with him, and if they weren't, he got mad. His mother gave him everything he ever asked for, didn't she? Can you think of one toy Prince Nathan didn't have?"

"Prince Nathan?"

"That's what Pearlie and I called him."

That was news to Sophie.

" 'Course, I heard his mom told him after you dumped him to either get a job or go to school. He was moping around, not doing anything, and she finally put her foot down. I thought it was about time. But then he took off for Europe and she paid for him to go to some fancy school over there. You know, Soph, I'll bet you're the only girl who ever turned him down, and he couldn't believe it. It probably still eats at him."

"We loved each other."

"I'm sure you loved him. He acted like he owned you."

It was as if her father were talking about two entirely different people. Had Sophie been so infatuated with Nathan that she'd missed all that? Nathan had come back into her life when her parents were on their round-the-world tour, so this was the first time her father had weighed in on the subject of Nathan Buckridge.

"If you told him no," continued her dad, "say, you couldn't do something on a particular night, he'd show up anyway. If you said you had to study, he'd stand outside in the hallway and recite some stupid poem until you came out, until you gave in and went off with him. He never understood the meaning of the word no."

Amazingly, he still didn't, thought Sophie. How was it possible that she'd never seen that in him? Or perhaps she'd seen it, but she'd never realized how destructive it could be.

"If I were you," said her father, taking the stogie out of his mouth and studying the tip, "I'd watch out for that guy. He's not all there"-he tapped his forehead-"if you know what I mean. Okay, okay. So he's a big-time chef. So give the boy a cigar." He held his up. "He's grown up that much. But that doesn't give him the right to keep sniffing around my daughter's life. What the hell's he up to?"

"He's an old friend."

"Yeah, right." He snorted. "You're still blind as a bat, Soph. I been home, what? Two months? I got eyes, don't I? Stay the hell away from him or you'll be sorry. That's all I've got to say. Now get on out of here and let me finish my work."

20.

Chris arrived home just after six. She knew Phil would be pissed if she didn't have something on the table, but she didn't care. Without time to think about what she wanted to say-and how to say it- she might ruin everything. She was hurt and angry, but she still loved him with all her heart. She'd come to the conclusion that there might be an explanation for what she'd seen. She couldn't imagine what it was, but she owed him the benefit of the doubt. She'd been married only one day. It was inconceivable to her that her marriage was already on the rocks.

When she walked into the house, Phil called to her from the back deck.

"I'm out here."

There was a hardness in his voice that chilled her. She moved through the living room into the kitchen and opened the sliding screen doors. Phil was sitting in the hot tub.

"Where the hell you been?" he demanded.

She sat down on the far edge of the tub. "Out."

"Out where?"

She shrugged. "Just driving around."

"Like hell you were. You were with your mom, right? Bet you couldn't wait to tell her we got hitched." His irritation faded, replaced by a grin.

"I called her, but she wasn't home."

"So . . ." He eyed her carefully, looking for clues. "Something's wrong-I can tell. What is it?"

She looked down at the roiling bubbles.

"Chris?"

She still didn't know how to say what she needed to say, how to ask the man she loved if he'd been unfaithful. "I, ah . . . I might get a job." It just came out. But it was as good an opening as any.

"A what?" He crossed his arms over his chest, his frown returning. "You know I don't want you to work."

"No, but see, it wouldn't be like before. I'd be testing recipes for a cookbook. I could do it at the house, totally around your schedule. It wouldn't be a problem. And it would give me something to do. I'm bored when you're not here."

"Read a book. Rent some movies."

"But I miss cooking, Phil. I'm good at it. And this would be a way for me to do it and not mess up any of our plans."

He spread his arms across the back of the tub. Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. He watched her, his gaze full of unspoken criticism. Finally, he said, "Oh, all right. If it means that much to you." He smiled magnanimously. "Now take off your clothes and get in. I'm lonely in here all by myself."

Chris had a premonition. He hadn't really given in; he was simply placating her. If she did get the job, he'd find some way to sabotage it. But why? Why didn't he want her to do something that made her feel good about herself? She'd just have to figure out a way to explain it to him so that he understood.

When she hesitated about getting undressed, he said, " Now what's wrong?"

She was a coward. She didn't want to say what she'd prepared. "Ah, actually, you got a call this morning after you left the house."

"Yeah? Who from?"

"A man named Del."

"I don't know anybody named Del."

"He left a message. He wanted me to tell you that he knows what you've got stored on Old Mill Road. And that he'll be in touch."

Phil roared up out of the water. "Say that again?"

She was surprised by the violence of his reaction, but she repeated it anyway, hoping he'd remember she was only the messenger.

"Did he give you a phone number?"

"No."

"That's all he said? He didn't say anything else?"