He took hold of her hand. "I swear it. I may be a lot of things, but I'm not a killer. Look, Chris, you've got to understand something about me. I run a construction company. Construction isn't, well, it isn't a gentleman's profession. A lot of rough stuff happens. Sometimes I make it happen. Some people think I'm a badass. Maybe I am. But I did try to make that clear to you from the beginning. I'm a hard man. But I love you, more than anything in this world."

"Is . . . is that why Del Irazarian is calling you? It is him, right?"

He smoothed the hair back from her forehead. "Yeah."

"He's the one who got fired from the Times Register. Did you meet with him?"

"This morning."

"He seemed interested in what you've got locked away in a mini storage garage on Old Mill Road."

Phil smiled at her. "The guy's totally discredited. He's pissed at the world because he thought he was God's gift to the newspaper business, and it turns out he's just another media thug. Nothing he says about me would ever stick."

"What could he say about you?"

"Just his usual lies. He thinks I'm involved with drugs. Honey, I'm not. I swear it. You know how I feel about that crap. I drink, sure. Hell, sometimes I drink too much. But drugs? I'm not that stupid."

Chris hesitated. She felt more conflicted at this moment than she'd ever felt before in her life. "What do you have stored there?"

His smile broadened. "Oh, sweetheart. Just construction stuff. An old truck. Nothing that would interest you, or anybody else, for that matter. Now, let's stop all this arguing and fighting. You're the woman I married. You're a tiger, and that's something I love about you." His expression turned serious. "But remember, Chris, don't ever pry into my life again. There are things about me that need to remain private. Even from you. If you can live with that, then stay. If you can't, then I guess you better leave."

He slipped his arms around her and kissed her softly.

She hated herself, but she felt so warm and safe with his strong arms around her. "I'll stay," she said.

"Good girl."

28.

On Thursday morning, Sophie was in the bathroom putting on her makeup when Bram burst in.

"Listen to this!" He was still in his pajamas.

Turning to him, she saw that he had the front page of the paper in his hands. "You look like someone died."

"Someone did. Last night. That reporter from your paper. He was shot at a fleabag motel in South Minneapolis."

"Irazarian?" Sophie, like everyone else at the Times Register, had assumed he'd left town, possibly headed for New York to negotiate a deal. Now that he'd achieved a certain illicit fame, all the big publishers were probably beating down his door to get him to write a memoir.

"And listen to this," said Bram. "The police have examined the bullet. Looks like he was shot with the same gun that killed Loy and Fabian."

"Let me see that," said Sophie, grabbing it out of his hands. She read down the column, looking for the exact way the statement was worded. "It says-and I'm quoting a policeman now-'It was the same gun used in the shootings of Loy and Fabian.' "

Bram rolled his eyes. "Ah, yes. I forgot. Bob Fabian's still alive. Long live conspiracy theorists."

"Tell me this," said Sophie, spritzing herself with cologne, then turning and pushing Bram back into the bedroom. "Why are they always so careful to never say Bob is dead? There's a reason, Bram. The simplest explanation is, he's still alive."

Bram flopped backward onto the bed. "Ridiculous." He did a prom queen wave, looking up at the ceiling. "Hi, Bob. How's it going?" Glancing back at Sophie, he said, "Can we put that aside for a moment?"

"Gladly." She bent down and removed her red leather pumps from the closet.

"I told you about the voice message I got from Chris yesterday while I was doing my show."

Sophie could hardly forget. Chris had admitted to Bram that she'd lied to the police. She hadn't been with Phil at the theater the entire time on the night Bob and Ken Loy were shot.

"What I didn't tell you was that she promised to call me last night. She never did."

"And you think . . . what?"

"There has to be a reason why she didn't call. I'm worried about her, Soph. I mean really worried. That's why I phoned her house a few minutes ago."

"And?"

"Nobody answered. Remember, Phil gave her a black eye, so I have no doubt that he's capable of much worse."

Pressing her feet into her shoes, Sophie said, "Maybe you better call Al."

"What if Chris went home last night and told Phil she was leaving him? She was sure mad enough when she called me. That guy's been two-timing her since the day they first met. Suppose she said she planned to tell the police about how she'd lied to them. If he figured his alibi was about to go south, he might freak and do-God, who knows what he'd do?"

"Then, like I said, it's time to call the cops," said Sophie. She didn't say it out loud, but if Phil turned out to be the one behind the shootings, that meant Andy was off the hook. Sophie hoped that was the case, not only for Andy's sake, but for Anika's. Except, if Phil was the one, that could mean Chris was in terrible danger.

Following Sophie out into the dining room, Bram said, "What I don't get is Irazarian's part in all this."

"Well," said Sophie, picking up Ethel and giving her a kiss on her muzzle, "he was an investigative reporter until everything blew apart at the paper. Some of his stories had to be legit. Maybe he had something on Phil."

"Like what?"

"Whatever it was, if Phil killed him, it had to be dynamite."

"Maybe Irazarian was blackmailing him."

"Wouldn't surprise me." She set Ethel down, then slipped her arms around Bram's waist. "Wish me well?"

"Why? Hey, how come you're all dressed up and looking like a million bucks?" He nodded to her red suit.

"Dressing well makes me feel more powerful."

"And you need to feel powerful because . . . ?"

"I have a meeting with my father this morning."

"In your office?"

"Well, it used to be my office. It's just a guess, you understand, but I think he may want it back."

"Great. Let him have it."

Sophie shook her head. "I never thought I'd say this about my dad, but his instincts aren't what they used to be when it comes to the hotel business."

Bram hugged her tight. "You go fight the good fight."

"What are your plans?"

He shrugged. "Try to find Chris, I guess. If I can't, I'll take your advice and talk to Al."

"Be careful."

"Always."

On the way downstairs, Sophie stopped on the mezzanine level. She hadn't taken any time for breakfast, so a fresh blueberry muffin from the Fountain Grill called to her. As she stepped off the elevator, she noticed a familiar form leaning over the brass railing, looking down at the main floor.

Sophie's heart sank. It was Nathan.

She was about to duck into the restaurant when he turned around.

"Sophie." He grinned.

"Nathan, hi. What are you doing here?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked her up and down.

"Nathan?"

"Hmm? You look wonderful this morning, Soph. Really spectacular."

"Thanks. But you didn't answer my question. What are you doing at the hotel?" She tried to sound friendly-not like an interrogator in a prison camp- but she was totally fed up with him.

"I've got a meeting with Margie."

She should have guessed.

"Hey, what do you say we have a cup of coffee together?" He glanced at his watch. "I've got a few minutes."

"Sorry, Nathan. I don't." She started to walk away.

"Don't be like that, Soph."

She stopped. Turning back to him, she said, "Nathan, quit pushing me. If you're here to see Margie, that's fine. But I'm not part of the deal."

"You're so cold. What's wrong?" He walked up to her, sniffing the air. "You're wearing that perfume again."

She made a mental note to throw the bottle away. "Did Elaine call you? She wanted to ask you to be her maid of honor."

"Nathan, listen to me. I won't be attending your wedding. Neither will Bram. We both wish you and Elaine the very best, but-"

"But you've got to be there. My whole family is coming. If you don't attend, they won't know what to think."

She gave a mock knock on her head. "Earth to Nathan. Are you listening? That's wonderful that your family is coming, but I won't be there."

His grin returned. "You'll change your mind."

She threw up her hands. "Whatever," she said as she walked away.

Sophie could smell her father's cigar in the hallway outside her office. She'd argued with him about it, but it was one room where he insisted he be allowed to light up. As she crossed the threshold, the stink grew worse. Her father sat behind her desk, wearing a crisp white shirt and tie, red suspenders, and a golf cap. He was tapping on the computer keyboard, but acknowledged her presence by moving the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other side and nodding to a chair.

"Dad, can you put that thing out, at least while we talk?"

His eyes flicked to her. "Hell, you're as bad as your mother."

"I take that as a compliment. What are you working on?"

"The list. What else?" He finished tapping, lifted his chin to read more clearly through his bifocals, then sat back in his chair and turned to her. Taking the cigar out of his mouth, he said, "We're going to revolutionize the hotel business in this town."

"And how will we do that?"

He slapped his hands together, then rubbed them gleefully. Narrowing one eye, he said, "Like I've said a hundred times since I've been back, I learned a thing or two about hotels while Pearlie and me were on our round-the-world tour. I took lots of notes. And here's what I've come up with."

Sophie steeled herself for the reading of the list.

"We gotta think big here, Soph. Think out of the box, if you catch my drift. We've got to get beyond the whole minibar thing. There's lots more we can do for our guests than just provide them with peanuts when they're in the mood."

"Okay. Like what?"

He winked. "I am so hip sometimes, I amaze myself. What do you say if our weekend package also includes a choice of tattoo or piercing-that and a deluxe room."

Sophie wasn't shocked by much, but this shocked her. "Dad? This is Minnesota, remember? Maybe that would go over in L.A., or San Francisco-"

He held up his hand. "See, you're stuck in the mud. We gotta think cutting edge here, Soph." He studied her a moment, then said, "Okay, try this on for size. One hotel we stayed at had the coolest check-in policy. See, you play a hand of blackjack with the receptionist. If you win, you get your room free, or maybe we could give the guest some kind of discount at one of our restaurants. What do you think?"

She hated to put a damper on his excitement, but she was growing more nauseated with each passing second. It might be the cigar, but she feared it was the list. "Well-"

"Or, how about this? We provide a speed-dial button on our room phones that would patch guests straight to a shrink. You know, in case they get depressed while they stay here."

Sophie needed a shrink on speed dial right now. "Dad, I, ah-"

"Here's another. You know how people like to tie one on when they're on vacation. Well, what if we give them-free-some hair of the dog. On weekends only. We don't want to give away the bank."

"Hair of the dog?"

"Free cold pizza and Bloody Marys, say from ten to noon."

"Dad!"