"And you never left the restaurant or the theater at any time?"

"No," he said, tightening his grip around Chris's shoulders.

"Is that correct?" asked the detective, looking directly at Chris.

She nodded. "He was with me the entire night."

Returning his attention to Phil, the detective asked, "You'd filed a civil lawsuit against Ken Loy, isn't that right?"

"I did," said Phil. "I was suing him for the wrongful death of my sister, Valerie Fabian. Now I'll just have to sue his estate. If you want to know what I thought of the guy, I'll tell you. He was a worm. He didn't deserve to live after what he did. It was criminally negligent homicide. The guy was on his freakin' cell phone and he wasn't watching the road. I'm not sorry he's dead. As far as I'm concerned, he got what was coming to him."

"Those are strong words."

"Strong words aren't against the law last I checked."

"Do you own a gun, Mr. Banks?"

"Several. I have permits for all of them."

"Can you describe them to me?"

"I have a Smith and Wesson J Frame .38 Special. A Steyr nine-millimeter semiautomatic and a Springfield Armory semiautomatic .45."

"That cover it?"

"I also own a couple of hunting rifles."

"Are you a hunter, Mr. Banks?"

"A lethal hunter, Al."

Chris wondered why Phil was talking like that. He was almost baiting the cop, daring him to prove he was guilty.

"You get along with your brother-in-law?"

"Sure. Bob and I weren't best buddies or anything, but he was family. He was good to my sister. We stayed in touch after her death. Had drinks or dinner together every now and then."

"He supported your lawsuit against Loy?"

"Absolutely."

The detective changed gears. "What can you tell me about Andy Gladstone, Robert Fabian's half brother."

Phil narrowed his eyes. "What's he got to do with anything?"

"Are you a friend of his?"

"I know him."

"What about his relationship with Fabian?"

Phil shrugged, looked at Chris. "They seemed friendly enough. Andy struck me as kind of a suck-up, but a lot of people acted like that around Bob. He was a powerful man."

"Was Mr. Gladstone upset over Valerie's death?"

"Sure. We all were."

"What did he think of the lawsuit you were bringing against Loy?"

"He thought it was a good idea. Hell, we all wanted to see Loy rot for what he did. If I was the kind of guy who believed in 'an eye for an eye,' I would have driven over him with one of my cement trucks. But I'm not. I chose to take my revenge within the law."

"And Andy Gladstone. Did he ever say anything about getting back at Ken Loy?"

"You ask me, you guys are really reaching. He's about as milquetoast as they come."

"Mind answering the question?"

"No. Not that I remember."

The detective pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to Phil. "If either of you should recall anything you think is important, my number's at the bottom."

Phil stood, ripped up the card, and flipped it in the air. "I've answered all your asshole questions. Anything else you want to know, talk to my lawyer. Now get the hell out of my house and don't come back."

8.

In newspapers across the country, the name Jayson Blair could cause an editor's blood pressure to sky-rocket and reporters to break into a cold sweat. Blair was the New York Times reporter who had been fired for plagiarizing and fabricating major news stories. The fact that this sort of journalism existed was a growing scandal, a damaging bullet the Minneapolis Times Register had always taken great pride in dodging.

And that was why, only a few days after Bob Fabian's funeral, Sophie was so surprised to hear the Blair name repeated again and again-never directly to her, but as she passed people talking in small clumps in the hallways at the Times Register Tower, the name was definitely being invoked. Reporters looked scared and she wondered why.

Sophie had come to the office on Monday to finish writing a restaurant review of the recently renovated Heartland Grill in Mahtomedi. As she entered the office she shared with her son, Rudy, she saw that he was on the phone.

Sophie was the main restaurant reviewer at the paper, but because she was already running a major hotel in downtown St. Paul, she'd taken the job with the proviso that her son be hired as her assistant. In truth, Rudy did most of the work. In early September, he'd been offered the job of food column editor and he'd accepted.

Sophie loved working with her son-it was one of the main reasons she took the job at the paper in the first place. Rudy had graduated from the University of Minnesota with a degree in Theater Arts, but like his mom, he had a great interest in all things culinary. At first Sophie wasn't sure he would be content to work for the Times Register, but she'd been wrong. In the past year, he'd really grown, both in his writing ability and in his passion for food. Sophie was incredibly proud of him.

Their shared office was divided into two cubicles, with a small outer area that served as a waiting room. As he continued to talk on the phone, Sophie entered Rudy's cubicle and gave him a kiss on his cheek. He was a handsome young man. At least, his mother thought so. They both had strawberry blond hair and great smiles. Rudy was also small, like his mother, but he worked out regularly. Sophie could tell he was talking to John Jacoby, his partner. John was a fine artist who supported himself by working for a local brewery. Rudy and John had been together for nearly three years.

Feeling that she might be interrupting a private conversation, Sophie sat down behind her desk, took out her notes, and began to work on the review. When Rudy was done with his conversation, he came into Sophie's cubicle and sat down in the chair in front of her desk.

"Hello, Mother of mine," he said, tapping the eraser end of a pencil against the side of his head. "John found a dog."

She looked up from her computer keyboard. "What kind of dog?"

"A mutt. We've seen him roaming around the neighborhood for the past few days. Brown and black, maybe twenty pounds. He's obviously lost. He's got no tags on him, no collar. John thinks maybe he was dumped. But he's a really cool little guy. We brought him in last night, gave him a bath, and he slept on a pillow next to our bed. He even seems to be house-trained." Rudy folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. "He kind of looks like a cross between a hedgehog and a fox."

"Have you talked to your rental agent? Can you have a dog in your duplex?"

"John left a message for him. We're waiting to see what he says. You working on the Heartland Grill review?"

"It's almost finished. Look, Rudy, I'm curious about something. Why are so many people around here talking about Jayson Blair? Has something happened that I don't know about?"

Rudy wagged his finger at her. "If you spent more time here, you'd know."

"Know what?"

"Irazarian. Our homegrown golden boy."

Del Irazarian was a reporter who had bagged two of the hottest news stories of the last year-an in-depth report on airline safety at Twin Cities International, and another one on drug addiction among Minneapolis police officers. The drug addiction series won him an award.

"What did he do?"

"I don't know all the details, but he's about to be fired."

"When?"

"Today. The scuttlebutt is that he fabricated sources, made up quotes, statistics, cited research papers that didn't exist. The whole nine yards."

Sophie put her head in her hands. That's when a thought struck her. "Wasn't his editor-"

"Yeah. Andy. I don't understand how he let Irazarian get away with it. I mean, Andy's good. Better than good. If anything, he's a little too conservative when it comes to sources. It doesn't make any sense."

"Who'll fire Del?"

"Probably Fred Scott. But it came down from Andy. We're printing a full page of retractions tomorrow morning."

"I wonder . . ."

"Hmm?"

"Well, you know that Anika Gladstone works at the Maxfield. We've become pretty good friends. She mentioned to me a few weeks ago that Andy and Bob weren't getting along."

"You think it was about Irazarian?"

"It's possible. Anika said it-whatever it was-was killing Andy. He idolized Bob, always tried to do everything he could to please him."

"They were brothers, right?"

"Half brothers," said Sophie. "They had different fathers. Bob was, oh, maybe a dozen years older than Andy. I think Andy's had kind of a spotty job history. Bob was taking a chance by hiring him, but then, from what Anika said, Bob was extremely pleased with his work."

"Until a few weeks ago."

She nodded.

"Well," said Rudy, tipping his chair back and clasping his hands behind his head, "whatever went down between them, Bob Fabian didn't change his will. Andy still inherited the paper. You ask me, he's in way over his head."

Sophie had to agree.

"The fallout from what Irazarian did is going to hit this paper like a sledgehammer. If any heads were about to roll, I would imagine Andy's would have been at the top of the list. Now he owns the paper. He sure got lucky, if you ask me. If Bob hadn't died when he did, Andy would be working as a checkout guy at Home Depot."

Sophie glanced up, caught the look in Rudy's eyes, and knew what he was thinking. She knew because she was thinking the exact same thing.

9.

Sophie was out on the balcony grilling salmon when Bram got home from the station. It was a warm October evening, what people often referred to as Indian summer. She called out to him to grab himself a beer and join her. She was already on her second. It had been that kind of day.

Sophie had spent the morning with her father, enduring his smelly cigars and his disgruntled comments as he made broad hints about "the list" he was working on to improve the hotel. Even though she owned the Maxfield now, she could hardly ignore her father's requests, although she had a feeling that his ideas might be a tad out there. On the round-the-world trip he and Sophie's mom had just returned from, he'd learned a thing or two about running a hotel right, he said. Sophie could tell they were headed for a major clash. The economy was far worse now than when he'd been running the Maxfield, but he didn't seem to grasp that. If he continued to constantly look over her shoulder, he would force her to take a stand. For now, Sophie decided to let him dangle "the list" in front of her. Maybe, in time, he'd remember that he trusted her to take over the running of the hotel and that that's what he should do.

Bram came through the double screen doors onto the balcony. He'd already removed his sport coat, socks, and shoes. Two years ago, when they'd moved to the Maxfield Plaza, they couldn't seem to get enough of ordering in room service from the Zephyr Club, the gourmet restaurant on the top floor of the south tower. Now that Bram was watching his diet due to a recent heart surgery, they prepared their own food more often.

"How was your day?" asked Bram, giving her a peck on the cheek.

She groaned. "Better now that you're home."

"That sounds ominous." He stood for a moment looking down on downtown St. Paul. "God but I love living up here. I feel like we're on top of an urban mountain." Their apartment was sixteen floors above the ground.

Sophie smiled at him as she basted the salmon with a fresh basil and balsamic marinade.

"What's for dinner?"

"I made a cold orzo salad with lots of radicchio, roasted eggplant and red peppers, green onions, and pine nuts. The salmon goes on top. And I whipped up a quick coconut sorbet mixture and put it in the ice-cream machine, so we'll have that for dessert with biscotti and coffee. We have to live a little."

Bram snuggled up behind her. "Why don't I open a nice pinot noir and we can sit out here and you can tell me all about how much your dad is driving you crazy."

"You're a mind reader. Actually, it's more than that. I may have spent the morning with him, but this afternoon, I went over to the paper to work on a restaurant review. Rudy was there and boy did I get an earful about a scandal that's just about to explode."

"Oh, goody," said Bram. "I love a good scandal. Be right back."

When he returned, he carried two half-filled wine-glasses and the open bottle. Handing a glass to Sophie, he clicked his to hers. "To us."

"To us," she repeated. It felt good to be back on track with her husband. All the insanity with Nathan Buckridge was finally behind her. Thank God she'd kept the worst of it to herself.

"Now," said Bram, sitting down on the chaise, "tell me about the scandal. Don't leave out any of the gory details."

As Sophie basted the salmon again, she filled him in on everything she'd learned about Del Irazarian.

When she was done, Bram sat for a few seconds, digesting the information. "You know, I can't believe someone at the paper didn't catch him in one of his lies. Who was his editor?"