"That's the worst part. It was Andy."

"Boy, talk about being asleep at the switch."

Sophie flipped the salmon. Staring at it for a moment, she asked, "Bram? What if Andy felt his position was threatened? Not only his position, but his future."

"You saying he had a motive to murder his brother?" Bram shook his head. "I've never met a guy who seemed more intent on making a good impression. If I were to put it less charitably, I'd say Andy did everything he could to brownnose. He wanted to please Bob at all costs."

Sophie had noticed it, too. But she found it genuine. She felt strongly that Andy cared deeply about his brother, and about Valerie.

"Andy would have jumped through a ring of fire if he thought it would score him points with his brother."

Turning her back to the grill, Sophie looked down at her husband. "Remember the night Bob and Ken Loy died? We were at the Rookery Club having dinner. It must have been right around the time it happened."

"Sure I remember. Shepard Road is a stone's throw from the club."

"I saw Anika in the lounge that night. I didn't mention it because, well, something she said bothered me so I put it out of my mind because I wanted to have a relaxing dinner with my handsome husband."

"You really think I'm handsome?"

"Don't fish for compliments, dear. It implies desperation."

"I'll remember that."

"But now I'm wondering what was going on." She sat down on one of the chairs. "Anika had come to the club hoping to find Andy. He wasn't there. She said she'd tried his cell phone, but he wasn't answering. Her exact words were, 'So what else is new.' As if he made a practice of not answering her calls."

"Huh," said Bram. "That surprises me. They always seemed like the last word in happy coupledom."

"So where was Andy that night? Why wouldn't he take her call?"

"Maybe he had his cell phone turned off."

"Maybe."

Bram took a sip of wine. "Soph, you can't honestly think Andy had anything to do with those two murders. He seems so . . . gentle."

"I agree, but what's underneath the gentleness?"

"More gentleness?"

Sophie looked up at the cloudless fall sky. "I hope you're right."

"Of course, I learned something pretty interesting this morning myself. Now that I think of it, it adds some credence to your theory."

"Learned what?"

"That the police have a tape of a 911 call Bob made just before he died. He was calling to report a shooting on Shepard Road. And, although I don't have all the details, he seemed to indicate that the shooter may have been his brother."

Sophie was stunned.

" 'Course, he didn't finish his sentence, so he could have been about to say brother-in-law."

"Phil Banks?"

"Or maybe he was headed somewhere else with the sentence. The police won't know for sure until they figure out who was responsible for the two homicides."

"I just don't see Andy with a gun. Anika wouldn't have allowed one in the house."

As Sophie got up to check the salmon, the doorbell chimed.

An instant later, Margie, Bram's daughter, breezed through the screen doors out onto the balcony.

"Hey, Dad. What's up?" As an afterthought, she added, "Hi, Sophie."

Sophie's heart hit the floor. She'd been looking forward to a relaxing dinner with her husband, and then, well, the night was young.

Margie had moved into one of the apartments at the Maxfield right after she returned home from Texas. Bram wanted her to be close, and Margie was only too happy to take the offer of the apartment, with the rent paid by her father. Bram assured Sophie that when Margie and her friend Carrie got their wedding planner business off the ground, that Margie would be able to take over paying the rent. But she was still living at the hotel free of charge, even though her business already seemed to be booming.

Bram also assured Sophie that Margie's continual presence in their lives, barging in anytime she felt like it-which was always at the most inopportune moments-would end when she reconnected with old friends and made new ones in the Twin Cities. That hadn't happened either. Margie spent four or five nights a week at their apartment, sometimes arriving for dinner, more often banging on their door late at night, then letting herself in with her key. She would hold them captive in the living room as she went on and on and on about some minutia in her life. Sophie had tried hard to like Margie, but she couldn't shake the feeling that Margie wanted to see their marriage crumble. If nothing else, it was likely to hit the skids from lack of sleep.

Margie could stay up talking until the wee hours and still make it to work the next day. Bram could sleep late because he didn't need to be at the station until late morning. But Sophie had to be up bright and early. Now that her father was home, breathing down her neck, it was more important than ever that she be in her office downstairs by eight.

"I ran into Henry downstairs on my floor," said Margie, lighting up a cigarette, then tossing the match over the railing.

"Henry" was how Margie referred to Sophie's father.

"Oh?" said Sophie.

"Yeah. He was replacing a lightbulb in one of the hallway wall sconces. Don't you have maintenance men who can do that? I mean, God, that guy's pretty old to be hauling such a gargantuan ladder around."

Sophie knew that, where Margie was concerned, she was way too sensitive. But she felt as if Margie was accusing her of parent abuse. "Yes, we have a full maintenance staff." As Margie well knew. She used them constantly, more than anyone else who'd ever lived in one of the Maxfield's six rental units. The head of maintenance thought she was a pain in the ass. "She acts like she owns the place," he often said. And that was part of the problem. Sophie felt strongly that Margie did see stars in her eyes when she looked at the hotel. She knew this was a community property state. If Bram and Sophie divorced, Bram would inherit half the hotel. And that meant that one day, Margie would be half owner herself. Bram had no other children.

"You look pretty snappy tonight," said Bram, nodding to Margie's new red dress.

Margie twirled around. "Just got home from work. Carrie and I met with this family out in Deep Haven. Very wealthy couple. They want to give their daughter a huge wedding and they hired us to do it."

"Congratulations," said Bram, reaching up and squeezing his daughter's hand.

"This is the break we've been waiting for. If we do this right, it will serve as a humongous entree to other upscale jobs."

Sophie detested Margie's use of hyperbole. And yet, even the fact that she noticed it made her uncomfortable. It made her feel like a snippy schoolmarm. And that was another thing. Sophie hated the way Margie made her feel about herself. She wasn't snippy, or nasty, or super-judgmental, or, as Margie put it once, "tight-assed." But when she was around Margie, that's exactly how she behaved.

"The bride-to-be picked out these, like, hideous colors for the wedding, but between Carrie and me- and her mother-we were able to talk her into something more elegant. I mean, green just kills a person's complexion. Makes even the youngest skin look totally cadaverous." Margie glanced over at Sophie and saw that she was wearing a jade green sweater set. She smiled.

Sophie thought it was more of a smirk.

"Hey, Dad, I thought maybe we could go for a swim before dinner."

Dinner! thought Sophie, leaping up. "Oh Lord," she said, seeing that she'd just incinerated the salmon.

"Oh, honey, don't worry about it," said Bram, climbing off the chaise. "It's no problem. We'll just have the orzo salad."

"You really go for Italian food, don't you?" said Margie, looking at Sophie.

Sophie was still so upset about the burnt salmon that she didn't pick up on Margie's drift.

"Speaking of Italian food," continued Margie, "I saw that friend of yours downstairs this afternoon. It was just before I left for my meeting in Deep Haven."

"What friend?" asked Bram.

"Her old boyfriend. What's his name. Nathan?"

Sophie turned around in time to see Bram stiffen.

"I thought you didn't see him anymore," said Margie, tapping some of the ash from her cigarette over the railing.

"I don't," said Sophie.

Nathan Buckridge was Sophie's high school sweetheart. He was also a chef with a restaurant just outside of Stillwater. He'd come back into her life shortly after she'd taken over the reins of the hotel, after an absence of some twenty-five years. She'd been dismayed, and also more than a little flattered, to find that he was still attracted to her. Actually, it was more than that. He'd asked her to marry him. The fact that she was married didn't seem to matter. Nathan insisted that he'd found her first, and if it hadn't been for a series of stupid mistakes, they'd be married.

Sophie had never confessed to Bram what had really gone on between them two summers ago. It was over and done with, so, in Sophie's mind, there was no point in discussing it. And yet, even though she'd never given Bram the details, he apparently sensed that Nathan was a threat. Bram wasn't normally a jealous man, but when it came to Nathan Buckridge, he reacted with the part of his mind that wasn't entirely civilized.

"Maybe he found out my parents were home from their trip," said Sophie, "and he wanted to say hi."

"I suppose they thought of him as a son once," mused Bram.

"Well," said Sophie. "Yes, I think they did."

"Nope," said Margie. "When I saw Henry in the hall, I asked him if he'd seen Nathan. He said he hadn't."

"Ah," said Bram. "Well then, maybe you better give him a call. Find out what he wants. Or maybe you can just talk to him tomorrow when he stops by. I assume he usually drops in when I'm at the station."

"Don't do this, Bram. Nathan doesn't stop by. There's nothing between us but friendship." That wasn't entirely true. Nathan did drop in from time to time, even sent flowers occasionally, though Sophie rarely spoke to him for more than a few minutes, never alone in her office-and she always made it clear that it was over between them. She tried to be tactful, hoping he'd get the message, but he never seemed to give up. He'd been dating one of Sophie's friends for a while, but he still couldn't seem to let go of the notion that, one day, he and Sophie would be together. It was starting to worry her a little, although Nathan was a good, sensible man. She put it down to simple stubbornness.

"Then I guess Margie saw an apparition this afternoon," said Bram.

"Maybe she did." It wouldn't be the first time Margie had brought up Nathan just to sour her father's mood.

"Oh, right," said Margie, tossing her cigarette over the rail. "I've got twenty-twenty vision, you know. I know who I saw. But hey, I shouldn't have mentioned it. Dad, chill the hell out, okay? Sophie didn't do anything wrong."

Just what Sophie needed. Margie torpedoes the evening, then comes off looking like a saint by defending the guilty party.

Bram took a deep breath, then let it out. "Maybe you're right. I'm sorry, Soph, but I just get a little crazy when that guy's name is mentioned."

"Kind of like Pavlov's dog," said Margie.

"You can shut up now," said Bram.

The phone rang.

"I'll get it," said Bram, grabbing the cordless off one of the glass tables. "Baldric." He listened for a moment. Then, glancing at Sophie, he handed her the phone. "It's for you."

"Who is it?"

"Who else? Your boyfriend."

This couldn't be happening. "Bram-"

"Take it!" he ordered, shoving the phone at her. "Margie, why don't I buy you dinner. There's a place I've been wanting you to see."

"Bram, no," pleaded Sophie. "This will just take a second."

"Oh, no," said Bram, opening the screen door and waiting until Margie walked through. "I wouldn't dream of rushing you. And this way, you two will have complete privacy."

"I don't want privacy."

"Well, you got it."

10.

Bram and Margie walked the six blocks to the Rookery Club in total silence. Margie tried to introduce a couple of subjects on the way down in the elevator, but Bram couldn't concentrate on anything other than what had just happened. He loathed himself when he responded like a jealous jerk. He knew Sophie loved him, but what he didn't know-what he'd never really known for sure-was how deep her feelings went for Nathan.

It was hard for Bram to shake the sense that Sophie wasn't being totally honest with him. From what Bram could tell-and he'd talked to Nathan personally only a few times-he appeared to be everything Bram wasn't. Rough around the edges, but appealingly rough. A poet in his youth who'd become the picture of the rugged outdoorsman. An internationally respected chef. And more to the point, Sophie's first love. First loves, especially when they were never resolved, still had power. And it was that power, the lure and romance of unrequited love, that Bram feared.

As they passed Rice Park, Margie slipped her arm through Bram's and said, "I hate Sophie for what she's doing to you."

"Don't hate her, honey. We'll work it out."

"Why doesn't she just make a clear decision about Nathan and then let it go?"

"She says she has."

"Then why's he always hanging around?"

"I don't know that he is."

"Well, I've seen him twice in the last week. That must mean something."

"Was he with Sophie?"

"No. But why else would he come to the hotel?"

Why indeed, thought Bram. If he'd stuck around instead of blowing a gasket, he might not be so completely in the dark right now.