"Mrs. Pettibone, we think it's most likely the champagne was responsible for your husband's death. Where did he get the glass of champagne he drank right before he collapsed?"

"From the girl, I guess." She sniffed, stared at Eve with a puzzled expression. "Why would champagne make him sick? It never did before." "What girl?"

"What girl?" Bambi repeated, her face a baffled blank.

Patience, Eve reminded herself. "You said 'the girl' gave Mr.

Pettibone the champagne for his toast."

"Oh, that girl. One of the servers." Bambi lifted a shoulder, nuzzled the little dog. "She brought Boney a new glass so he could make his toast." "Did he take it off her tray?"

"No." She pursed her lips, sniffled softly. "No, I remember she handed it to him and wished him a happy birthday. She said, 'Happy birthday, Mr. Pettibone.' Very politely, too."

"Did you know her? Have you employed her before?"

"I use Mr. Markie, and he brings the servers. You can leave everything up to Mr. Markie. He's just mag." "What did she look like?"

"Who?"

God, give me the strength not to bitch-slap this moron. "The server, Bambi. The server who gave Boney the glass of champagne for his toast."

"Oh. I don't know. Nobody really looks at servers, do they?" She said it with a fluttering confusion as Eve stared at her. "Tidy," she said after a moment. "Mr. Markie insists on his staff presenting a neat appearance."

"Was she old, young, tall, short?"

"I don't know. She looked like one of the servers, that's all. And they all look the same, really." "Did your husband speak to her?"

"He said thank you. Boney's very polite, too."

"He didn't appear to recognize her? The server," Eve added quickly as Bambi's mouth began to purse on what surely would have been another "Who?"

"Why would he?"

No one, Eve decided, could pretend to be this level of idiot. It had to be sincere. "All right. Do you know anyone who'd wish your husband harm?" "Everyone loved Boney. You just had to."

"Did you love Boney while he was married to his first wife?"

Her eyes went bigger, rounder. "We never, ever cheated. Boney didn't even kiss me until after he was divorced. He was a gentleman."

"How did you meet him?"

"I worked at one of his flower shops. The one on Madison. He used to come in sometimes and look at the stock, and talk to us. To me," she added with a trembling smile. "Then one day he came by just as I was getting off and offered to walk me home. He took my arm while we walked. He told me how he was getting a divorce and wondered if I'd have lunch with him sometime. I wondered if it was just a line- guys say stuff like that, you know, how they're leaving their wife, or how she doesn't make him happy, and all sorts of things just to get you to go to bed with them. I'm not stupid."

No, Eve thought, you redefine the word. "But Boney wasn't like that. He never tried anything funny."

She sighed and began to rub her cheek against the dog's fur. "He was romantic. After he was divorced we dated and he took me to really nice places and never tried anything funny then either. Finally I had to try something funny because he was just so cute and cuddly and handsome. And after that, he asked me to marry him."

"Did his first wife resent that?"

"Probably. Who wouldn't resent not having Boney for their own sweetie? But she was always very nice, and Boney never said anything bad about her."

"And his children."

"Well, I don't think they liked me at first. But Boney said they'd come to love me because he did. And we never had a fight or anything."

"Big, happy family," Eve repeated after another ten minutes with Bambi. "Everyone likes everybody and Pettibone is the original nice guy." "Wife's a dink," Peabody offered.

"The dink was still smart enough to hook a rich husband. Could be smart enough to put a little something extra in his birthday bubbly." But she paused a moment at the top of the stairs to let various options play out in her mind.

"Have to be really smart, and have nerves of iron to pull it off when she's standing right next to him in front of a room full of well-wishers and witnesses. We'll dig into her background a bit, see how much of that sugar plum bit is real and how much is an act.

Anybody who lives in that much pink goes to the top of my short list."

"I thought it was kind of pretty, in an 'I love being a girl' sort of way."

"Sometimes you scare me, Peabody. Do a standard run on her to start. Bambi," she added as she started down. "People who name their kid Bambi must know she's going to grow up a dink. Now we get to play with Mr. Markie. Who comes up with this shit?"

"We've got him and the catering staff in the kitchen area."

"Good. Let's find out who gave Pettibone the champagne and wished him happy birthday."

As she started across the main floor to the kitchen, McNab jogged up behind her. "Dallas? ME's here. Concurs with the MTs and the doc on-scene about the appearance of poisoning. Can't call it officially until they get the stiff back to the body shop and run some dead tests."

"Thanks for that colorful report, Detective. Relay to the ME that I want confirmation of cause of death ASAP. Go ahead and take a look at the incomings and outgoings on the house 'links for the last twenty-four hours, just in case someone got sloppy."

"I'm on it." He managed to give Peabody a quick pat on the ass before splitting off.

"Having your parents bunking with you should put the kibosh on playing grab-ass with McNab for the next little while."

"Oh, they're not staying at my place. Said it was too small and they didn't want to crowd me. Couldn't change their minds. They'll just stay in their camper. I told them they're really not supposed to. City ordinances and stuff, but they just patted me on the head."

"Get them into a hotel, Peabody, before some uniform cites them."

"I'll work on it soon as we get back."

They turned into the kitchen. It was big, done in blinding whites and sparkling silver. And at the moment, chaos reigned. Food in various stages of preparation was spread all over the counters. Dishes were stacked in towers, glassware in pyramids. Eve counted eight uniformed staff jammed into an eating nook and chattering away with the nervous energy crime scenes often brought out in witnesses.

An enormous urn of coffee was being put to use by both cops and servers. One of her own uniforms was helping himself to a tray of fancy finger food and another was already hitting the dessert cart.

It only took her presence to have the room falling into stillness, and silence.

"Officers, if you can manage to tear yourselves away from the all- you-can-eat buffet, take posts outside the doors of both kitchen exits. As cause of death has not yet been officially called, I'll remind you that you're stuffing evidence in your faces. If necessary, I'll have you both cut open so that evidence can be removed."

"There's nothing wrong with my food." A man stepped forward as the two uniforms rushed out. He was short, homely, with an olive complexion. His head was shaved and gleamed as smooth as an ice floe. He wore a white butcher's apron over a formal black suit.

"You'd be Markie?"

"Mr. Markie," he said with cold dignity. "I demand to know what's going on. No one will tell us anything, just that we're required to stay in here. If you're in charge-"

"I'm in charge. Lieutenant Dallas, and what's going on is Walter Pettibone's dead and I'm here to find out how and why."

"Well, Lieutenant Dallas, I can tell you that Mr. Pettibone didn't meet his demise through any of my dishes. I won't have any rumors regarding my food and my business bandied about. My reputation is unimpeachable."

"Cool your thrusters, Markie. No one's accusing you of anything."

She held up a hand before he could speak and turned her attention to his staff. "Which one of you served Mr. Pettibone before his toast?"

"It wasn't any of us. We've been talking about it."

Eve studied the attractive Asian woman. "And you'd be?"

"Sing-Yu. I was in the living area when it happened. But I was at the far end passing champagne so the guests in that section had glasses for Mr. Pettibone's toast. And Charlie-" She tapped the shoulder of the lean black man beside her. "He was bringing in the crab puffs."

"I was working the terrace bar." Another server raised a hand.

"Robert McLean. And Laurie was working the terrace guests. We didn't leave our station until we heard everyone shouting."