Mars waited for Nina and me in the kitchen. "Sit."

We draped our coats over a chair before taking seats at the kitchen table. Mars unzipped his new leather jacket, placed a package wrapped in plain brown paper on the table, then slammed down a photograph. The glossy enlargement showed Clyde, Simon's driver and bodyguard. He stood casually, with one hand on his hip, and wore an embarra.s.sed smile like he found it silly to pose for a photo.

"Too bad he's so obnoxious; he's not bad-looking," said Nina.

Mars glared at her. "I found it in Natasha's briefcase."

"You were snooping?" said Nina.

"Yes, I was snooping. Somebody's stalking her, somebody poisoned me, and she hired Otis for heaven knows what reason." He paused and said in a hushed voice, "I was afraid Nat might be having an affair."

"And you think this picture confirms that?" I asked.

Mars paced. "What else can I think? Fairly incriminating evidence, wouldn't you say?"

"So she has this picture. It's not like he's nude or anything." Nina craned her neck. "Where was this taken? It looks like the Jefferson Memorial."

I examined it again. The round structure behind him didn't leave much doubt about the location. "Pretty recent, too. He's dressed for fall weather."

Mars punched his fist into an open hand. "What do I do? Do I confront her? Do I leave her?" He paused and held the back of a chair. "Do I pretend nothing ever happened and just go on?"

I flipped the picture over, but the back side was plain white photographic stock. "Could Natasha have taken this picture?"

Nina and I bent over it.

"I don't see any reflections." Nina's mouth twisted doubtfully. "There's nothing incriminating about it. Mars, this picture alone isn't evidence of an affair."

"You two are a gas," Nina continued. "How many other men would go to their ex-wives when they suspect their girlfriends of cheating?"

Mars sighed. "We're divorced, Nina, not archenemies."

"What's in the package?" asked Nina.

"Don't protest, Sophie, you need this," said Mars as he slid the package toward me. "I got one for Nat, too."

I unwrapped the brown paper to find a Taser.

"They're not easy to buy, but a client of mine came through for me. It's like a stun gun. It won't kill an adult, but it'll incapacitate one long enough for you to get away."

Nina chirped up. "I want one, too. I'll pay for it. Can you get me one?"

I didn't like guns, but I'd decided long ago that I should carry mace in my car since I regularly came home late at night after events. This was another step in the direction of a gun.

"Sure. I think my source can procure one more. I want you to carry it with you, Sophie. Your folks will be going home soon and you'll be here all by yourself. I don't know what we're up against, but strange things are happening around you and Nat. I knew neither of you would carry a gun. This is the best alternative I could come up with."

As if on cue, the front door opened and a cold draft floated through the kitchen. Judging from the lively chatter, the theatergoers were returning and had enjoyed their evening.

Mars s.n.a.t.c.hed the picture from the table and hid it in his jacket. "Don't tell Mom. She already hates Nat."

I glanced toward the foyer to be sure June wasn't in earshot. "Natasha's pushing to put her in a home."

Mars couldn't have looked more miserable. "She keeps telling me Mom can't live alone anymore. That she'll burn her own house down if I don't have her put away."

"I don't suppose she could move in with you and Nat?" I asked, only half teasing.

He blanched. "I couldn't take the two of them in the same house. Don't you think there've been enough murders? C'mon, Nina. I'll walk you out to be sure Humphrey doesn't jump you."

Mars paused to peck June on the cheek before leaving with Nina.

While the theatergoers changed clothes, I poured red wine and spices into a pot for a grog to warm them. On a baking sheet, I placed slices of Italian peasant bread and slid them into the oven to broil for a quick black bean bruschetta. Suspecting that June would like chocolate chip cookies, I prepared a tray of them from my freezer stash.

Bernie came home in time to share our midnight snack by the blazing fire in the kitchen. While the others discussed the play, I thought about Bernie and his stepfather and Mrs. Pulchinski, and eyed him surrept.i.tiously. He was listening to the conversation, his expression as animated as if he'd been there. At one point he turned his blue eyes on me, and caught me watching him, but instead of shying away, he flashed me a dazzling smile.

I wanted to believe that someone with such easygoing charm couldn't possibly kill anyone. That wasn't true, of course. But by the time we turned in, I'd decided I didn't need to worry. If Bernie intended to murder one of us, he'd had plenty of opportunities already.

Bernie emerged from the den, yawning, and wearing only sweatpants. I could hear murmuring behind me and glanced back to see that the caller had awakened everyone. My parents, Craig, Hannah, and June watched from the second-floor landing. I unlocked the door and flung it open, afraid the killer had struck again and someone needed help.

Instead, a bleached blonde wearing too much makeup stepped inside and dropped a shiny purple raincoat on the foyer floor. Posing seductively in black stockings, garters, and underwear that left nothing to the imagination, she arranged her long hair so it draped over her shoulders. She looked at Bernie and said, "So which one of you is the colonel?"

"The colonel!" June cried, dismay in her voice.

"I'm afraid you have the wrong house." I picked up her coat and held it out to her.

"No, I don't." She reached for the coat and withdrew a piece of paper from the pocket. "Right here. See?"

What I saw was my address and the colonel's name.

I opened the door and pointed. "The colonel lives on the other side of the street."

Pulling on her coat, she giggled and said, "My bad."

After she left, June walked down the stairs and slammed the door behind the blonde. June hurried to the kitchen to look out the window and we all followed her. The blonde strutted across the street in heels that had to be five inches high. The raincoat couldn't provide much warmth against the winter air. She must have been freezing.

"He can't be serious. The colonel is such a proper man." June clenched her fists.

I signaled my mom. "Since we're all up, why don't we go in the sunroom for a nightcap?" Mom took June's arm and steered her away from the window. I shooed everyone else along behind them.

I could hear June saying, "She was nothing but a tart. A common tramp. The kind you pay for services." She had that right. I was sorry the tart had awakened everyone. If it had just been Bernie and me, we could have kept the colonel's little secret.

Bernie followed me into his sleeping quarters and pulled on his bathrobe. I handed him a bottle of sherry and another of Grand Marnier, one of Hannah's favorite indulgences. Bernie picked out a bottle of Scotch and hauled them into the sunroom while I retrieved cut-crystal sherry gla.s.ses and colorful cordial gla.s.ses from the dining room.

I carried them on a silver tray and almost stumbled over my own feet in the hallway. Someone had turned off all the lights. I understood why when I reached the sunroom. Mom had lit candles and Dad had plugged in the lights he'd helped Mars and me install years ago. The tiny Christmas lights twinkled on the arched gla.s.s ceiling like stars.

The romantic mood didn't comfort June, though. "I thought the colonel was a respectable man, like my dear husband. I'm overwhelmed with disgust when I contemplate what's going on at his house this very minute."

"We're all surprised." Mom handed June a gla.s.s of sherry. "It's just as well that you found out now. You could have gone on for years not knowing the truth about him."

"It's so repulsive to think of him ordering that girl like a . . . a side of beef." June tugged her lavender bathrobe closed around her neck and held it there with one hand.

"No woman wants a man like that. He's definitely not the gentleman we all thought." Mom settled into a love seat next to Dad. "I don't blame you one bit for being upset."

"What did Mars want so late?" asked Hannah.

I shot her a grateful smile for changing the subject. The sooner we distracted June, the better. And then I remembered that Natasha might be having an affair. That would distract June but not in a good way.

"He brought me a Taser." That wasn't a complete lie. I didn't like misleading anyone, but this time I thought it more important to cheer up June. "For the nights when I come home late from work."

I scored. My simple lie generated a lively discussion between Mom and June on how they could throw Mars and me together more often. Before long Craig and Hannah drifted up to bed, followed shortly by my parents and June. Daisy had stretched out in the sunroom with us, but I hadn't seen Mochie in a while. I found him in the kitchen, sitting on the bench in the bay window looking out as a hea.r.s.e drove by.

TWENTY-SIX.

From "THE GOOD LIFE": Dear Sophie,

My mother-in-law complains that my Thanksgiving decor looks too much like Halloween. Must be those rotting pumpkins by the front door. What can I do that will please her?

-Desperate in Dumfries

Dear Desperate,

Instead of hiding your favorite photos in sc.r.a.pbooks, make duplicates of pictures with an autumn theme. A memorable hike to see the leaves changing, the kids playing in piles of raked leaves, a beautiful garden of colorful squashes and pumpkins ready to be harvested, even a photo of dear mother-in-law visiting. Put them in frames that carry out the seasonal theme and bring them out each year after Halloween. Cl.u.s.ter them on a sideboard or entry hall table for an instant decoration and a lovely reminder of fun times that you can add to each year.

-Sophie

Thumbprint-sized images showed immediately. I scanned through them. Mom and Hannah at a bridal salon. Picture after picture of bridal gowns. I a.s.sumed Hannah wanted to remember the dresses and asked Dad to snap photos. Finally, a picture of the Stupendous Stuffing Shakedown banner that hung across the entrance to the hotel.

I viewed picture upon picture of Mom and Hannah. Craig showed up in a couple of them, but both times he'd turned his head and was barely recognizable. Dad had also taken some shots of Natasha, her creative baskets of ingredients behind her, and a few of Wendy and Emma and their work s.p.a.ces as well.

If only Dad had been photographing the Washington Room or one of its entrances. Even though I hadn't expected to find anything earthshaking, I couldn't help being disappointed. I printed out two sheets of tiny thumbnails to examine in the morning when I'd be more alert.

The printer hummed and I looked over at Bernie. Snuggled in a down comforter, he snoozed peacefully with a snoring Daisy next to him. I put the computer to sleep, turned off the TV and the sole light on the desk. I left the thumbnails on the kitchen table and tiptoed up to bed with Mochie racing ahead.

She muttered, "I never expected this of him."

Wearing a silky robe, Mom studied the thumbnails I'd left on the table. I tapped her shoulder and whispered, "Is June talking to Faye?"

Mom nodded. "And check out Mochie."

The kitten sat in front of the stone wall, staring at it as though listening to something. I shivered. "You don't think he can hear Faye?"

Mom shrugged. "Who knows?"

I poured a mug of coffee for June. She needed a jolt of caffeine. She took it with a smile but continued to mutter.

"I'm glad you're up early," said Mom. "There's something I need to tell you."

I poured coffee into a mug, added milk, and when her back was turned, plopped in sugar. I didn't need any more lectures about my weight. "What's up?" I asked, sitting down next to her.

She glanced at June and whispered to me, "I saw Vicki embracing a man at the stuffing contest."

I hadn't expected that. "What did he look like?"

"Nice enough. Brown hair. At the time I thought it might be that driver of Simon's, but I'm not sure. Oh, honey, do you think that has anything to do with the murders? I should have mentioned it sooner, but with all that's happened, it went right out of my mind."

Clyde? Did Vicki know about Natasha's affair? "What kind of hug was it?"

"Friendly, but there was something odd about it, like they didn't want anyone to see them."

"Maybe it was an old client. Someone she met through her marriage counseling service?" Loads of people hugged at the contest. Vicki knew a lot of people, had counseled hundreds.

A knock at the kitchen door caught us off guard.

To my utter surprise, Francie walked inside and presented me with a white bakery box tied with a glittery gold ribbon.

"I brought m.u.f.fins for brunch. Cranberry nutmeg, walnut mincemeat, and pumpkin spice." She plunked the Sunday edition of the local paper on the kitchen table and removed her jacket. "Are you the only ones up?" She moseyed toward the coffee and poured herself a cup. Looking out the window over the sink, she said, "Sure is dead out there this morning."

Brunch? I didn't remember planning a brunch. The mere mention of it reminded me that I had ignored my company. Normally, I'd have planned all the meals in advance and even prepared a few dishes that I could pop in the oven so I wouldn't have to abandon my guests to prepare them.

We could pull together eggs and bacon and whip up apple-cinnamon French toast. Thank heaven the freezer and pantry were well stocked. Could Mom have mentioned brunch to Francie?