"That's just a ceremonial thing," Barry said. "You can't vote or drive or buy a beer. Maybe in God's eyes you're a man, but in everybody else's you're still a kid."

  Jeffrey shrugged off Barry's comments. "You might as well know. I joined the drama club at school."

  "Drama club?" Barry said in a tone of disapproval. "I thought you were joining the Junior Forensics."

  "And from now on I want to be known by my stage name, Columbia."

  "What kind of name is Columbia Greenberg?" Barry said, giving the waitress the evil eye when she arrived to take our order.

  "A very good name. An unusual name. The name of, like, a superstar," Jeffrey said defiantly. He was trying to sound so serious, but he still looked soft and round, kind of like an unfinished sculpture. In contrast, girls his age all looked like women, wearing eyeliner and push-up bras. Not that Jeffrey wasn't trying to look more manly. He'd gelled his hair into spiky clumps and worn a blazer over his T-shirt and jeans.

  I realized it was time to turn the direction of the conversationagain. I picked up my menu and pushed one toward each of them. Barry opened his in a huff. Jeffrey took a second, then picked his up.

  "Do you think Detective Heather questioned Lawrence Sheridan?"

  "The husband?" Barry said, looking at me from behind his menu. He seemed relieved the question had nothing to do with Jeffrey's future ambitions. "Of course."

  "I bet he was having an affair."

  Barry scowled from behind his menu and started gesturingtoward Jeffrey.

  "What's everybody going to have?" Barry said.

  "My dad thinks I'm four," Jeffrey said in a world-weary voice, looking at his father. "I know about affairs and I'm not going to freak out." Jeffrey's voice did kind of crack as he said it, and I gathered an affair must have had something to do with his parents' breakup.

  It couldn't have been Barry. He was too play-by-the-rulesMr. Solid. No wonder Detective Heather was so hot on his trail. He was excellent husband material.

  "Let's talk about something else," Barry said, putting down his menu. "Molly, why don't you tell Jeffrey about your crocheting?"

  Jeffrey and I rolled our eyes in unison.

  After dinner we went back to their place. Barry had a two-bedroom town house. He wasn't much of a home-maker,and while the place had the basic TV and couch in the living room, there weren't any homey touches like colorfulpillows or nap blankets draped over the end of the couch. Once I got finished with my inaugural scarf, I was definitely making an afghan to brighten up the place.

  Jeffrey trailed off to his room, playing his video game as he walked. Barry started coffee and we sat in the living room. I took the couch and he sat in a chair.

  "I don't think Jeffrey would faint if we sat next to each other," I said, patting the couch cushion. "I don't think Jeffreywould even notice."

  Barry got the coffee and went back to the chair. "Kids want to believe their parents are going to get back together. Not that it's going to happen here." He looked down into his cup. "His mother has been through a few boyfriends, and all the coming and going has been hard on him. It got worse when her latest boyfriend moved in and my ex started buying his favorite cereal instead of Jeffrey's. Personally,I don't understand why she couldn't have bought two kinds of cereal." He looked at me. "Of course, you don't have that sort of problem. Your boys are grown." He chuckled. "They don't feel displaced by me."

  I stared at him, my arms folded over my chest. "Are you blind? Haven't you noticed how Peter always disagrees with everything you say?"

  "He didn't last time. He didn't think you should go to the funeral, either."

  "Okay, so one time you agreed, but it was the only time. Every time he sees you fixing something for me, he says he can do it."

  Barry laughed. "But he can't. I saw him looking at a screwdriver and wondering which end to use."

  My eyes narrowed, and the mother-protector came out in me. I might have thought that Peter was only good at fixingdeals, but nobody else could say it. "He's not that bad. He even knows there are two kinds of screwdrivers. But that's not the point. Haven't you noticed that whenever Samuel sees you, he gets that hangdog expression, like I'm not paying enough attention to him? I thought you detectivetypes were supposed to be superobservant."

  "I thought we were, too. Hmm, so then your boys see me as your boyfriend, lover . . . ?"

  My eyes widened in shock as I shook my head. "Lover? I don't think they even want to get close to that."

  "Okay, then, but they consider me a serious contender?"

  I shrugged. "I suppose . . ."

  "Well . . ." He left the rest blank. This was where I was suppose to throw myself into his arms and say, Yes, yes, I accept you as The One. I'll marry you and be the new Mrs. Greenberg. I just changed the subject.

  I took a sip of my coffee. It was surprisingly good, a dark, smoky roast made strong, just the way I liked it. "So you think Lawrence Sheridan is a likely suspect?"

  Barry shook his head in capitulation. "You're doing that again. You think I wouldn't notice the change of subject? Remember,we detectives are an observant bunch. Yes, if it was my case, I'd talk to the husband first and to everybody I could about him. He probably had an insurance policy on her. What about the assets of her business? Maybe he wanted to start over with a younger woman with no financial strings attached.It wouldn't be the first time . . ." Suddenly Barry stopped. I was listening too intently, and the fact that I was making a mental list of what he said was obvious. "But it's not my case or yours. Oh, no, Molly, you can't go asking Lawrence Sheridan a bunch of questions. . . ."

  I chuckled. "You don't have to worry about that."

  "And why is that?" Barry looked at me levelly. I hadn't told him about my abrupt departure from the funeral receptionthanks to Lawrence Sheridan practically throwing me out since it kind of proved that Barry and Peter had been right in advising me not to go.

  "I don't think he's really likely to talk to me."

  "And why is that?" Suddenly Barry had turned into Mr. Interrogator. When asked a direct question, I can only tell the truth, so, trying to make it sound not so bad, I told him about Lawrence Sheridan's suggesting I ought to be in jail.

  Barry closed his eyes and shook his head.

  Poor Barry. He'd had the best of intentions for the evening.Jeffrey and I were supposed to get to know each other, but the one who got to know the most was Barry, and none of it was information he wanted.

  CHAPTER 7

  I nixed the idea of dealing with natalie Shaw about the crochet squares over the phone. It would be too easy for her to answer and hang up before I had a chance to talk about other things, like Will Hunter's book signing. Even though Ellen had given me a flat-out no, I hoped Natalie might be more open-minded.

  The Pink Sheridan office was in Encino, which was a notch above Tarzana in status. Maybe more than one notch, at least as far as the Encino people thought.

  I hadn't been there since Ellen pushed me out. The parkinglot looked the same, with the ancient California oaks spaced along the front as striking as ever. These weren't the back-East sort of oaks with their dancerlike graceful shape and leaves like hands. California oaks had blackish green leaves that held on to moisture for dear life and looked like football players, with their broad, solid trunks and low-spreadbranches. Along the side were tall eucalyptus trees, with their pale, smooth bark and gray green leaves. When it rained, they filled the air with their faintly medicinal scent.

  The ground level had small boutiques and restaurants. The upper three floors of the U-shaped building were all offices. The inside of the U faced a courtyard, and each floor had a balcony running its length, accessible by wooden stairs. Charlie had made sure they got an office that faced the balcony. He'd liked being able to look out on the pond and the graceful white-barked sycamore trees that surrounded it. Sometimes when he'd worked late, the boys and I would bring dinner and surprise him. We'd open the sliding-glass door and have an impromptu picnic on the balcony, even if I was always a little worried about the boys falling through the railing.

  I went in the front entrance and barely looked through to the courtyard. It made me think of Charlie too much. As the elevator took me to the third floor, a not-so-idyllic memory washed over me.

  I had come in to finish setting up a press reception for one of Charlie's clients. I should have figured then how things were going to go with Ellen. What was it she had said to Charlie?

  "Molly means well, I'm sure, but this isn't a PTA bake sale. You need to keep it professional-looking."

  It had hurt when she said it, and it hurt now thinking about it. I wasn't one to call people names, but Ellen definitelydeserved the B title. You shouldn't think ill of the dead, I told myself as I headed down the familiar hall.

  A workman was doing something on the outer door to the offices. When I got closer, I realized he was taking off the metal letters that read PINK SHERIDAN PUBLIC RELATIONS.Now that there was neither a Pink nor a Sheridan, maybe things had changed, and the business was closing up shop.

  I wondered what that would mean for Will Hunter's publicity. Then I felt a pang of guilt for being so concerned with my own interests.

  Inside there was a small reception area with a lot of boxes and a few chairs. A man in his early twenties sat at a desk, talking on the phone and looking at a computer screen. He looked up when I walked in.

  His expression seemed slightly hostile, probably figuringI was either selling something or collecting for a charity.Pink Sheridan wasn't a drop-in sort of business. I explained that I wanted to see Natalie and didn't have an appointment. Of course, being a good gatekeeper, he wanted to know why. The crochet business seemed to sit well with him, and he went in to announce me.

  "She's on the phone, but said for you to wait." He pointed to a folding chair.

  I sat down, and when I leaned back, I realized I could see into Ellen's old office. Natalie was in there, standing over the desk, talking on the phone. The office looked pulled apart, but Natalie seemed in full work mode. It wasn't that I meant to eavesdrop, exactly, but it was impossiblenot to hear her end of the conversation.

  "No, CeeCee, I haven't gotten all the papers from Ellen's home office yet. I'd be happy to send your file to you if I had it." It was obvious CeeCee had interrupted Natalie."No, I'm sorry. There is no such thing as client privilegewhen it comes to publicists. That's only for lawyers and doctors. So if the police want to look at your file or at anybody's, there isn't anything I can do. But the good news is, as far as I know, nobody has asked." Natalie chuckled and seemed to turn on the charm. "I really think you should reconsider leaving us. Someone of your stature shouldn't be without a publicist." She stopped while CeeCee said something."I'd really like to talk to you in person. I'm sure we can come up with something that will work for both of us."

  I leaned closer, trying to hear better, but there was nothingmore to hear. Natalie hung up and looked down at an open file on the desk. I was too far away to see even the label,let alone what it said, but I'd bet money that it was the file she had just told CeeCee she didn't have. And that it was what CeeCee had been searching for at the Sheridan house.

  The obvious questions were: Why was Natalie lying to CeeCee, and what was in the file?

  I sensed Natalie looking up, and I sat back in my seat to make sure I was out of view. A moment later she walked out of the office and greeted me.

  "Then you know who I am?" I thought she would recognizethe name but not remember my face. We'd only met a few times, once when she was just starting with Ellen, and a few times when I'd come to pick things up.

  Natalie nodded in a friendly manner. "I remember meeting you, and of course Ellen spoke of you." I waited for her to take me into her office. Then, with a few nonchalantglances, I'd get a glimpse of the file and maybe see what CeeCee was so concerned about. But Natalie didn't, and we carried on our conversation in the reception area.

  Ah, Natalie was definitely in public relations. She knew how to put a positive spin on something like Ellen's talking about me. By saying it in a positive tone and not giving any details of what Ellen had actually said, it appeared to be something positive. Of course, I knew differently.

  "Leo said you were here about the crochet group?" She waited for my answer, but I glanced around at the chaos. There were boxes everywhere, and furniture was pushed against the wall.

  "What's going on? Are you shutting down?"

  Natalie followed my gaze. "I suppose it does look that way, but it's quite the opposite. L.S. and I worked out an arrangement." When I looked perplexed, she explained that L.S. referred to Lawrence Sheridan. "We're adding Shaw to the name, and I'll run the firm, but he's going to be very involved.With all his experience as a manager and producer, he brings a lot of clout to the table. There's so much overlappingof responsibilities in the entertainment industry, it'll work out fine."

  I don't know what surprised me more--that she had made some kind of deal with Lawrence, or that she referred to him as L.S. Lawrence Sheridan was always Lawrence, never Larry or anything resembling a nickname, and now he was known by initials?

  "We're updating everything. Ellen was a little too old-school." Ellen's desk, it turned out, was just waiting for some charity's pickup. It was big, with curved legs and a parquet top--too fussy for me, and apparently for Natalie, too. She showed me catalog photos of the furniture to come. Her desk had a glass top and a large black blotter. They were gettingwireless headsets and all the chairs were going to be ergonomic.It all sounded spare and a little cold for my taste, and I was glad, for once, that I didn't have to work there.

  Leo stuck his head into the office. "I got you the massageappointment for this afternoon, Natalie."

  She scowled at him. "Leo, what are you supposed to call me?"

  "Sorry, Nat." He said the shortened version of her name as if it were all in caps, before he slipped back out.

  "Everything is about being short these days," she explained."You know, Burger King is now BK. Who ever calls CPK 'California Pizza Kitchen' anymore? Any day now Dunkin' Donuts is going to wise up and become DDs. Have you looked at your e-mails lately? No one writes out you anymore. Everything is 4 u, c u, lol or imho. The 'now' thing is to go for short, short, short. So I'm encouraging Lawrence to go by L.S. and I'm going by Nat instead of Natalie. It sounds more contemporary."

  I guess Leo didn't have to worry about getting his name shortened. If I was going to make a move to secure the book signing, I had to find a way to bring it into the conversation now. With all of Natalie's short talk, she was bound to try to keep our conversation that way, too. "So, then you'll be keeping all of Ellen's clients?"

  Natalie nodded. "Trying to, anyway. As shocked as they are about Ellen's death, most of the clients are more concernedwith their own business." Natalie seemed to be glad to have someone to talk to, and she relaxed a little. "They don't know that it was all smoke and mirrors. Ellen had the relationships with her clients, but I was doing most of the actual work. Lawrence has been helping me, and almost all of them are going to stay. Except for CeeCee Collins. She wants to terminate."

  "But you do still have Will Hunter--or should I say W.H.?"

  Natalie chuckled. "No, no. Clients go by full names. I'm efficient, not stupid. Will's been a doll. He was Ellen's star client, and he says he's staying."

  "So, then you'll be handling his book release publicity?" I tried not to sound too eager, but I had my fingers crossed.

  "Ellen had started making plans, but I'll be making some changes. His book is going to be big. He's amazing, you know. Not only is he a class-A film star, but a damn good writer, too," she said. Spoken like a true publicist.

  Personally, I was still having trouble believing he'd reallywritten the book, but I wasn't going to rock the boat by casting any aspersions, and just nodded appreciatively. I brought up the subject of book signings and pitched her on doing his local one at Shedd & Royal.

  "He's an outside-the-box kind of guy. Why not do an outside-the-box kind of book signing?" I said hopefully.

  "Interesting," Natalie said when I'd finished. "Very interestingidea." I wanted to high-five myself. She was goingfor it. I was already making a mental note about needing extra chairs and all the end caps I planned to set up. And we'd need extra cookies and two baristas. Then my plans ground to a halt.

  "I have a lot riding on the success of the publicity for Will's book. It sounds like a great idea, and one that I could squeeze a lot of press out of, but before I commit, I'd like to see one of your author events firsthand."

  "No problem," I said, grateful that we'd already done the soap guy's event. The stink bomb disaster wouldn't have helped me with Natalie. "Our next signing is in honor of the crochet group. We're holding an event for a diet book called Hook Down the Pounds: The Magic Way to Lose Weight with Crochet." I gave her the date, and vowed to myself I would make sure this one went right. Natalie walked over to her computer and typed the information into her calendar. It reminded me of the other thing on my agenda.

  "I heard Ellen was supposed to have someone over for lunch the day she was, uh . . ." I had a hard time saying murdered. "Do you know who it was?"

  Natalie stopped typing. "That's sure the hot question. Detective Gilmore asked me the same thing. Well, actually, she asked if you were scheduled for lunch with Ellen that day. She had some idea that you were trying to make some kind of business arrangement with Ellen, and it went sour."

  I felt my anger level rise. "That's ridiculous. I have a job, and Ellen and I settled a long time ago."

  "That's exactly what I told her--that you and Ellen worked everything out just when I was starting. I also told her I couldn't help her in the who department. Ellen's computercalendar got wiped out." Natalie went on to explain that Ellen wasn't exactly a computer whiz and could have done the damage herself. "Like I said, she was very old-school.She wasn't very good with computers, nor did she trust them." Natalie looked skyward. "I had to set up her home-office computer, and she still barely used it."