“She was quite a woman,” Franklin said, following my gaze. “Couldn’t sell real estate worth a damn, but she was determined her personal life was going to be memorable.”

  That was a strange but appropriate epitaph for the misguided and horribly dead Tonia Lee Greenhouse, nee Purdy.

  “You go out running every evening right after work, don’t you?” I asked him.

  “Yes, almost always, unless it’s raining or below freezing,” Franklin said agreeably. “Why?”

  “So you must have been out Wednesday evening.”

  “I guess so. Yes, it hasn’t rained this week, so I must have run.”

  “Did you see Mackie Knight?”

  He thought. “So often I see the same people who exercise at the same time I do, and I’m not sure if I did see Mackie that evening or not. I don’t always, because I vary my route. There are two I like, and I pretty much alternate them. Mackie seems to pick his at random. I remember it was Wednesday when I saw Terry and Eileen; they walk together most evenings. But I remember only because Terry congratulated me again on a sale I’d made that day. I saw Donnie, riding his bike, that new ten-speed… I’m sorry, Roe, I just can’t remember about Mackie specifically. How come?”

  I told him about Mackie’s questioning by the police.

  “I can’t believe they’re so sure another car wasn’t there!” Franklin looked very skeptical. “Someone must have shut their eyes for a minute or two, either the woman across the street or the couple behind the Anderton house. And it seems pretty strange to me that both doors were watched that very night.”

  I shrugged. But I thought of what the killer had had to do-move Tonia Lee’s car to the rear of Greenhouse Realty, then get home on foot. If the killer’s car had been at the house, too, he’d either have had to go all the way back to the Anderton house from Greenhouse Realty to move his own car, or return from taking his own car home to get Tonia Lee’s. It seemed almost certain someone would have noticed the other car.

  I was thinking of the killer as “he” because of Tonia Lee’s nudity.

  Terry Sternholtz returned while I was still thinking it through.

  “You look awful grim, Roe,” she said.

  “Considering the occasion…”

  “Sure, sure. It’s terrible what happened to Tonia Lee. All us females are going to have to be more careful-right, Eileen?” Eileen had just appeared at Terry’s elbow, looking especially impressive in a black-and-white suit and huge black earrings.

  “I’m glad we took that self-defense course,” Eileen said.

  “When was this?” I asked.

  “Oh, a year ago, I guess. We drove into Atlanta to take it. And we practice the moves the woman taught us. But I guess, if Tonia let herself be tied up like that, she wouldn’t have had a chance anyway.” Terry shook her head.

  Franklin looked startled. He must not have heard that titillating fact. Even worse, Donnie Greenhouse was standing very close, with his back to us, talking to a woman whose hair and glasses were exactly the same gray-blue. But Donnie didn’t turn around, so apparently he hadn’t heard Terry. She, too, had spotted Donnie and was making a horrified face at us to show she realized her gaffe. Eileen gave her the reproving look you give a close friend, the one that says, “You blockhead, you did it again, but I love you anyway.”

  Eileen and Terry were apparently closer than I’d realized.

  Now that I considered it, I believed it was Terry who’d answered the phone at Eileen’s when I’d called this morning. Eileen was at least ten or more years older than Terry, but they had a lot in common, it seemed. They worked for competing real estate firms, but they were the only single female real estate dealers in Lawrenceton. Well, there was Idella, but she hadn’t been divorced very long.

  I’d always assumed (along with everyone else in Lawrenceton) that Terry and Franklin were lovers, at least occasionally, because with Franklin’s reputation it was impossible to believe he could share an office with a woman and not try to seduce her, and it was assumed in Lawrenceton (especially by the male population) that almost all of his seduction attempts were successful. But the way Franklin and Terry were standing, the way they spoke to each other, didn’t add up to an intimate relationship. If I’d had to pick a pair of lovers out of our little group, it would have been Eileen and Terry.

  This was an idea I had to adjust to. I had no problem with it. I just had to adjust.

  Donnie Greenhouse joined our little circle, and my attention was claimed by his doleful face and his strangely exultant eyes. Somewhere behind those pale compressed lips lurked a grin of triumph. I realized I would rather mash the pumpkin pie in his face than have him eat it, and stomped the thought down into my “Examine Later” compartment. That compartment was filling up rapidly today. Donnie put his hand on Franklin’s shoulder.

  “Thanks so much for coming,” the new widower said. “It’s great to know our-my-fellow professionals are showing such support.”

  Embarrassed, we all mumbled appropriate things.

  “Tonia Lee would have been so pleased to see you all here. Mrs. Queensland was here this morning, and Mark Russell and Jamie Dietrich were here, and I see Idella coming in the door… this has meant so much to me and Tonia Lee’s mom. She’s had to lie down in the guest bedroom.”

  “Do you have any idea yet when the funeral will be?” Eileen asked.

  “Not for sure… probably next week sometime. I should be able to get Tonia Lee’s-remains back from the autopsy by then. Now, Terry-you be sure and come to the funeral.”

  Terry looked considerably surprised. “Of course I will, Donnie.”

  We were all shuffling around trying to figure out what to say when Donnie suddenly burst out, “I know you all will back me up with the police and tell them I couldn’t have hurt Tonia Lee! That woman detective seems to think I could have killed Tonia, but let me tell you”-suddenly he was breathing very fast and other people were turning to look at us-“if I’d been going to do it, I’d have done it long before this!”

  Now that I could believe.

  The room hushed, and everyone tried to find somewhere else to look. As if moved by one impulse, we all gazed at the ridiculous glamour photograph blown up to such huge proportions above the fireplace. Tonia Lee’s false smoldering eyes stared back at us. Her widower broke out in sobs.

  This was undoubtedly a scene that would be forever enshrined in Lawrenceton folklore, but telling about it in a year would be a lot more fun than being here at the actual moment it occurred. We all looked at the front door longingly, and as soon as decently possible, the crowd began to flow out, washing the little cluster of realtors with it. Donnie had pulled himself together enough to shake the hands of those leaving.

  I noticed quite a number of them managed to wipe their hands against their clothes, unobtrusively. I know I did.

  An hour of reading the newest Joan Hess restored me. I may have dozed off a little, because when I looked at the clock, I found it was past time to get ready for Mother’s dinner party. I dashed up the stairs, took a very brief shower to freshen up, and stood in front of my open closet, faced with a sartorial dilemma. I had to look nice for Aubrey without having it seem as if I was looking my best for Martin Bartell. Well, that was treading a very fine line indeed. What would I have worn if I’d never met Martin? If I were just going to a dinner to greet a new person in town?

  I’d wear my royal blue dress and matching pumps, with my pearl earrings. Too dressy? Maybe I should wear nice pants and a pretty blouse? I called my mother to find out what she was wearing. A dress, she told me definitely. But the royal blue suddenly looked boring-high-necked and vaguely military with its two rows of buttons up the front. Then I caught myself thinking of Martin, and I resolutely pulled the blue dress over my head. My hair crackled as I brushed it back and secured the top part over to one side with a fancy barrette. I popped in the pearl earrings, dabbed on a very little scent, and worked on my makeup until the doorbell rang. Before I went down to let Aubrey in, I examined myself in the full-length mirror I’d inherited from Jane. For the thousandth time, I regretted my inability to wear contact lenses, which I’d finally gotten around to trying the previous month. A corner of my mouth turned down. There I was, short, chesty, with round dark brown eyes and so much wavy hair. And round tortoiseshell glasses, and short plain nails with messy cuticles.

  It came to me that in my life anything was still possible, but that time might be coming to a close.

  Aubrey was clerical that evening-all in black, with his reverse collar. And he looked wonderful that way. He’d seen my dress before, but he still complimented me.

  “That’s your color,” he said, kissing me on the forehead. “You ready? You know how I am about dinners at your mother’s. Did she hire Mrs. Esther?”

  “Yes, Aubrey,” I answered with a mocking air of long-suffering. “Let me get my coat, and we’ll go tend to your appetite.”

  “It’s really cold,” he warned me.

  I kept my coats in a downstairs closet. I looked at them for a second before pulling out the new black one. It was beautifully cut, with a high collar. I handed it to Aubrey, who liked to do things like help me on with my coat, even though in my thirty years I’d had plenty of experience. I slid my arms in while he held it, and then he tenderly gathered my hair and pulled it out of the coat and spread it on my shoulders. That was the part he enjoyed. He bent to kiss my ear, and I gave him a sidelong smile.

  “Have you seen your new parishioner lately?” I asked.

  “Emily, with the little girl?”

  There was something a little different in his voice. I knew it.

  “Yes. She was in the office yesterday. She’s thinking about buying the house I inherited from Jane.”

  I’d discovered Aubrey was interested in me the very day I found out Jane had left me her home and her money and a secret, one I’d never told Aubrey… or anyone else. Aubrey had always felt a little uncomfortable about Jane’s legacy, since his sensitive cleric’s antennae told him people had talked mightily about that strange bequest.

  “It’s a pretty little house. That would be a good place to raise a child.”

  Aubrey had that child on the brain. He hadn’t had any with his wife, who had died of cancer.

  “I didn’t know you were fond of children, Aubrey,” I said very carefully.

  “Roe, there’s never a good time to talk about this, so I’ll talk to you about it now.”

  I swung around to face him. My hand had actually been on the door knob. I know I must have looked alarmed.

  “I can’t have children.”

  He could see from my expression that I was struggling for a response.

  “When my wife began to get sick, before we found out what was wrong, we’d been trying, and I went in for tests before her. I found out I was sterile… and we found out she had cancer.”

  I closed my eyes and leaned against the door for a second. Then I stepped over to Aubrey and put my arms around him and leaned my head against his chest. “Oh, honey,” I said softly, “I’m so sorry.” I stroked his back with one hand.

  “Does it make a difference to you?” he asked me softly.

  I didn’t raise my head. “I don’t know,” I said sadly. “But I think it makes a difference to you.” I turned up my face then, and he kissed me. Despite Aubrey’s principles, we came very close to falling over the edge then and there, at the end of our relationship. There was more emotion in back of our touching than there ever had been before.

  “We’d better go,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said regretfully.

  We were silent all the way to my mother’s house on Plantation Drive. We were both a little sad, I think.

  Chapter Six

  MARTIN’S Mercedes was already parked in front of my mother’s house. I took a deep breath and exhaled it into the nippy air as I swung my legs out of the front seat of Aubrey’s car. He extended his hand and helped me out, and we went up the long flight of steps to the front door still holding hands. The glass storm door showed us the fireplace, lit and welcoming, and my mother’s new husband, John Queensland, standing in front of it with a glass of wine. He saw us coming and held the door for us.

  “Come in, come in, it’s cold out tonight! I think winter is just about really here,” John said genially. I realized that he now felt at home in the house, he was the host. I, therefore, must be a guest.

  This evening was beginning on several jarring notes.

  My mother swept in from the kitchen. She could sweep even in quite narrow dresses; you’d think lots of material would be required for that gesture, but not with Aida Teagarden Queensland.

  “Aubrey! Aurora! Come get warm and have a glass of wine with our guests,” Mother said, giving me a peck on the cheek and patting Aubrey’s shoulder.

  He was sitting on the couch, his back to me. I had a little time to get myself steeled. I held Aubrey’s hand tighter. We went around the corner of the couch to enter the little “conversation group” before the fire.

  “Have you gotten over your shock of yesterday?” asked Barby Lampton. She was wearing an unbecoming dress in dark green and mustard.

  “Yes,” I said briefly. “And you?”

  Aubrey was sliding my coat off. He smoothed my hair gently before he handed the coat to John to hang up. My eyes finally met Martin Bartell’s. His face was quite expressionless. His eyes were hot.

  “I guess so,” Barby said with a little laugh. “Nothing like that has ever happened to me before, but a woman I met at the local library this morning was telling me you’ve had an exciting life.”

  “Were you taking out a library card?” I asked after a moment.

  “Oh, no,” Barby said, letting out a little shriek of laughter. “I wanted to look at the New York Times, at the sale ads. I was thinking about flying up to New York before I go home.”

  Her marriage must have left her pretty affluent.

  “You’re going back so soon?” John asked hastily. Aubrey and I sat on one of the love seats flanking the couch, and Aubrey took my hand again.

  “I’m sorry. I must not be cut out for rural living,” Barby said rather smugly. “This is such a sweet little town, all the people are so-talkative.” And her eyes cut toward me. “But I miss Chicago more than I thought I would. I’ll have to go back and start apartment-hunting. I think Martin was hoping I’d keep house for him, but I don’t think I’m quite ready for that. She smirked at us significantly.

  “I understand you got hurt quite badly a couple of years ago?” Barby went on, oblivious to the fact that my mother’s back got very straight and even John looked rather grim. Martin’s eyes were going from one face to another curiously.

  “Not seriously,” I said finally. “My collarbone was broken, and two ribs.”

  Aubrey was looking studiously at his wineglass. My brush with death had always seemed a little lurid to him.

  “Oh, my God! I know that hurt!”

  “Yes. It hurt.”

  “How did it happen?”

  My side began to ache, as it always did when I thought about that horrible night. I heard myself screaming and felt the pain all over again.

  “It’s old news,” I said.

  Barby opened her mouth again.

  “I hear you have a wonderful cook, Aida,” Martin said clearly and smoothly.

  Barby looked at him in surprise, Mother in gratitude.

  “Yes,” she agreed instantly, “but Mrs. Esther is not my cook, really. She’s a local caterer. If she knows you well, she’ll come into your home and cook for you. If she doesn’t know you well, she’ll prepare it all and leave it in your kitchen with instructions. Fortunately for me, she knows me well. She picks her own menu, and the next day everyone gets to talk about what Mrs. Esther felt like cooking for Mrs. Queensland, or Mr. Bartell, or whomever. We’ve all tried to figure out how she selects her dishes, but no one can pick out a pattern.”

  Mrs. Esther’s cooking and character had provided more conversational fodder for parties than any other topic in Lawrenceton. Martin segued smoothly from Mrs. Esther to catering disasters at parties he’d attended, Aubrey ran that into bizarre weddings at which he’d officiated, and we were all laughing by the time Mrs. Esther appeared in the doorway in a spotless white uniform to announce that it was time to come to the table. She was a tall, heavy black woman with hair always arranged in braids crowning her head, and thick gold hoops in her ears. Mrs. Esther-no one ever called her Lucinda-was a serious woman. If she had a sense of humor, she kept it a secret from her clients. Mr. Esther was a secret, too. Young Esthers were always on the honor roll printed in the newspaper, and they were apparently as closemouthed as their mother.

  We all went into Mother’s dining room with a sense of anticipation. Sometimes Mrs. Esther cooked French, sometimes traditional Southern, once or twice even German or Creole. Most often it was just American food well prepared and served. Tonight we had baked ham, sweet potato casserole, green beans with small new potatoes, homemade rolls, Waldorf salad, and Hummingbird Cake for dessert. Mother had placed herself and John on the ends, of course, and Aubrey and I faced Barby and Martin, respectively.

  I looked at Martin when I thought he was unfolding his napkin. He instantly looked up, and we stared at each other, his hand frozen in the act of shaking out the napkin.

  Oh, dear, this was just awful. I would have given anything to be miles and miles away, but there was no excuse I could make to leave just then. I looked away, addressed some remark at random to Aubrey, and resolutely kept my eyes turned down for at least sixty seconds afterwards.

  Mrs. Esther did not serve, though she did remain to clean up afterward. So we were all busy passing dishes and butter for a few minutes. Then Mother asked Aubrey to say grace, and he did with sincerity. I poked at the food on my plate, unable for a few minutes to enjoy it. I stole a quick glance across the table. He was freshly shaved; I bet he’d needed to, he was probably a hairy man. His hair must have been black before it turned white early, his eyebrows were still so dark and striking. His chin was rounded, and his lips curved generously. I wanted Martin Bartell so much it made me sick. It was a dangerous feeling. I had always been wary of dangerous feelings.