“Good thinking,” said Ray. “Yes, you can leave all that to me.”

  “Promise you won’t go back to your place today,” said Jane. “I’ll handle everything on that end. We don’t want to tip our hand.”

  After giving Jane his word, her father headed upstairs to shower. Jane and Cordelia were left alone in the kitchen.

  “Can we really do this?” asked Jane.

  “There will be only one seriously dangerous moment. And you won’t even be there. It’s all on me. Cordelia M. Thorn, private eye.”

  “Last chance to back out.”

  “No way.” She searched through her digital address book until she found Archibald’s number.

  “Put him on speakerphone so I can hear, too,” said Jane.

  She made a couple of taps, then set the phone down on the table between them.

  “Hello,” came Archibald’s voice.

  “Hey, babe, it’s Cordelia. Have I got an invitation for you.”

  “You do?”

  “Are you free tonight?”

  “Actually, I’m not. I have plans.”

  “Look, Hattie will be with me at the theater until seven thirty or so. Could you come after that? Eight? Even nine would work. You’ve been so incredibly helpful with all the research you’ve done. Since you don’t want money, I thought this might be a way to give you something—an experience you’ll never forget.”

  Jane thought she was laying it on a bit thick.

  “I’ll even throw in a bottle of chilled Cristal,” said Cordelia. “To add to the celebration.”

  “Celebration? Can you give me a few more details?”

  “I don’t want to spoil the surprise. Let’s just say this will be mind-blowing, especially for a theater lover like you.”

  “It does sound intriguing.”

  “More than intriguing. This will be a first. A debut. And you’ll be in on it. Part of history in the making.”

  “Oh, hell, why not. I can get my business done by nine, I’m sure of it. Consider it a date.”

  “Splendid,” said Cordelia, her arms shooting up like she’d just scored a goal.

  * * *

  While Cordelia drove back to her house to change clothes and make a few more phone calls, Jane headed back upstairs to change into dark clothing. For what she had to do tonight, she needed cover.

  On her way up the stairs, she met her father coming down. He’d changed into one of Peter’s shirts and sweaters, and had on a pair of his jeans. “You look great in jeans,” said Jane. “You should buy yourself a pair.”

  Her father gave her a sidelong glance. “Thanks. Not really my style.”

  He was carrying his laptop under his arm.

  “Can you work from here today?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  On an impulse, she sat down on one of the steps and patted the space next to her. “Can we talk—just for a minute?”

  He sat down next to her. “Having second thoughts?”

  This close, Jane could smell that he’d even borrowed some of Peter’s Old Spice. “No, not at all. I think our plan will work—with a little luck. What I wanted to say was that … I appreciated you opening up last night about your feelings for Mom, for Marilyn and Elizabeth. It helped me sort through some of my own issues.”

  “Nothing in life is ever easy.”

  “I agree, but has it ever occurred to you that we have similar romantic trajectories? We both got it right with our first partner, though after that, we’ve been less successful.”

  “There certainly is a parallel, Janey. But a parallel isn’t a prophesy.”

  “No, I know that.”

  “Problems with Avi?”

  “Like you said last night, I don’t want to make my problems your problems.”

  Turning to her, taking her hand in his, he said, “I never want you to feel that way. I’m here for you, sweetheart, as you are for me. That’s one reason I like the idea of us working together. You have an absolute right to your privacy, as do I. We both have active, busy lives, but those lives, more often than not, take us away from each other instead of bringing us closer together. Maybe that didn’t bother me so much when I was younger, but it does now. If you ever want to talk something over, I’m here to listen. The more you’re around, the more chances we’ll have to listen to each other. There’s nothing more important to me than that.”

  “Oh, Dad,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. She couldn’t imagine a life without him in it.

  “I can tell what you’re thinking,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I won’t be around forever. That’s simply the way of the world.”

  She rubbed an arm across her eyes.

  “I remember the last time I saw my mother. She was old and ill. I’d come over to her house to help her get some lunch. I kissed her before I left and then walked over to the door. When I turned to smile at her, the look on her face was so intense, it stopped me. She was trying to memorize me, Janey. That was a hard moment. I realize that I sometimes look at you and Peter that way now. I don’t want to forget a thing.” Again, he squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry about those notes, honey. I’m going to be around for a long time.”

  “Promise?”

  His smile was gentle. “Promise.”

  * * *

  Later that morning, Jane drove across the river to her father’s home in Saint Paul. She took a couple of passes past his house to make sure Archibald wasn’t watching the place. Convinced that he was nowhere around, she entered through the back door and quickly pulled the shades in the living room. After turning on a couple of lamps, she made sure the patio door leading out to the back deck was unlocked.

  Finally, in her father’s office, she placed his daily calendar in the center of the desk, circled the date, and wrote, in big block letters, “Overnight Trip to Chicago.” She wanted Archibald to be able to get into the house easily and see that her father wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. Armed with that misinformation, he would be free to join Cordelia at the theater.

  On her way back to Minneapolis, where she intended to spend the bulk of her day at her restaurant, she decided to stop by Avi’s apartment. She figured she owed it to her to be honest about her intentions. It would likely be a difficult conversation. Thinking that this was already a day for hard conversations, she pulled up outside the apartment and headed up the walk.

  Avi welcomed her in, this time with both a kiss and a generous hug.

  “Am I interrupting your work?” asked Jane.

  “No, this is great,” said Avi. “I made us a pot of soup.”

  “I can’t stay,” said Jane. She felt like a coward for using such a trite excuse. It wasn’t that she couldn’t stay. She didn’t want to.

  “Okay,” said Avi. “Can you at least sit down for a few minutes?”

  They sat in the dining room. Jane sensed a tension she’d never felt around Avi before.

  “Have you thought any more about what we talked about the other night?” asked Avi, getting right to the point. “About having a child together?”

  “I have.”

  Taking Jane’s measure for a few seconds, her eyes fell to the kitchen towel in her hand. “You don’t have to spell it out. I can see what your answer is.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sure.” She pushed her sweater sleeves up her arms. “So. Does that mean we’re over?”

  “I don’t see how we can go on when we have such different needs.”

  “What if one of my needs is you?”

  “Honestly, Avi. I don’t know what to say. This sort of thing is never easy.”

  “You mean telling your girlfriend you don’t want to have a baby with her. You’ve done that a lot, have you?”

  “You know what I’m saying. This is hard for me, too.”

  “Spell it out.”

  “I could never ask you to choose between me and a child. So, yes, I think we’re over.”

  Avi seemed to be about to say something. At the last second, she thought better of it and stayed silent.

  “I only want what’s best for you,” said Jane. “I hope you give this idea of yours more thought. It’s a huge decision.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “You’re right. It’s your business, not mine.”

  “Just leave.”

  “Avi—”

  “What?”

  “Will you stay in touch?”

  “Oh, screw you,” she shouted, looking up defiantly. “Get the hell out of my apartment before I really lose my temper, you useless, self-righteous … old woman.”

  Under other circumstances, Avi’s stinging rebuke might have upset Jane. Today the words seemed simply flailing and feeble. She rose and stood over Avi for a few seconds, wishing she could touch her, though understanding that she’d lost the right. She remembered Cordelia’s words. She hadn’t been put on this earth to make everything right for Avi, especially when it had all become so terribly tangled and wrong.

  “Bye,” said Jane, closing the door quietly on the way out.

  37

  As the light faded from the sky, Jane sat in her CR-V, a quarter of a block from Archibald’s home, waiting for him to come out and get down to the business of murder. She listened to an old Eurythmics CD. As the song “Sweet Dreams” came on, he appeared. He walked resolutely out of his front door dressed all in black, carrying a briefcase. She let him drive off, then, when he seemed to be heading in the direction of the freeway, she allowed him to pull a block ahead.

  The silver Audi eventually took the Lexington Avenue exit. Jane stayed several car lengths behind until they were two blocks from her father’s home. Archibald drove past the house several times. Jane hoped the lights she’d turned on inside would give the impression that her dad was there. She needed Archibald to go in and find the calendar entry.

  Parking half a block away, he slipped out, no longer carrying the briefcase, and darted through one of the front yards toward the alley. Jane drove past his car and turned the corner. She pulled a U-turn in the middle of the street and parked. From the angle she’d chosen, she could see her father’s back deck.

  Archibald took his time. He stayed out of sight for several minutes, no doubt casing the exterior, finally emerging in the backyard. He edged swiftly up the deck stairs to the sliding doors. A second later he was in.

  Jane switched off the music so that she could concentrate fully on her anxiety. Five minutes went by. Then another five. Growing frustrated, she began to drum on the dashboard. She stopped when she saw him creep back outside. He rushed down the steps and headed through her father’s front yard straight for his car. She waited a full minute, then inched her SUV forward.

  Turning the corner, she saw the Audi’s red taillights speeding away in the darkness. She followed, again at a distance, as the car headed back to I-94. She assumed, since it wasn’t yet eight, that he’d phone Cordelia from his cell to tell her he’d be able to come over earlier than expected. But just as they were about to pass one of the U of M exits, he pulled off and appeared to head back to his house. She wondered if something had gone wrong.

  Parking in the driveway, he got out and carried the briefcase inside. In less than a minute, he was back outside and driving off. This time Jane didn’t follow him. Instead, she called Cordelia.

  “Speak to me,” came Cordelia’s voice, low and somewhat muffled.

  “Where are you?”

  “If I told you I was hiding under my desk, would you believe me?”

  “Listen up: Archibald’s heading your way. With the traffic on the freeway, I’d say maybe fifteen minutes to the theater.”

  “Was I right? Did he go to your father’s house?”

  Jane had known, from the moment Archibald had stepped outside dressed all in black, that Cordelia’s theory was a home run. “You were right.”

  “How on earth could I have enjoyed having dinner with a serial killer?”

  “Are you all set on your end? Is Tommy sober?”

  “Seems to be. I didn’t do a Breathalyzer.”

  “Good luck.”

  “We’ll both need it. Out.”

  Jane left her car feeling a welcome hit of adrenaline. One of Nolan’s tutorials had covered lock picking. If she did say so herself, over the last couple of years, she’d gotten pretty good at it.

  After snapping on her latex gloves, she examined the lock on the back door and saw that it was old, an easy in. She couldn’t believe people protected their homes with such crappy locks. It was denial, really. And that denial, tonight, worked in her favor.

  * * *

  “Close your eyes,” said Cordelia, feeling the earth drop away under her feet as she and Archibald sped upward in the elevator.

  “This isn’t going to hurt, is it?” asked Archibald, making what he thought was a joke.

  Little did he know, thought Cordelia. “Are those eyes closed?” The doors opened on the upstairs theater lobby.

  “I know where we are.”

  “Are you ready to be awed?”

  “Always.”

  She passed her arm through his, revolted that she had to stand so close to him, and led him up the center aisle toward the stage. Halfway to the front, she stopped. “You can open up now and behold.” She spread her arms toward the new theater curtain. “Isn’t it breathtaking?”

  Archibald seemed genuinely impressed. “What a perfect color. You have astonishing taste.”

  “I do. You’re the first person, other than the workmen, to see it hanging there in all its perfect blue glory. Just think how many productions will begin with that curtain going up.”

  “It sends chills through me. It really does.”

  “Want to see it raised?”

  “Yes,” he said eagerly.

  Cordelia motioned to the tech booth. “Let ’er rip.”

  The curtain moved slowly, pulled by wires one foot apart, to form an arch over the stage.

  “Gorgeous,” said Archibald, clapping his hands together. “Absolutely glorious.”

  “A new piece of history is about to begin for the Old Deep and Dark.”

  “Honestly, I can’t wait.”

  As the lights in the auditorium dimmed, lights came up on the stage.

  “Are you already in rehearsals?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

  Four chairs faced the back of the stage. One chair, ringed by a spotlight, faced the audience.

  “A rehearsal of sorts,” said Cordelia, feeling a different kind of chill run through her. She moved away from Archibald as Tommy rushed toward him from the rear of the auditorium. Archibald didn’t turn around until it was too late. Tommy pulled his arms behind his back and cuffed his hands. It all happened so fast that Archibald hadn’t even struggled. In fact, he seemed to think it was all part of Cordelia’s show.

  “What now?” he said laughing. “A little S and M.”

  “Let’s go up onstage and find out,” she said.

  Seemingly annoyed by Tommy’s presence, Archibald whispered to Cordelia, as if Tommy wasn’t right behind them, “I don’t know why he has to be here. It spoils the moment.”

  “All will be revealed,” said Cordelia. She strode out onto the stage, momentarily dazzled by the lights. Motioning to the single chair, she nodded for Archibald to sit.

  In the spirit of fun, he sat down.

  “Archibald Van Arnam, this is your life!” She was improvising. He was old enough to understand the reference to the long-ago TV show. And in a way, it was true.

  From stage right, Kit and Beverly walked out and each took a chair facing Archibald. Tommy took the third chair. Cordelia the fourth.

  Showtime.

  * * *

  Jane paused in Archibald’s study to phone her father. “It’s me.”

  “What’s the word?”

  “Our theory was correct. Are you with DePetro?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s got the search warrant from your friendly judge?”

  “He does.”

  “And you’ve briefed him?”

  “I have.”

  “Okay, just listen. I’m in Archibald’s house. If it takes DePetro and his men more than five minutes to find the gun—and it is the murder weapon we’ve been looking for—then Minnetonka needs a new police force. I’m out of here.” She clicked off the phone, took one last look at Archibald’s briefcase, made sure she hadn’t left anything out of order or any trace that she’d been inside, and then hightailed it through the back door.

  * * *

  Archibald wasn’t smiling anymore. “What’s going on?” he demanded. Glancing up at the spotlight, he squirmed in his seat. “Enough, okay? Tommy, you can take the cuffs off now. I am not amused.”

  “Never expected you would be,” said Tommy.

  “Cordelia? Is this some sort of game?”

  “I think I’ll let Kit take it from here.” She couldn’t believe they’d gotten this far without their plans going up in flames.

  Standing, Kit stepped a few paces away from her chair, glancing down as if she were searching for her blocking. She, too, took a moment to look up at the spotlights, though the light on her was less intense than the hot white glare Archibald was bathed in. “I really only have one question. Why did you murder Jordan?”

  His features contorted ever so briefly, then composed. “I would never hurt Jordan. He was my friend. And frankly, I think I’ve more than proved my devotion to you over the years. I don’t deserve to be treated like this.”

  “Please, I truly need you to make me understand.”

  “If you had any evidence against me, I wouldn’t be talking to you and your band of sycophants, I’d be talking to DePetro.”

  “If it were up to me,” Beverly piped up, “I’d shove his chair—accidentally, of course—off the stage into the orchestra pit.”

  “I’ve had enough of this,” said Archibald, struggling to his feet.

  “Sit down,” shouted Tommy, standing with his fists clenched. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  He sat down hard.

  This was great theater, thought Cordelia. If it hadn’t been a matter of life and death, and if something couldn’t still go wrong, she’d really be enjoying herself.

  “What’s the point of this little drama?” demanded Archibald. “Even if I admit I murdered every last one of those people, it wouldn’t be admissible in court.”