She looked through the peephole before opening the door. “Dad,” she said with a smile. “What are you doing here? Come in.”

  He was dressed casually in tan khakis, a light blue oxford cloth shirt and a navy-blue crewneck sweater. He looked almost as tired as she felt. “I know our dinner went kind of late last night,” he said, bending down to give Mouse a scratch. “I didn’t want to wake you if you were still in bed.”

  “Can I interest you in a cup of coffee? It’s fresh. Or, hey. Why don’t I make us breakfast?”

  Patting the top of Gimlet’s head, he said, “I’ll take the coffee—if you’ve got a to-go cup. It sure smells good.”

  “You can’t stay?”

  “I got a call from Beverly Elliot, Kit Deere’s assistant, about an hour ago. I’m afraid she had some terrible news. The police in Minnetonka got a 911 call around seven twenty this morning from a man who was doing his morning run along a jogging path through a remote part of Bayview Park. Seems he found a body just off the path in a deep section of brush. It was Jordan Deere.”

  Jane gave an involuntary gasp. “Is he—”

  “He’s dead. Shot at close range. That’s all I know. Two uniformed officers and a chaplain had just left the lake house. An investigator’s been assigned. He’s apparently still at the scene, but intends to come by the house shortly. Kit asked if I’d drive out.”

  “Surely she’s not a suspect.”

  “I doubt it. But with Jordan being such a public figure, all hell’s going to break loose in the press when they get wind of it. She may need some help with that. While I was on the freeway, I got to thinking. I know this comes out of the blue, but maybe you’d like to come with me—if you have the free time.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Well, for starters, when we’re done, we could have that breakfast together.”

  “Sure, I’d like that.” There had to be more.

  “The investigator my law firm has used for over twenty years retired a few months ago. So far, we haven’t settled on a replacement. Now that you’ve got your license, I was wondering if you’d like to help me with this one. I’d pay you the same rate we always paid him. It’s good money.”

  She was touched that he had such confidence in her abilities.

  “If you want, we can include your partner in this, too. Maybe Nolan could stop by my office sometime next week so we could talk. You’ll both need to sign confidentiality agreements.”

  “He’s in St. Louis at the moment. His sister is having some kind of surgery. He wasn’t too specific about it. He’ll be gone at least ten days.”

  “That’s fine. I’m happy to work with you on this one. What do you think? Are you interested?”

  The last thing she needed was to take on something new, especially with Nolan unavailable for backup. The promise she’d made to herself—about spending the fall devoting the bulk of her time to her restaurant and to Avi—also weighed against it. Then again, remembering her conversation with Peter, her promise to take good care of their father, to spend extra time with him, made the decision easier. “Sure. Count me in.”

  “Wonderful, honey.”

  “Do you think someone in the Deere family might be responsible?”

  “Anything’s possible, of course. But for now, let’s just say all is not well. I drove Kit out to their house on Lake Minnetonka last night after we finished dinner. She confided something to me, Janey. I’m trusting that you’ll keep this to yourself, that I can give you certain information before you’ve signed the confidentiality papers. But you’ll need to do it soon. Tomorrow, if possible.”

  “Of course.”

  “It seems that Jordan’s manager—Tommy Prior—someone they all think of as family, also happens to be one of his oldest and closest friends. Prior apparently made several bad business decisions recently. Kit thinks it may be worse than what Jordan told her—that Prior may have actually embezzled money. Jordan was furious when he found out, but for some reason—Kit thinks it’s misplaced loyalty—he refused to fire him. In fact, the guy has been staying at the house with Jordan, on and off, all summer.”

  “Sounds potentially explosive.”

  “The other point is, Jordan organized a family reunion for this weekend. Made sure everyone knew it was a command performance.”

  Jane had met Chloe and Booker a few years back at a party Cordelia had thrown for Kit’s fifty-fifth birthday. “Did this family reunion have a specific agenda?”

  “Kit said it was an effort on her husband’s part to get everyone together in one place, at one time.”

  “For what reason?”

  “She gave the impression that it was simply a social event.”

  “But it could be more.”

  He hesitated. “Jordan asked Kit for a divorce yesterday. That’s why she needed to meet with me. I think it’s also why he’d called everyone together. He wanted to tell them in person.”

  “So, do Booker and Chloe know about the divorce now?”

  “I doubt it. Unless Kit told them, which doesn’t seem likely.” Her father jingled the change in his pocket. “What do you say? Can you scrap whatever plans you had for the day and come with me?”

  “Just give me a minute,” she said. She rushed upstairs to the bathroom, ran a comb through her hair and pinned it up into a bun. After applying some light makeup, she looked at herself in the mirror. She was getting older, for sure. Then again, she liked the way she looked—a face with more gravitas.

  On the way back to her bedroom to grab her keys, she felt energized by the idea of working with her father. She could still make time for her restaurant. And then she remembered Avi.

  For almost a year, Jane had been the personification of patience and support, doing everything she could to help Avi get her writing career on track, cutting her slack whenever she asked, putting up with her roommate, a woman who’d done her best to bed Avi, and in the process, split them up. Why did Avi have to live like that—almost committing, dropping the word “love,” then backtracking, always with other women poised at the edges of her world, people and situations that she knew bothered Jane. And now Julia had entered the picture, a woman who relished playing with people, winding them up for the pure joy of watching them spin until they fell over.

  A song had been playing in Jane’s mind for days. She couldn’t recall the name, but the words were a plea to a lover, “not to break her heart slow.” If Avi wasn’t interested, if Jane was just a diversion, a safe harbor for the times when she was feeling down, as she often was, with no real desire to make a life together, then Jane deserved to know. She wanted it quick. Like ripping off a bandage. It would hurt, but it couldn’t hurt worse than the way she felt right now.

  “I let go tonight,” Avi had texted. What the hell did that mean?

  12

  “I need to see him,” said Kit, kneading her hands together in her lap.

  “I promise, Mrs. Deere,” said Sergeant DePetro, standing in the living room of the summerhouse, hands crossed in front of him, back erect. “I’ll make that happen. I also want to give you my word that I will put your husband’s murderer behind bars. This is a priority case for us. For me personally.”

  Jane and her father had gathered with the rest of the Deere family to hear, for the first time, from the lead homicide detective assigned to the case. Because of Jordan’s celebrity, this would undoubtedly be the highest profile case of DePetro’s career. Not only would the country singer’s death put the Deere family in the spotlight, it would place the detective center stage.

  Jane had met Neil DePetro for the first time last fall, when she and Nolan had been working the case of a missing widower in Deep Haven. DePetro reminded Jane of an idealized cop in a Hollywood movie—tall, dark, and not so good-looking that he didn’t seem plausible. His demeanor was brusk and efficient, lacking warmth, but projecting professionalism. This morning he looked badly wrinkled, as if he’d been roused out of bed at an early hour and had jumped into whatever clothes he could find.

  The detective continued: “I wanted to meet with all of you like this because I need some quick answers. You’ve probably heard that the first forty-eight hours are the most important in any police investigation. I don’t look at it that way. I believe the first minutes, the first hours are what’s critical. That’s why I asked for and received a search warrant to examine this property. Let’s be clear. I’m not suggesting one of you is responsible. I’m simply saying that I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t look hard at everything and everyone in Jordan’s life.”

  Jane had picked a chair along the edge of the room, positioned so that she could see everyone’s face. She figured that getting a sense of the Deere family dynamics was part of what DePetro was also after in meeting with them first as a group instead of individually. It might have been smarter to separate them and then try to tease out any differences in their stories. But this was DePetro’s call and he would have to live with it.

  “Let me begin,” said DePetro, flipping open a notebook, “by giving you some details.”

  Archibald reached over and took Kit’s hand. She offered him a grateful nod, squeezed his fingers warmly. Easing her hand away, she squared her shoulders and looked as if she was readying herself for a blow.

  “Jordan Deere was found in a patch of tall brush off the running path that cuts through a densely wooded section of Bayview Park. A jogger found him at approximately seven twenty this morning. He immediately placed a 911 call, and EMTs were dispatched to the scene. Police secured the area and I arrived a few minutes later.”

  “Who was the man who found him?” asked Ray. He was seated on the couch, on the other side of Kit.

  “Jacob Landauer,” said DePetro, checking his notes. “A retired high school teacher. He jogs in in the park on occasion, said he’d never seen Jordan before. As you can imagine, he was pretty shaken.”

  “I understand that it was a gunshot,” said Ray. “Did you find a weapon?”

  “No. We did a grid search of the area and found nothing. We believe that the first round hit the victim in the temple. After he was down, the perpetrator put one more round into his chest. I’d say he wasn’t taking any chances that the victim would survive. We’re fairly certain a nine-millimeter handgun was used.”

  Kit raised a tissue to her swollen eyes.

  “We’ll have more details in a few hours, but from what I know about gunshot wounds, Mr. Deere probably died instantly. He didn’t suffer. My team is still at the scene looking for evidence.”

  “Will there be an autopsy?” asked Booker. He sat on a love seat next to his sister.

  “Absolutely not,” said Kit. “There will be no such thing.”

  “I’m afraid that by law, autopsies must be performed on homicide victims.” DePetro shifted his hands behind his back, spread his legs, a classic military “rest” position. Jane wondered if he’d been a soldier.

  “I will not have my husband’s perfect body hacked up by some medical examiner,” cried Kit.

  “Jesus, Mom,” said Chloe, her eyes rising to the ceiling. “Dad’s dead. Do you think maybe it’s time to relax some of your beauty standards?”

  Seated next to Jane, Tommy sat staring down into a mug of brown liquid, which from the smell of it, clearly wasn’t coffee. Under his breath, he mumbled, “Die young, leave a beautiful corpse. What crap.” He was the only one in the room wearing a suit. His hair, thick, wavy, and combed straight back, was almost entirely gray. Jane assumed he was older than Kit and Jordan, probably in his mid- to late-sixties.

  “Let’s move on,” said DePetro, still standing in his at-ease position. “First question to all of you: Did Jordan Deere have any enemies?”

  Kit was the first to speak up. “Everyone loved Jordan. Everyone. I can’t think of a soul who’d want to hurt him.”

  Tommy grunted.

  “You have something to add, Mr. Prior?” asked DePetro.

  He cleared his throat. “Just that anybody who’s been in the music business as long as he had makes his share of enemies.”

  “The country music business?”

  “Yeah.” He overenunciated each word, suggesting that, at this early hour, he was already wasted. “Artists have adversarial relationships with recording labels. With other artists. With band members. The list goes on from there.”

  “Are you thinking of someone specific?”

  “What? No. I’m just saying it’s wrong to say Jordan was universally adored.”

  Kit’s gaze bore into him.

  “What about girlfriends on the side? Boyfriends?”

  “This may be difficult for some people to understand,” said Kit, her eyes shifting from Tommy to DePetro, “but Jordan was completely faithful to me, as I was to him. You may think I’m being naïve. I’m not. I know my husband.”

  Ray turned to look at her.

  “No marital problems?” asked DePetro.

  “None. Our careers often separated us for months at a time, but we always stayed in touch. I won’t say we never had issues. All couples do. But we worked them out.”

  So this was the way she was going to play it, thought Jane. Was it an impulse, or was she really that arrogant, thinking the police would never figure it out?

  “Any money problems I should know about?” asked DePetro.

  “None that I know of,” said Kit. “Tommy was Jordan’s manager. I’m sure he’d be more than willing to answer your questions.”

  As Kit continued to talk, Jane noticed that, with the exception of Archibald and her father, nobody in the room looked at Kit. They watched DePetro with near catatonic stares, but never focused any attention on her. Jane found it unusual—and perhaps telling—body language. Under normal circumstances, Jane would have expected the family to rally around the grieving matriarch. Instead, within the limits of a room in which they were all trapped, each individual was attempting to detach, to create as much psychic distance as possible. Or—perhaps they couldn’t take their eyes off the detective because they were trying to determine if he was buying Kit’s story. Jane wondered if DePetro had picked up on the strange group dynamics. She was sure her father had.

  “I’d like you to tell me about Jordan’s recent morning routine,” said DePetro, folding his arms over his chest.

  “Beverly and I have been in New Orleans for the last few months,” said Kit, dabbing a tissue at the corner of her eye. “We didn’t return until late last night.”

  “Chloe and I have only been here since Friday,” said Booker. “We came for a family reunion.”

  DePetro arched an eyebrow. “Do you have them frequently?”

  “Not as often as we’d like,” said Kit. “We’re busy people. It’s why we decided to carve out some time to get together this fall.”

  “So nobody knows Mr. Deere’s morning routine?”

  Tommy raised a finger.

  “Mr. Prior?”

  He took a sip from the mug to steady himself. “I’ve been around, on and off, since the beginning of June.”

  “Did Jordan have regular habits?”

  “He didn’t used to, but for the last few months, yeah, you could say that.”

  “What was a typical Sunday morning for him?”

  “Sundays were no different than any other day. I mean, he’d go to church when Kit was around, but normally he didn’t. He was always up by six. He’d dress in sweats and head out the door between six thirty and seven for a morning jog.”

  “Always in Bayview Park?”

  “I think so, yeah. He’d tried other places, but he liked Bayview because it was quieter, and the running path was well cared for but still rustic. He was usually home by eight thirty. Sometimes he’d take a swim, but most mornings he’d come back, shower and dress, and then make himself some breakfast. He’d sit out on the terrace and read the newspaper or check his e-mail.”

  “And then?”

  “He worked in his office. In the afternoon, you could usually find him down in his music studio. Then, sometimes later in the day, he’d play golf, or he’d take one of the boats out.”

  “Dinner? Evenings?”

  “He liked to have friends over to the house. He was a passable cook. Or he’d meet someone at a restaurant. At least once a week we’d go out to a movie or a concert. He liked a good time, but lately he was always in bed by eleven.”

  “Alone?”

  Tommy’s smile was cheerless. “My job obligations didn’t include bed checks, Sergeant DePetro.”

  “You seem determined to tie my husband’s death to some sort of sexual escapade,” said Kit, her tone full of disgust.

  “That’s not my intent,” said DePetro.

  “Coulda fooled me,” slurred Tommy.

  One of the uniformed officers who’d arrived with DePetro and seemed to be in charge of the house search, appeared in the doorway and motioned to get DePetro’s attention.

  “One second,” said the detective. He moved to the rear of the room to confer with the uniform. Listening closely as the woman filled him in on what appeared to be urgent information, he finally cracked a smile. “Good, good,” he said, loud enough for Jane to hear. “Go go go,” he said, waving the woman away.

  Returning to the front, DePetro had a distinct swagger to his step, looking like a man who’d just won the jackpot. “So,” he said, folding his hands together in front of him. “Did anyone notice anything strange about Jordan in the last few months? Did he seem upset? Worried? Anything out of the ordinary?”

  Nobody moved.

  “Nothing?”

  “As I’ve already told you,” said Kit, placing a hand lightly on top of Ray’s. “Jordan was fine. Happy. Energetic. Working on new songs for his next album.”

  “Right. Did he ever use any illegal drugs?”

  “Never,” said Kit.

  Everyone in the family nodded their agreement.

  “Relationship with siblings?”

  “He was an only child,” said Kit. “Both parents are dead.”

  DePetro scratched the back of his head. “Well, I guess we’re done for the moment. I’ll need to talk to each one of you separately, but right now, let me thank you for your time. Oh, there is one more question I need to ask. You said that Jordan usually left the house around seven, Mr. Prior. Was that when he left this morning?”