“Annie, you know me better than that.”

I did. Which was why when Eve went back to straightening the shopping bags without giving me details, I knew something was up. Eve is all about details.

“I was just being polite,” she said, her voice tight and her shoulders rigid. “You know, the way I would be to any customer. I wasn’t about to turn Tyler away. Not when he was going to buy lunch.”

It was the same thing I’d told myself about Peter.

The trick was, I knew how I felt about Peter and I had the sneaky feeling it wasn’t anything like what Eve was feeling for Tyler. Was I worried? Absolutely!

Which was why I had to probe-at least a little more.

“Only Tyler didn’t,” I reminded her. “Buy lunch, that is.”

I knew the moment she gave in because her shoulders heaved. She stood, her voice as pleading as her look. “It’s just that, with the wedding being postponed and all,… well, you understand, Annie. Tyler just needs someone to talk to.”

“The way I remember it, you and Tyler never talked.”

“And the way I remember it, you and Peter always did.”

She had me there.

Before I could admit it, though, Eve went right on. “But I didn’t see much talking going on between you and Peter yesterday. You made sure you hightailed it away from him before the boy could even begin talking.”

“Not true,” I pointed out. “Jim needed us to go to Monsieur’s. And we did. And then we found the IDs and…” We were back to where we started, and I was no happier now than I was then.

“Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong,” I said, far more comfortable with the puzzle of Monsieur’s vanishing act and Greg’s death than I was speculating about what Peter had up the sleeve of his suddenly-not-so-trendy polo shirt. “Monsieur’s disappearance is somehow connected to Greg’s death. That’s pretty obvious. So maybe we shouldn’t be looking at it from the perspective of him disappearing. Maybe we should be looking at this like a murder investigation.”

I think Eve was just as grateful to change the subject as I was. She grinned. “Now you’re talking, girlfriend! Where do we start?”

“At the scene of the crime.” I made a wide gesture to include the entire shop. “When I walked in, Greg was lying right…” I went to the spot. The floor was still damp and I didn’t want to take the chance of marking it with my shoe prints so I skirted the edges of the wet spot and pointed into the center of it. “Right there. And Tyler said that Monsieur’s phone call was muffled.” I looked around. From where I stood, I couldn’t see much. Rents in Arlington are at an all-time high and shop space is at a premium. Like most retailers in the area, Monsieur had learned to maximize his square footage.

Directly in front of me was the counter and the cash register, but as I mentioned, even the space behind it wasn’t wasted. Cubby after cubby featured some speciality cooking item. To my left was the big front window where, once the cleaners were done, I’d have to set up some sort of display. Behind me was a wall of shelves made from glowing oak where gadgets were displayed alongside most of the other, smaller items the store sold: knives and corkscrews and ready-to-cook mixes for everything from southern food specialties like corn bread to soups the likes of which never came in the cans I bought at the grocery store.

To my right were the aisles that led to the back of the store. There were four altogether, and they were packed with merchandise. From where I stood-from where Greg must have been standing when he was killed-there was only one aisle with anything like a clear line of vision to the back of the store. It was the aisle that led straight to the room that doubled as Monsieur’s office and stockroom.

I stabbed a finger in that direction. “That’s the only place he could have been and seen anything,” I told Eve, and I didn’t have to explain. She started down the aisle and toward the back of the store even before I did, and waited for me to catch up outside the office door.

“We’re not going to find anything,” I said, just so I didn’t get any crazy notions about clues that had been overlooked or mysterious messages only we could understand. “The cops have been all over this place. If there was any evidence in there, they already found it. Of course”-I grinned-“that’s not going to keep us from looking.” I stepped into the office.

Like the rest of Très Bonne Cuisine, the room was well planned and tastefully decorated. It was a nice size, maybe fifteen feet long and half as wide, with two doors leading into it, the one we’d entered directly from the store and another on the wall to our left that led to a small entryway and the back door. A counter ran along the far wall. There were shelves above it and plenty of elbow room. I wasn’t sure exactly how Monsieur used the space, but as long as I was working there, I knew it would be perfect for checking in and pricing merchandise. On the wall just to the right of the door was a copier and next to that, a coffeemaker, one of those dorm-sized refrigerators, and a small microwave. On the other side of the doorway was a desk that contained a laminator, a computer, and a phone. It was all pretty standard.

Until I turned and looked back into the shop.

Thanks to a display of poolside acrylic glasses, the view of the front of the store wasn’t perfect, but it was plenty good.

“This has got to be the place where Monsieur was when he made that call,” I told Eve, and since she was standing closer to the back door, I grabbed her and marched her over so she could see what I saw. “Look. He could have come in here.” I raced over to the other door, opened it, and stepped into the entryway where Monsieur hung his coat and kept the trash containers. Just as quickly, I walked back in, certain I was retracing Monsieur’s steps.

“He could have come in here from the back parking lot. I’ll bet he was loading up the stuff to bring to Belly-washer’s, just like I told Jim. And then when he looked into the store…” I did just that, imagining the terrifying scene that unfolded in front of Monsieur’s eyes. “He probably couldn’t see everything…” I moved to my left, then my right, peering into the store as I did. From one angle, all I could see were stainless steel roasting pans, heavy-duty mixers, a display of flatware that would have put my plain-Jane silverware at home to shame-and a sliver of the front of the store. The other angle provided a view of the glassware, a line of Tuscan pottery, small kitchen appliances-and a similar peek at the front of the store.

“I’ll bet he saw enough,” I mumbled to myself, then raised my voice so Eve could hear me clearly. “Maybe he heard something, too. Go ahead,” I instructed Eve. “Go up front and say something. I’ll see if I can hear you.”

This sort of reenactment is right up Eve’s alley. Her face shining with anticipation, she scurried to the front of the shop, and a moment later I heard her growl, “Stick ’em up,” in a deep voice that I guess was supposed to pass for the killer’s.

“Yes. I can hear you perfectly,” I called. I raced to the front of the shop. She came toward the back. We met in the middle of an aisle that featured dish soap, hand cleaners, and lotions made from all-natural, earth-friendly ingredients. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how anyone could pay thirty-seven dollars for a soap dispenser refill, and, rather than think about it, I stuck to my case.

“He heard something,” I told Eve. “He must have. That’s how he knew Greg was in trouble. Monsieur’s taller than me and shorter than you…” I craned my neck, checking my theory against the evidence one more time. “He probably saw something, too. He might have seen the killer. He might have recognized him.” I looked to the back of the store and the back door that led into the tiny lot where Monsieur parked his silver Jaguar. “And then he took off.”

“I can’t blame him.” Eve shivered. “It must have been terrible.”