"And that's your fault?"

"Absolutely. How could it not be? How can you even ask? It couldn't be Will, so that left me, right?" Catherine suddenly looked over at the kitchen door, got up and swung it shut, then sat back down. The color had come up again in her cheeks.

"But the real fun didn't start until we had the children. I, of course, was a terrible mother. I spoiled them;

then I was too hard on them. I let them get away with murder, then wouldn't let them have any fun. I fed them the wrong food and made them wear awful clothes. I was ruining the girls because I didn't give them the example of a strong working woman, and ruining Saul because I was too soft on him. Except when I was too hard on him and squished his sensitive soul." She brushed her hair back from her forehead, drew a breath. "Well, we're getting into it now, aren't we?" "It's all right."

"I know. I know." She paused. "Anyway, finally it got bad enough-Saul was about five at the time-that I told Theresa she couldn't come by anymore. She was relentless, poisoning the kids against me. I got Will to agree. So you know what she did then?"

"What?"

"Filed a petition for grandparents' visitation rights. Against us! By this time, she and Paul were divorced and she had nothing else in her life except her job and her grandkids. She just went off the deep end. Lord, what a time."

"So what happened?"

"So finally Paul got involved and made us all sit around and talk it out. Theresa really didn't want to break the family up, did she? And we didn't want the kids not to know their only grandma. Bottom line, she could come and visit whenever she wanted within reason, as long as she agreed not to criticize me anymore, especially in front of the kids."

"And how did that work out?"

"Surprisingly, pretty well. Although I still think she considers all eight grandchildren ultimately her responsibility because none of the families have done as well as Paul did. She's always double-checking us on how much we've saved for their colleges and the down payments on their starter homes. Down payments! I love that." A last sigh, and she offered an apologetic shrug. "Anyway, that's Theresa."

"Sounds charming." Hardy again consulted his watch, came back to her. "Do you feel like stopping? We've covered a lot. How are you holding up?"

A sudden warm expression transformed her face. "You know," she said, "I'm really okay." She paused. "Do you find it a little bit surreal that we're sitting here doing this?"

He smiled at her. "To be honest, yes."

"Okay. So it's not just me. Maybe you really haven't changed all that much after all."

"Except in every fiber of my being."

"Well, that, of course. The life thing."

"The life thing," he repeated, and a short silence settled between them.

She reached over and squeezed his hand. "I'm so glad I called you."

He nodded, blew out some air, tapped his pen against the legal pad. "So. Let's talk about after you left Paul's that night."

"All right," Catherine said, "what about it?"

"Everything," Hardy said, "beginning with what time it was."

She sat back, an elbow on the table. "A little after four, I'd say, four thirty."

"And what did you do then? After you left?"

She met his eyes, then looked quickly away and swallowed. She paused another moment. "I drove home, Dismas. Here. Straight here."

Hardy suddenly flashed on a time that she'd gone out with another guy. She'd looked him right in the eye and even swallowed the same as she did now as she denied it-and then she broke down in an admission, begging his forgiveness.

He almost expected her to have the same reaction now as he waited for her to retract the obvious lie. But she kept her composure this time, meeting his gaze. He made a mental note to return to this point-where had she gone after leaving Hanover's?-and pressed on. "Were your kids here when you got home?" He gave her a somewhat sheepish smile. "I'm really hoping you're going to say yes right about now."

"I wish I could, but they weren't."

Hardy hated that answer and must have shown it, because she hastened to explain. "I could show you in my calendar. It's really nothing sinister. Wednesdays they've all got something at school until five or six. Saul's got band. Polly's in the school play and Heather has yearbook. She's the editor. And since we all knew Will would be gone that night, I told them I could use a night off from cooking and to catch up on my bills. So I said why didn't they all rendezvous at school and go out for a pizza."

"Which they did?"

"Right. I assume so. I didn't ask."

Hardy took in a breath. "So you were home alone, paying bills and watching television until you saw the fire on TV?"

"That's right." She came forward. "I wasn't there, Dismas, at Paul's. I really was right here. All night before I went out."

"Okay, then," he said. "Although it would be a plus if we had any way to prove it. Did you call anybody? Go out to borrow some sugar?"

She brightened for a beat. "I called Mary, my sister-in-law. I wanted to tell her what Paul had said."

"That's good. And when was that?"

"As soon as I got home. I had to tell somebody."

"Okay, what about later?"

"Like when?"

"Five, six, seven?"

She shook her head. "I was just here, puttering around, having something to eat. One of the neighbors might have seen me pull in, or the car in the driveway."

"That would be helpful," Hardy said, "but let's not hold our breath." He thought for a beat. "So you don't really have an alibi."

"I was watching television. I've got the dish. Maybe there's some way they can verify that I was using it."

Hardy made a note, decided to leave the topic for one that was potentially even more explosive. "Okay, Catherine. This one you're really not going to like. Did you come on in any way to Inspector Cuneo?"

Her jaw clamped down tight. "No, I did not."

"Because he's going to say you did."

"Yes, I suppose he will."

"And you did nothing that he might have construed as some kind of sexual advance?" "Dismas, please."

He held up his hands. "I've got to ask. It wouldn't be very much fun if he had something that he dropped at trial."

"Let's not say 'trial' yet, all right?" She shook her head. "But no. There was nothing."

"Because from what I'm hearing tonight, he can't have much of a case. Unless he finds something like gasoline or gunshot residue on your clothes, which isn't going to happen, is it?"

"No."

"Okay, then. So what's probably happening is exactly what you said. That he heard about your accusation of sexual harassment…"

"But I didn't file anything! I didn't do anything with it."

"Yes, you did. You told his boss. Cuneo looks like a horse's ass and maybe worse. So now he serves the search warrant on you as a pure hassle, telling you that in spite of you going over his head, he hasn't been pulled from the case, he's still got his mojo working and you'd better not say anything else against him."

She considered that for a long moment. "Well, in a way it's almost good news, I suppose," she said. "It means they don't really think I killed Paul. They're just mad at me."

"That may be true," Hardy said. "But don't underestimate how unpleasant cops can make your life if they're mad at you."

"Well, I'm not going to talk about the harassment anymore. He'll see he made his point and just leave me alone."

"Let's hope," Hardy said. "Let's hope."