As he started to approach the house, he had his second flash of the day to the car bomb on his muffler that hadn't detonated as planned. He didn't enjoy having feelings of paranoia, but frankly this didn't look like the kind of place where a girl like Mona Whitman would live. He had a sudden fear of being set up. The alarm bell clanged so loudly, he almost turned around to get back in the car. But Mona had seen him from the window and had come out her front door to welcome him before he could get away.

"That was fast. I didn't even have time to wash my face. Come on in," she said.

Too late. Charlie gave her a lame smile and hoped for the best. Inside, he was reassured by the furnishings. This was her taste all right. Everything was white, white, white. Neat. He'd seen enough places to know there wasn't a speck of dust anywhere. He could tell without even running his fingers along the moldings. Immediately he was struck by the fact that there were no photos, no souvenir-like things. No books, no stereo. And then he knew she didn't really live here. Girls were messy. Even neat girls were messy. They had stuff from high school, from college. They had Valentine-shaped chocolate boxes from ten years ago in which they kept little odds and ends. They had stuffed animals. They had knicks and knacks. Mona had nothing.

"It's not much. Not a beautiful place like yours," she said, looking around at it critically.

"Mine?"

"You have a lovely home," Mona chirped, "but I wasn't so lucky. I had no inheritance. I started with nothing."

So she had followed him to his lovely home. "Well, this is just great!" he said, approving the house. "Very nice."

"Come on in, don't be shy."

Charlie wasn't shy. He just didn't like being manipulated.

She held out her arms to the place. "Come on, tell me the truth. What do you think of it, really?"

"Very nice." But Charlie knew she didn't live there.

"Well, let's just say I worked hard for it, and I did it on my own. Face it, it's not very impressive, considering the lifetime of work I put in. There are no closets at all, and real entertaining is out of the question."

"Well, it's small, but elegant. You've done a nice job with it." Well, maybe there was another story. Maybe Sales had been cheating on her, too. Planned to dump her, buy her out, return to his wife. And she was getting even by informing on him.

"No, it's tiny," Mona insisted angrily, one hand tapping furiously at her hip.

Then suddenly her mood changed. She dropped the annoyance about the house and sat on the sofa. "Seeing somebody so ill makes you want to celebrate life," she said, perky again. "Know what I mean?"

"Oh yes, definitely." Charlie took a seat himself. Right about now he was thinking about a drink. Someplace safe, far from here.

"Mitch was such a strong, vital man. Now he's on life support. It just makes you reconsider everything."

He nodded. He was thinking, give me the juice, babe, so I can bail out of here.

"You know, seize the day," she murmured. She was getting emotional, and he was yearning to be somewhere else with a different kind of woman altogether. He wanted her to squeal, not throw herself at him.

"I loved them so much, and now I'm totally out of the loop. I'm so afraid." Tears puddled in her eyes.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked. He knew what he was afraid of.

"Oh, murder is such a terrible thing," she moaned.

"Murder?" Oh, now they were on murder. He hoped she didn't mean his.

"I'm not going to burden you with it, Charles."

"Go ahead, burden me," he said magnanimously.

"No, no. I promised you a drink, and a drink is what you'll get. I have something I know you'll like." Mona jumped up and ran into the kitchen, which was only a few feet away. She returned with some delicate crystal champagne glasses and a bottle of pink champagne on a silver tray. "You know, Charles, there's no one else. I feel like you're all I have now." She popped the cork and poured expertly, handed him a glass, then raised hers.

"Oh, I'm sure that's not the case," he demurred.

"Yes, that woman is going to murder Mitch. She's going to take everything I have in the world. Would you let someone get away with murder, Charles?"

"Of course not," Charlie said.

"Good. Have some more. This is a very good vintage." Mona finished her glass of champagne and poured herself another.

"So give me what you've got," Charlie said.

"Uh-oh. I'm having an asthma attack. I need my inhaler." Mona was suddenly coughing uncontrollably, her chest heaving with the effort of breathing.

What now? Charlie thought he'd seen everything in his years of service, but he'd never seen this.

"Would you run upstairs and get it for me? It's in the drawer in the bedside table," she pleaded.

Good God. He was being tested today. Charlie charged up the stairs into her bedroom, then stopped short at the sight of the frilly white bed. He opened the bedside drawer. Inside was something called Kama Sutra massage oil, a number of smelly candles, and an asthma inhaler. Ventolin. That was it. He grabbed it. Then, before going downstairs, he stopped to examine the bathroom. In the medicine cabinet he found several bottles of NyQuil, aspirin, Motrin, Tampax, toothpaste, toothbrush, a hair dryer. Not a lot else. No birth control pills, no condoms, nothing of an intimate nature. She may have stayed here from time to time, but this woman didn't live here. He took a leak and washed his hands, checked himself in the mirror. He looked pretty good, if he did say so himself. He went back downstairs, ready to go. The woman wasn't spilling, and he wasn't hanging around to find out what the game was.

"Do you know how to give a back rub, Charles?" she asked, wheezing on the sofa when he trotted down the stairs.

"No, not really." He was out of there for sure.

"Could you just give me a little back rub, just so I can relax? I know I'll feel better in a minute. Then we can talk."

"Here's your inhaler."

"Charles, you're the greatest. The absolute greatest."

"Thanks for the champagne. Feel better now." He wouldn't sit down.

Mona's face went into a pout. "Are you going already? We haven't had a chance to talk," she complained.

"Yeah, well, my dad isn't feeling well. But thanks, I had a really nice day. I'll go through those papers you gave me. And if you have anything else you want to share with me, don't hesitate to call." Then he fled.

CHAPTER 34

MONA CALLED IRA FROM HER OFFICE in the warehouse several times the following wee k. He was still having a fit over her behavior at the audit meeting. He didn't seem to understand that she knew what she was doing. All the men in her life were being difficult. He simply wouldn't concentrate on what she was telling him.

"Mona, let me try to explain something very basic to you. The IRS doesn't have to tell you they're investigating you, got that? They can investigate you in secret," he told her heatedly.

"Ira, I don't know what you're referring to," she said, irritated that he couldn't stick to the subject. "I'm talking about Cassie. I'm trying to get through to you. There are going to be consequences if she doesn't leave me alone."

"Look, I understand the situation, but you have to sit tight here. You can't do anything. You can't make friends with IRS agents. Do you read me?"

"I would do no such thing. It's not my fault if he's coming on to me. The guy calls me every day."

"This is very upsetting to hear," Ira said angrily. "You have to be careful. You don't want to get him angry at you."

"I told him I can't have a relationship right now, but men just like me. I don't know what it is."

"Mona, he doesn't like you. He's working a case."