My mother rose and swept up her purse and terminated the interview. "My daughter is fine and I am fine, and I cannot imagine that my former husband sent this candy or ever intended to hurt either of us," she said decisively. "He adores Aurora, and he and I have a civil relationship. Our little family habits are no secret to anyone. I don't imagine our little Christmas custom of a box of candy has gone unremarked. Probably, I've bored people many times by talking about it. We'll be interested to hear, of course, when you all find out what is actually in the candy—if anything. Maybe the holes in the bottom are just to alarm us, and this is some practical joke. Thanks for coming, and I have to be getting back to the office." I stood up too, and Lynn Liggett felt forced to walk to the door with us.

My mother got into her car first, while Arthur and Lynn conferred together on the patio. Robin was clearly undecided about what he should do. Arthur throwing out his male challenge, in however subdued a way, had struck Robin by surprise, and he was squinting thoughtfully at my stove without seeing it. He was probably wondering what he'd gotten into, and if this murder investigation was going to be as much fun as he'd anticipated.

I was abruptly sick of all of them. Maybe I hadn't been a big dating success because I was a boring person, but possibly it had been because I had limited tolerance for all this preliminary maneuvering and signal reading. My friend Amina Day loved all this stuff and was practically a professional at it. I missed Amina suddenly and desperately.

"Come have lunch with me in the city Monday," Robin suggested, having reached some internal decision.

I thought a moment. "Okay," I agreed. "I covered for another librarian when she took her kid to the orthodontist last week, so I don't have to go in Monday until two o'clock."

"Are you familiar with the university campus? Oh, sure, you went there. Well, meet me at Tarkington Hall, the English building. I'll be finishing up a writer's workshop at 11:45 on the third floor in Room 36. We'll just leave from there, if that suits you."

"That'll be fine. See you then."

"If you need me for anything, I'll be at home all day tomorrow getting ready for my classes."

"Thanks."

The phone rang inside and I turned to get it as Robin sauntered out my gate, waving a casual hand to the two detectives. An excited male voice asked for Arthur, and I called him to the phone. Lynn Liggett had recovered her cool, and when I called, "Arthur! Phone!" her mouth only twitched a little. Oops, silly me. Should have said Detective Smith.

I watered my rose trees while Arthur talked inside. Lynn regarded me thoughtfully. The silence between us was pretty fragile, and I felt small talk was not a good idea, but I tried anyway.

"How long have you been on the force here?" I asked.

"About three years. I came here as a patrol officer, then got promoted." Maybe Detective Liggett and I would have become bosom buddies in a few more minutes, but Arthur came out of the apartment then with electricity crackling in every step.

"The purse has been found," he said to his co-worker.

"No shit! Where?"

"Stuffed under the front seat of a car."

Well, say which one! I almost said indignantly. But Arthur didn't, of course, and he and his confrere were out the gate with nary a word for me. And I'll give this to Lynn Liggett, she was too involved in her work to look back at me in triumph.

To keep my hands busy while my mind roamed around, I began refinishing an old wooden two-drawer chest that I'd had in my guest bedroom for months waiting for just such a moment. After I wrestled it down the stairs and out onto the patio, the sanding turned out to be just the thing I needed. Naturally I thought about the candy incident, and wondered if the police had called my father yet. I couldn't imagine what he'd think of all this. As I scrubbed my hands under the kitchen sink after finishing, I had a new thought, one I should have had before. Did sending the candy to Mother imitate another crime? I went to my shelves and began searching through all my "true murder" books. I couldn't find anything, so this incident wasn't patterned after one of the better-known murders. Jane Engle, my fellow librarian, had a larger personal collection than I, so I called her and told her what had happened. "That rings a faint bell... it's an American murder, I think," Jane said interestedly. "Isn't this bizarre, Roe? That such things could happen in Lawrenceton? To us? Because I really begin to think this is happening to us, to the members of our little club. Did you hear that Mamie's purse has been found under the seat in Melanie Clark's car?"

"Melanie! Oh, I can't believe it!"

"The police may be taking that seriously, but Roe, you and I know that's ridiculous. I mean, Melanie Clark. It's a plant." "Huh?"

"A club member was killed, and another club member is being used to divert suspicion."

"You think whoever killed Mamie took her purse and deliberately planted it under Melanie's car seat," I said slowly.

"Oh, yes." I could picture Jane standing in her tiny house full of her mother's furniture, Jane's silver chignon gleaming amid bookcases full of gory death. "But Melanie and Gerald Clark could have had something going," I protested weakly. "Melanie could really have done it."

"Aurora, you know she's absolutely head over heels about Bankston Waites. The little house she rents is just down the street from mine and I can't help but notice his car is there a great deal." Jane tactfully didn't specify whether that included overnight.

"Her car is here a lot too," I admitted.

"So," Jane said persuasively, "I am sure that this candy thing is another old murder case revisited, and maybe the police will find the poison in another club member's kitchen!"

"Maybe," I said slowly. "Then none of us are safe."

"No," Jane said. "Not really."

"Who could have it in for us that bad?"

"My dear, I haven't the slightest. But you can bet I'll be thinking about it, and I'm going to start looking for a case like yours right this moment." "Thanks, Jane," I said, and I hung up with much to think about, myself. I had nothing special to do that night, as my Saturday nights had tended to run the past couple of years. Right after I ate my Saturday splurge of pizza and salad, I remembered my resolution to call Amina in Houston. Miraculously, she was in. Amina hadn't been in on a Saturday night in twelve years, and she was going out later, she said immediately, but her date was a department store manager who worked late on Saturday. "How is Houston?" I asked wistfully.

"Oh, it's great! So much to do! And everyone at work is so friendly." Amina was a first-rate legal secretary.

People almost always were friendly to Amina. She was a slender brown-eyed freckle-faced extrovert almost exactly my age, and I'd grown up with her and remained best friends with her through college. Amina had married and divorced childlessly, the only interruption in her long, exhaustive dating career. She was not really pretty, but she was irresistible—a laughing, chattering live wire, never at a loss for a word. She had a great talent for enjoying life and for maximizing every asset she'd been born with or acquired (her hair was not exactly naturally blond). My mother should have had Amina for a daughter, I thought suddenly.

After Amina finished telling me about her job, I dropped my bombshell. "You found a body! Oh, yick! Who was it?" Amina shrieked. "Are you okay? Are you having bad dreams? Was the chocolate really poisoned?" Amina being my best friend, I told her the truth. "I don't know yet if the chocolate was poisoned. Yes, I'm having bad dreams, but this is really exciting at the same time."