My mother saw Robin as a potential threat to my peace of mind, a possible dumper of her vulnerable daughter, the potential dumpee. His fame and fortune made no difference at all to her. But a couple of the other realtors were more impressed. I thought Patty Cloud, now a partner and divorced twice, was going to come clean across her desk and tackle Robin, she was so enraptured with having a real celebrity in the office. She made a determined attempt to impress him with her attractiveness and her business acumen, and I was pleased to see that she didn't make a dent. Patty had always played one-up with me—a one-sided game, since I had never had a competitive bone in my body. I hoped Patty had gotten something out of it, because it had never made a bit of difference to me.

"I'll be glad to take you around town, get you set up with the bank and a dry cleaner and so forth," she offered, her eyes gleaming. Robin reached over to take my hand, very casually. "Roe is taking care of me," he said. Patty's face was just wonderful. She could think of about twelve bitchy things to say, but she couldn't, because, after all, I was the boss's daughter.

"Thanks," I said, when we were returning to my car.

He knew full well what I meant, but he just smiled his crooked smile. "It was my pleasure," he said, wiggling his eyebrows, and I laughed out loud.

He went back to his motel room to work, and I went home to make phone calls. Mother had worked it so I could move out of this house and into the house on McBride in a week. I called a company on the outskirts of Atlanta, made a definite date for them to come pack up this house on one day, and move the contents to the new place the next. It only cost me an arm and a leg and one kidney. I tried to ignore the stab of pain I felt as I thought of leaving this house empty. I tried instead to focus on the incoming family, with their son who would love living out in the country. He might make friends with my neighbor's dog Robert. Maybe Robert would stop his nighttime howling when the new family moved in. Speaking of Robert, he was doing some daytime howling now.

As I was pulling on some nicer pants to wear to work, I thought I heard a noise downstairs. I stopped breathing to listen better, while my fingers automatically pushed the button through the hole. I took some silent steps to the top of the stairs and listened. There it was again, a step in the hall.

I knew it was not Robin or my mother or anyone who had a reason to be there. I thought of Tracy, her angry face, and I stepped back into the bedroom and lifted the phone. I heard a familiar beep beep beep—somewhere downstairs, a receiver was off the hook. I needed my cell phone.

It was in my purse, which was on the counter in the kitchen downstairs.

"Aurora!" called a familiar voice from downstairs.

My breath gushed out in a sigh of sheer relief. Catherine Quick. It was her afternoon. Oh, thank God.

"Catherine," I called, trotting down the stairs, half-angry and half delighted, "why did you come in so quiet? You could tell I was home."

I came into the kitchen to get yet another shock. Tracy, Robin's biggest fan, was holding a knife to Catherine's neck.

"Oh," I said quietly. "Oh."

Catherine's face was contorted with fear, and tears were running down her cheeks. I didn't blame her. The knife Tracy was gripping was a Swiss Army type thing, as far as I could tell—not a butcher knife, or a Bowie knife. But the blade looked plenty long enough to penetrate a vital area. It would never make it through airport security, for example, I told myself crazily. My thoughts were trying to escape from the here and now.

"You ruined it," Tracy said. "He was just on the verge, I could tell! He was just on the verge of asking me out."

"You're right," I said instantly. She had to be made to let go of Catherine. That Catherine should be involved in this at all was simply atrocious. Catherine was in her sixties, had high blood pressure, and should not be subjected to this deranged woman.

Of course, I shouldn't be, either.

My purse was on the counter, right by the side door, where I had a habit of dropping it. Tracy, her auburn hair falling in snakes around her head, was between my purse and me.

"Did you kill Celia?" I asked, before I thought. Obviously.

She laughed. "I hit her with the statue. She earned her own death."

"But she was already dead," I said, compounding my error.

"She was asleep," said Tracy, frowning. Her face was dirty. She was a far cry from the spic-and-span food provider in her spotless white, the woman I'd met such a few days ago. Could people really crumble that quickly?

"Right," I said hastily. Tracy wanted to take credit for Celia. And if I lived, I'd be glad to tell the police she'd done her best to kill Celia. It was just that someone had beaten her to it.

"For months, I've been planning this," Tracy said.

"Planning... ?"

"Meeting Robin Crusoe. Getting him to love me. Ever since I saw the picture on his Web site."

It was news to me that Robin had a Web site. "Which picture? The picture of Robin and Celia at the Emmys?"

"Yes, right when it first came out. Did you notice the way she was ignoring him? She didn't even care that she was out with a brilliant writer. She's a slut; there's a million actresses in the world who can do what she does. But Robin's a writer in million. I've read every single book he's ever written. Ten times apiece, I bet!" Her face was soft and dreamy, but the knife looked just as sharp. "I've got every short story, in every language. I've got every interview, on-line and in print."

"You probably know more about Robin than I'll ever know." I was quite willing to concede that. I edged a little forward and to one side. The kitchen table was no longer between us, which I regretted, but I was a little closer to the cell phone.

"You're damn straight I do. So what are you doing going to bed with him?"

It was dumb to be embarrassed in front of Catherine, but I was. As if she cared, at this point. "How do you know what I'm doing?" I asked instead.

"I was in the backyard of your new house this morning," she said, so choked with fury I was terrified all over again.

It made me sick to think of her watching Robin and me. I also felt a little surprised she hadn't broken in on us then.

"He wouldn't like me if he saw me kill you," she said, as if she'd heard my thoughts.

"No, he wouldn't." Let's make that perfectly clear.

"But then, if no one finds out, I would get to comfort him when you die."

Okay, so this wasn't getting any better. "Don't you think Robin would know?" I asked.

"He doesn't know about Celia." She looked smug.

"He went to the police, to tell them he suspected you."

I didn't know if saying that was smart or not, but to tell the truth, I needed to find something that worked, and in a hurry.

"Did he really? But I did it for him." She looked more than a little confused. "I'm glad I didn't go back home last night. I got a room in the motel where he's staying. I couldn't get a room on the same floor, because all the movie people are taking up that floor, but I got a room right below him." She sighed. "I lay awake all night, thinking about him."

Hoo, boy. This gal would be spending some time in the loony bin, for sure. I had eased more than a foot closer during her meanderings.

"He's very attractive," I said sincerely, "but I'll bet you need some sleep."

"I can't sleep," she told me, sounding peeved about it. "I just keep waking up. And I know he's there, just out of reach. I need him. I deserve him." She gestured with the knife, and Catherine made a strangled sound.

"And I'm gonna have him," Tracy said quietly.

Quick as a wink, she shoved Catherine to one side and lunged for me with the knife.