Right after my mother and John gathered their coats and left (after drinking two cups of coffee apiece, instead of wine, and each having a piece of pumpkin pie), Phillip called and asked if he could spend the night at Josh's.

What I wanted to say was, Yes, if you can keep your hands off Joss! Don't even think about laying a finger on her in her own house! What I actually said was, "Why don't you let me talk to Josh's mom, Phillip? Staying would probably be okay."

Beth Finstermeyer put my mind at ease by letting me know casually that her daughter was off spending the night with her best friend, so the boys could have the run of the house. And she laughed after she said that, so I knew the boys would no more "have the run of the house" than I would swallow a goldfish.

After I hung up, I could tell that Corinne was ready to go back to Robin's apartment and put her feet up. I urged them to take some pie with them, told them my brother was going to be away for the night but that he had surely enjoyed meeting Corinne, and fetched their jackets from the guest bedroom.

Robin's eyes had lighted up when he'd heard Phillip was going to be gone, and he dropped a chaste kiss on my cheek when he was saying good-bye, even as he was whispering, "See you later."

When the door closed behind them and I was finally alone, the relief was enormous. It was five o'clock, and no one wanted anything of me. The dusk was closing in outside, and I wandered around my house, pulling curtains to and picking up the odd crumpled napkin or used glass. I got out the carpet sweeper and ran it over the area rug, then swept the tiled floor that ran down the hall and into the kitchen and den.

There, that was it. All I was going to do today.

Thanksgiving was over.

I had a turkey sandwich while I watched reruns from a million years ago of a show I'd been too young to catch the first time around. I read a little, having a hard time truly engaging my mind in the convolutions of the book, a complicated psychological mystery. In another hour, I was yawning.

A discreet knock at the front door came just in time. It was followed by the sound of a key turning. I'd originally given Robin a key in case he wanted to work in my office while I was gone. A lot of his reference books were on the shelves that lined the office walls, because his apartment just didn't have room for all his books.

"Are you sleepy?" Robin asked, kneeling by my chair.

"I could probably be roused."

"Your brother really at the Fin-whatevers for the night?"

"Uh-huh."

"Oh... goody."

It was one of those encounters where each person seemed to want something different. I was looking for a slow, sweet session, undemanding but satisfying. Robin was feeling more fiery and acrobatic. It took a while to get in sync, but when we did, the climax was the most intense I'd ever experienced. I lay in the dark of my bedroom with Robin's long arms wrapped around me, and I felt content and safe and loved. Though I'd been drowsy before, when I felt Robin relax into sleep, my eyes were open to the darkness.

I thought about Robin and how I felt about him. I thought about how Bryan Pascoe's interest in me didn't spark any feeling in me at all, except mild discomfort. I thought of how amazing it was that I was alive and well, able to experience lying here in the arms of a tall, thin man named Robin Crusoe, whose wild red hair was even now tangling with mine on the pillow. I had this, this wonderful moment, while Poppy, a woman vibrating with life, had had it all taken away.

What had happened to Poppy along her way? What had made her so two-faced? The loving, besotted mother, the well-dressed matron and dutiful wife had also been a promiscuous and sly female. The intelligent college graduate had deliberately wed a man she knew would not be faithful to her—probably in the sure expectation that she would not be faithful to him, either. Or had John David and Poppy married in the belief they'd cleave only to each other? They must have known, even then, that faithfulness was an ideal rather than a reality, given their natures.

Maybe blind optimism could carry you further than you ever meant to go.

I turned to look at Robin's sleeping face. I lay on my side, propped up on one elbow. The night-light in the bathroom provided a faint glow, just enough to see the disheveled head and beaky nose. When I tried to imagine his head lying on someone else's pillow, it hurt deep inside me. And then I felt the surge of anger, the backlash of that pain, just at his imagined infidelity.

Had it been that kind of anger that had motivated the hand that had stabbed Poppy over and over? But the evidence of the search through Poppy's closet and the odd activities of her parents added another layer of complexity to the question of Poppy's death.

"Robin, wake up," I said. I folded his hand in mine.

"What? You okay?"

"Promise me something."

"What?"

"Promise me you'll never cheat on me while we're together. If we break up, okay, anything then. But while we're ... a couple ... no one else."

I sounded more like seventeen than thirty-six, but I was dead serious.

"Had you thought I might?" he asked with some difficulty. "I mean, have you seen me looking at anyone? You know Janie isn't anyone I'd ever really date. She's just a goofy girl." He clearly didn't want to have to go over the Janie Spellman ground again.

"I know," I said hastily. "That was just a ... momentary craziness. I'm not saying I've seen you look at anyone specific. No. But I just want to hear you say it."

"I have no intention of going to bed with anyone but you," Robin said clearly. "I think it's completely obvious that I love you."

Well. I should wake Robin up more often.

I bent and nuzzled his neck. "I love you, too," I said, the words coming more easily than I had thought they would.

"I was hoping," he mumbled. "Now, can I go back to sleep? Talk tomorrow?"

"Sure," I said, reversing again so my back was snuggled up to his front. "Sure."

Chapter Ten

I called Melinda after I got up the next morning. It was late. Robin had gotten dressed and left about 1:00 a.m., giving me a kiss and a pat. He'd left a note on my coffeepot to tell me that he'd talk to me later. He'd signed it, "Love, your Robin."

I had to wait awhile before I had my coffee that morning. Something I'd eaten the day before, or maybe just the volume of the food, had made me a little queasy. When I had a piece of toast, I felt much better, and by the time nine o'clock rolled around, I figured Melinda would be up and dressed and safely into her morning. I poured some kibble into Madeleine's bowl while I waited for Melinda to pick up the phone. I wondered why Madeleine didn't come in, and realized I hadn't seen her the evening before, either. But that wasn't especially significant. I often missed her little visits to her food bowl.

Melinda had had a good time at her parents' home, she reported. She'd seen her brother and her sister, and their children had played with her children. She sounded as though she hadn't been ready for that little reunion to end.

"We'd been thinking of staying until Sunday, but with everything happening, Avery thought we'd better come back last night," she said drearily. "So, here we are. At least the kids slept most of the way back, and they went right to bed when we got home. But this morning, I think Marcy is coming down with a cold, damn it. Did anything happen while we were gone? Have you heard anything else about the funeral?"

"Not a word. So it looks like Poppy's body isn't going to be released until Monday, if then," I said. "In the meantime, in addition to someone searching Poppy's closet and making a big mess in there and in her bedroom, the Wynns were looking for something all over the house and tossed it around worse than the first burglar."