I shook my head. “He's satisfied with pinning it on Woody Woodruff's incompetent handling of the guns.”

“The reenactor?” She sounded incredulous. “He's the best in the business. He'd never make a mistake like that.”

“That's what I thought. But no one else had access to the guns after they were locked up, except…” Except you. Just how affected was she by Macmillan's plans for the Highway to Hell? “Those keys were in your possession all night, weren't they?”

Janet looked wary, as if she could read my mind. “Yes, Tori, they were. There's absolutely no way… wait a minute… I just remembered something… no, it's too silly.”

“What?”

“After we were finished, I went upstairs to get my briefcase. Woody, Darious, and Lizzie got out of the elevator on the first floor, but Mack rode all the way up with me.”

“Did he come into your office with you?”

“No. He said he had to pick some things up from his office. I'd no sooner got inside than I had the urge to go to the bathroom. That's the worst part of being pregnant-you have to go all the time.”

“What does this have to do with the keys?” I asked.

“You asked me if they were in my possession all night, Tori. I'm trying to tell you they were, except for about five minutes when I was in the john. My purse and my keys were on the desk in my office where I dropped them when nature called.”

“But the only person on the floor with you was Mac-millan. Are you suggesting he switched keys with you? Why would he do that?”

Janet got to her feet and threw her hands up in the air. “I'm not suggesting anything, Tori. I'm only telling you what happened. I know what you're thinking, and I did not, I repeat, I did not reload those guns. Excuse me. I think my mother needs help.”

She stomped off through the throng of guests. From where I sat, it looked to me like her mother had everything under control at the refreshment table.

The clock was chiming half past nine when I got home. The cats were waiting for me in the kitchen, and by the furious swishing of their tails they let me know they were all alone and not happy about it. On the table I found a note from Ethelind saying she'd gone to the Shepherdstown Opera House with some friends and would be home late. I hadn't had an evening to myself since I'd moved in, so I decided to use the time alone to curl up with a good mystery and a cup of tea and try to forget that Garnet was in Washington, D.C., probably having a great time without me.

I was transferring boiling water from the kettle to Ethelind's Blue Italian Spode teapot when the telephone rang. I finished pouring, dropped in two Darjeeling teabags, then answered.

“Hi.” It was a man's voice. A very husky-sounding man's voice.

“Who is this?” It wasn't Garnet. I'd recognize his voice anywhere. “Darious.” “Oh!”

“You didn't tell me you're a reporter.” “If you don't know that, you're the only person in

Lickin Creek who doesn't.”

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Getting ready to have a cup of tea. Why?”

“Just wondered if you wanted to take a ride tonight.

I put the jumper on the carousel.”

I sighed. This wasn't right. I couldn't let myself fall into a relationship I didn't need or want. “Sorry. I'm not up for it tonight.”

“The hippocampus misses his sea nymph.” “Darious, please stop. I'm not coming over.” “You and that college professor got something planned?”

“She's not even here. I'm reveling in the solitude. I've fixed a pot of tea, and I'm going to read for a while, then go to bed early and catch up on my sleep.”

“Heard your guy left. Thought you might be lonely.” He was beginning to annoy me. “Look, Darious. I'm afraid I've given you the wrong impression.”

“I don't think so.” His voice was low and intimate. “Good night,” I said firmly, then hung up the phone.

Had I misinterpreted? I thought not. He knew Garnet was gone, and he was ready to move in. I didn't want to get into that kind of messy situation, and I knew I'd have to straighten him out before much more time went by.

Before I was finished placing the teapot, milk pitcher, and a cup and saucer on a tray, the telephone rang again.

“Hello,” I snapped, knowing I sounded impatient.

“Hi, Tori. This is Woody.”

All I could think of saying was, “Oh no!”

If he thought that was an odd greeting, he didn't say so. “I wondered if you were busy this coming weekend?”

Another man trying to make a move on me, and Garnet barely out of town! “Busy? Yes, this weekend and every weekend for the rest of my life. And don't ever call me again.” I banged the receiver down hard enough to rupture his eardrum. The nerve of these men! Garnet had only been gone one day, and already two guys were trying to pick me up.

Ethelind was a confirmed Anglophile, and her library contained all the great English female authors of the Golden Age of Mystery, the period between the two world wars. I selected an old favorite, Dorothy L Say-ers's Gaudy Night, and settled down in the front parlor under a crocheted afghan to lose myself in Oxford. Outside, an autumn wind was howling through the trees, a sure sign that our beautiful but hot Indian summer was near an end. But inside, I was warm and cozy, with my cats, my tea, and my book.

My peace was shattered abruptly when I heard a ringing noise coming from the upper reaches of the house. Fred and Noel heard it at about the same time. Fred reacted by crawling beneath the afghan to hide, while Noel stared intently at the ceiling as if she could see through it.

“It sounds almost like my alarm clock,” I told them. “Could I have accidentally set the alarm for ten at night when I was trying to turn it off this morning? I'll be right back.”

After marking my place in my book, I ascended the grand front staircase to the second floor and my bedroom at the end of the hall. Sure enough, my alarm clock was cheerfully ringing next to the bed. I pushed the button to quiet it, then reset it to ring at eight tomorrow morning.

The cats were pacing nervously in the front parlor when I came back. I apologized for leaving them, and they settled down after I'd stroked them for a little while. I poured myself another cup of tea, opened my book to the marked page, and returned to the world of Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane. After a short while the pages began to blur. I yawned and tried to keep reading, but it was all I could do to hold the book upright, much less turn the pages.

I gave up and let the book drop to my chest. With my eyes closed, my thoughts drifted back to the investigation I'd been trying to put out of my mind for the evening. I gave in and decided to think about who might have had a reason to kill Mack Macmillan. His wife? Because the spouse is always number one on suspect lists. But Charlotte was away the weekend he was executed, and everyone who'd known the Macmillans as a couple spoke of her devotion to him.

Woody Woodruff? He and Macmillan had had some sort of row about property development. But would he be stupid enough to kill an enemy in a way that made him the obvious suspect? I didn't think so.

Janet Margolies? Her family's business was being torn down to make way for the Macmillan Highway to Hell. The execution was her idea, and she had invited Mack to play the role of the victim. She had the keys to the storeroom where the guns were kept in her possession. Janet Margolies could be a suspect.

Darious DeShong? Involved, like Woody, with loading the guns. But other than that, there was no reason to suspect him. I could see no connection between him and Macmillan.

Ken Nakamura? Had he held Mack responsible for his brother's death and his family's disintegration? The old professor claimed to be a pacifist, but was he really?

Gloria Zimmerman? She'd said she was glad he was gone. Had a grudge against him because of his lobbying support for puppy mills. Not really a motive for murder, unless there was something I had missed.