I stepped back a few inches to show her I had no intention of barging into her safe. She went inside, and as her back was to me, I stood on my tiptoes and tried to get a look inside. The safe was actually a room about the size of my apartment in New York, with rows of shelves, much like the bookcases, stacked high with boxes.

Charlotte emerged, closed the safe, and spun the lock. In one hand she held a thin brown manila envelope. “Take it,” she said. “It's Mack's last message to me.”

I opened the envelope, which was not sealed, and pulled out a piece of paper covered with handwriting.

“Go ahead and read it.”

“Dearest Charlotte,” I read. “Are you sure you want me to continue?”

I took her silence to mean yes.

As you know, my financial situation has deteriorated badly. I trusted people who were not trustworthy, and I made some unwise investments. Unfortunately, I used our farm, the farm you love so much, as collateral, and the only way to settle my debts was to sell the farm and pay off my creditors. When I learned I had inoperable cancer and my days were limited, I worried about you, my dearest wife. You would lose first the home you have cherished, then have to face losing me from cancer.

When I heard about the plans for the mock execution, it came to me that I could leave this world on my own terms and you could still have the property. I cajoled Janet Margolies into letting me be the intended victim. Because I had watched Woody Woodruff's men put on other exhibitions, I knew he loaded the guns in advance, and I asked to be there when that was done. When we were finished, I followed Janet up to her office and switched one of my office keys for her storeroom key. If she hadn't gone upstairs on her own. I would have asked her to accompany me on some pretext. I knew she couldn't stay away from the bathroom for more than a few minutes, and that would give me time to exchange keys.

I loaded the guns with lead from my own collection. Before I locked the storeroom. I took one last look at the guns-it was my opportunity to change my mind-and I decided then to go on with my plan.

I stopped reading and said, “I wonder why he didn't get rid of the ammunition he took from the guns.”

“He probably meant to, then ran out of time. Mack was always late.”

“He was late the day of the shooting, I remember.” I read on.

I want you to put this letter in our safe, my dear, and save it if there is ever any suspicion cast on you. If that is the case, bring this out, to prove you had no knowledge of my actions in advance. I'm afraid if that happens, you will lose the insurance money, but my Civil War collection is extremely valuable, and I have left it to you in my will to dispose of as you see fit.

I looked up from the letter and asked, “Where is his will, Charlotte?”

“It's on file at Buchanan McCleary's office. He's our attorney.”

I read the last line. “God bless you and keep you safe, Your loving husband, Mack.”

“I had no idea he'd planned this awful thing,” she said. “I'd never have left town for the weekend if I'd had any inkling of it. Mack was my whole life, Tori.” She wiped her eyes with a Kleenex. “Now you know the whole sordid story, and Mack's carefully planned suicide was a wasted effort.”

“I'm so sorry,” I said.

“I guess you'll have to turn the letter over to the police, won't you?” Her blue eyes looked earnestly at me, and I sensed she hoped I'd be merciful and give the letter back.

“I'm so sorry,” I repeated.

Her shoulders dropped. “I understand. It was wrong of me to have hidden it, but I always did exactly what Mack told me to do.” She buried her face in her hands as her body shook.

I let myself out, taking the letter with me.

CHAPTER 18

BACK IN LICKIN CREEK, I DROVE IMMEDIATELY TO Hoopengartner's Garage, where I found Luscious in the tiny police office in the back of the station. He'd been drinking, I was sure. I smelled vodka, the daytime drink of choice for alcoholics who mistakenly believe it has no odor. But it did have an odor, one I was all too familiar with, having smelled it on my mother's breath for many years.

“What's up,” he said, lurching to his feet. I feared he'd topple over if he tried standing for long, so I quickly sat down on the solitary guest chair and he followed suit with a relieved look on his face.

“This is what's up, Luscious.” I positioned the letter on his desk so he could read it. He frowned, pulled back a little, squinted, then hunched forward. “I'll read it to you,” I said, retrieving the letter. “It's Mack Mac-millan's suicide note.”

“Wow!” Luscious cocked his head, reminding me of a chicken. “Mack committed suicide?”

“Yes, Luscious.” I read the letter to him.

“Wow, Tori. That sounds like he was trying to con his insurance company.”

“Exactly, Luscious. And I have the foam wads and the keys he mentioned in the letter to back it up.”

Luscious shook his head sorrowfully. “Mack Mac-millan. I just can't believe it.”

“He had cancer. Guess he didn't want to die that way.”

“Mack Macmillan. Who would have thought it?”

I interrupted his head shaking and pondering to say, “Luscious, you'll have to call his insurance company, get someone started on this. They'll have to come to some agreement with Mrs. Macmillan to get the money back.”

“My oh my oh my! Mack Macmillan. I can't believe it! He went to school with my pap-pap. Pap-pap's what we always called my grandfather,” he explained. “Guess this lets Woody Woodruff off the hook. I'll tell the D.A. to drop charges against him.”

I left the letter and other items with him, hoping he wouldn't lose them. I was depressed about Charlotte 's plight. She'd gone from beloved wife to wealthy widow to impoverished widow in a very short time. She was extremely popular throughout the tri-county area, and I knew sympathy would be on her side. Once again, I would be Tori Miracle, the troublemaker from New York.

I drove back to Moon Lake with my brain spinning, coming up with all kinds of ridiculous ideas, like organizing a fund-raiser for Charlotte, having a bake sale, or whatever it is they do here in Lickin Creek to take care of their own.

Uriah's Heap, the only taxi in Lickin Creek, was parked in the driveway. There were two suitcases sitting by the back door. Could Ethelind really be leaving? It was too much to hope for, but when I opened the door, there she was, pacing the kitchen, purse in hand, fleecelined raincoat draped over her shoulders. “Tori, am I glad to see you. I didn't want to leave without saying good-bye.”

“You're actually leaving?”

“Yes, I just had a call. The QE II finally has an empty cabin. I'm flying to New York this afternoon and sailing in the morning.”

“I'll miss you.” And oddly enough, I realized I would.

She gave me a boozy kiss on the forehead. “You take good care of my house-and yourself, luv.”

I waved until the Heap was out of sight, then went back inside and closed the door behind me. This time, I made sure it was locked. I'd never spent a night alone in a house as big as this, and I felt rather nervous, especially after the things that had happened to me in the past week.

I poured the contents of a can of chili into a bowl, heated it in the microwave, and sat down at the kitchen table. Fred and Noel sat quietly by their own dishes, not eating, as if they, too, suddenly felt deserted. I ate half the chili, washed it down with a Diet Coke, had a Snickers bar for dessert, then rinsed my dish. My meal, including preparation time, had taken only five minutes.

The ringing of the telephone echoed throughout the empty mansion. My former neighbor and good friend in New York, the almost-world-famous actor/Italian waiter, had warned me many times never pick up on the first ring-it makes you appear desperate. I ignored his advice and grabbed the receiver, cutting the second ring off before it had a chance to get up to speed.