"At the Goose… Wendy and Berni got into it."

Zoe put the margaritas together-a couple ounces of Hacienda del Cristero Blanco, a bit of Cointreau, lime juice; she wetted the rims of the glasses with the lime juice, spilled some salt on the countertop, rolled the rims in it, shook everything with ice, doing it proper-and got Stanhope laughing about the fight.

"… we left them standing there, and she had her tongue so far down Berni's throat, Berni's lucky to be alive…"

"Oh, dear; I know how you feel about her," Stanhope said.

"Yeah." Zoe handed Stanhope her glass: "Luck."

Stanhope said, "Luck," and took a sip and said, "Make a damn good margarita…"

They went and sat in the living room and Stanhope said, "So. Virgil."

"He's going to catch whoever did it," Zoe said.

"You think it'll be a guest?" Stanhope asked.

"We've got to hope not-if it is, it'll all come out, about the gays and so on. You know what the TV stations will do with it."

"I keep thinking about Constance. Should I have told Virgil?"

"If there's any other indication that the killer's a guest, we probably have to. If we don't…" Zoe shrugged. "… I don't know. We might be in trouble."

"I'm not sure how many people know, other than us," Stanhope said.

"Some people do. I'm pretty amazed that Virgil hasn't heard yet-some of Wendy's band members must know. Wendy does, for sure," Zoe said.

"But that makes it look like the band is involved," Stanhope said. "They wouldn't want that."

"And we think it makes it look like the lodge is involved, and we don't want that."

They sipped at their drinks for a minute, thinking, and then Zoe sighed and said, "If nothing comes up, I'll probably tell him when he gets back. I'll just tell him that we don't know anything about it, but it was another murder, and she did stay up here…"

"Mention the band," Stanhope said. "The more he looks at the band, as the cause, then the less it looks like the lodge."

"Mmmm."

"So what I want to know," Stanhope said, "is your position, if it does involve the lodge."

"I'm ninety-five percent go-ahead," Zoe said. "It'd have to be really awful before I'd back out. I'm already moving money, I'm talking to Wells Fargo about a loan, and they're telling me it's no problem. I'll continue the accounting business-I'll move Mary up to partner, and let her run the office-while I set up the lodge."

"Gonna have a lot of balls in the air," Stanhope said.

"What else have I got to do? I've got no life," Zoe said.

"Somebody'll come along," Stanhope said.

"Maybe I ought to jump in bed with Virgil," Zoe said. "It'd never work out, but maybe I could have a baby before it blew up."

"There's an idea," Stanhope said, her tone dry as sandpaper. "A lodge and an accounting business and a baby and no husband to help out…"

"Ah, I'm not going to jump in bed with Virgil," Zoe said.

THEY SAT for another minute, then Stanhope said, "Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't have anything to do with McDill getting shot."

"Margery!"

"Well… I wouldn't tell. But you've got this thing about Wendy, and I guess some people at the lodge knew Wendy stayed over with Erica the night before she was shot," Stanhope said. "You could've heard, and I know you can shoot, because I've seen you do it."

"I didn't shoot Erica McDill," Zoe said.

"And you didn't have anything to do with Constance…"

"No! God! Margery!"

"I'm sorry. I believe you. Even if I didn't… I'd let it go. You're a good person, Zoe."

"I was down at the U that weekend, with some friends. I didn't even know Constance was dead until I got back up here."

"I'm sorry," Stanhope said again. "I just…" She rubbed her forehead. "This whole thing…"

She held up her glass, looking through the cut glass at the ceiling light, and asked, "You got another one of these?"

WENDY ASHBACH had a new forty-two-inch LCD television and Blu-ray DVD player and she and Berni were halfway through Pretty Woman when her father banged on the trailer door and pulled it open and asked, "Whatcha doing?"

"Movie," Wendy said, through a mouthful of microwave popcorn. Wendy was lying on the couch, with Berni sitting on the floor, her back to the couch. Her father came in, uninvited, waved at his daughter's legs. Wendy pulled her knees up to make a space at the other end of the couch, and Slibe Ashbach dropped into the opening.

"What's this shit?" he asked, looking at the TV.

"Richard Gere and Julia Roberts," Wendy said.

"Oh, yeah." He stared at it for a minute, then asked, "Doesn't she blow him or something?"

"You don't see anything," Wendy said. She reached out with the remote and paused the movie. "So what's up with you?"

"Tell me about the cop," Ashbach said.

"I only talked to him for five minutes," Wendy said. "He's a cop."

"What's he think?"

"He doesn't know what he thinks. Some people think the murder was because McDill was taking over her advertising agency and might fire people; some think it was because of a gay thing at the Eagle Nest, a sex thing. And he wanted to know if it was because of me. I told him it wasn't, and gave him my alibi, and he said he'd check it; which is okay with me."

Ashbach looked closely at them, at the scratches on Berni's forehead, and Wendy's bruised eye socket, and asked, "What happened to you guys?"

"Me and Berni got in a fistfight down at the Goose," Wendy said.

"She slept with McDill, night before last. Night before she got killed," Berni said.

"What? Does the cop know?"

"Yeah, he asked me about it, with Berni standing there. That's what set her off," Wendy said. "She hit me right in the eye, before I had a chance to say a thing."

"Witch. I'm gonna have nightmares, about you and McDill," Berni said.

"He's talking to Zoe Tull," Wendy said. "They're hanging out."

"Did you mention Constance Lifry?" Ashbach asked.

"No way," Wendy said. "Let him find out for himself."

Ashbach looked at the two of them for a minute, then said, "You didn't say a word."

Wendy rolled her eyes: "Dad, we're not talking to him. Okay? We said we weren't, and we're not."

"But you both lie like motherfuckers," he said.

Berni leaned toward him and asked, "Gee, what's a motherfucker lie like, Mr. Ashbach?"

Wendy said, "This doesn't have anything to do with us. Lifry was up at the Eagle Nest, like McDill. Another gay murder, if it comes to that."

"Another gay murder of somebody who was talking about helping the band, which is pretty fuckin' weird, if you ask me," Berni said.

"I'll tell you what, you little bitch, talking like that… your goddamn alligator mouth could get your butterfly ass in trouble," Ashbach said.

"Is that right?" Berni asked, staring him down. "I'll tell you what, SA, we just hope the fuck that you didn't have anything to do with those murders. You or the Deuce."

"Dad, take off, okay?" Wendy said. "Get out of here."

"Watch your mouths," Ashbach said. He jabbed a finger at Berni. "Watch your mouths." He gave them a last look, turned, and headed out, letting the door slam behind him.

When he was gone, Berni said to Wendy, "I hope to fuck you didn't have anything to do with McDill."

Wendy shook her head: "I'm cool," she said.

"Okay. I'm not so sure about Slibe Two, though," Berni said. "Every time I look at the Deuce, I get the feeling that somebody smacked him on the side of the head with a coal shovel. He ain't right."

"He wouldn't hurt anybody," Wendy said about her brother. "He's… you have to understand him. He's out there."

"Watches me. All the time. Creeps me out," Berni said. "I wonder what would happen if I showed him my tits?"

"Don't do that," Wendy said.

"Don't worry-I won't." Berni shivered. "He'd probably go off like a bottle rocket. I wonder if he touches himself?"