"We were always having a problem. I was his problem. Well, and Gigi, too. I always kinda thought he wanted other kids, y'know? Smarter kids. Better athletes. More motivated." He shrugged. "Some parents are just like that. My friend Dillon? His dad's a total f.u.c.k wad. Told Dillon that if he didn't get a job, he wasn't invited to Thanksgiving. That's cold, man."

"How old is Dillon?"

"Twenty-four."

Sometimes I worry about the state of America's youth, but then I remember what I was like at his age, which although different-I wasn't a drug user-was kind of the same. I hate to use the word slacker. It's just got too many bad connotations. I prefer motivation-challenged. I didn't know what the h.e.l.l to do with my life, and I spent my time stumbling through some college courses that still have the power to cause me moments of intense puzzlement. I remember one cla.s.s t.i.tled Strategic Achievement in Common Socioeconomic and Cultural Workplace Situations in Conjunction with, or without, Today's Technological Advances. I dropped out after a week of obscure lectures. The only thing I remember is great bandying about of the term utopic model. My strategic achievement was getting the h.e.l.l out.

"So, you're working for Violet, huh?" He sounded more curious than appalled. "Wow. I hear she inherited a ton a' money. Maybe that's what killed Dad." He barked out a laugh. "He hated not being in control."

"He controlled with money?"

"Oh, s.h.i.+t yeah. Totally. I don't mean to, like, talk bad about him. I'm sorry he's gone. He was...my dad." Sean stopped short. It took him a couple of tries to get started again. Clearing his throat, he finally said, "But he really got upset when we didn't follow the plan. 'The blueprint,' he called it. Y'know?"

"The blueprint." I was getting a bigger picture of Roland Hatchmere beyond Violet's description of him as a good father and an excellent plastic surgeon. "Sean, have you thought about who might have killed him?"

"Besides Violet...?" He looked away, staring into s.p.a.ce for long moments. "Those robbers, maybe?"

"Maybe."

"n.o.body hated him, if that's where you're going. He didn't make enemies. No botched surgeries, when he was practicing. And he didn't screw anybody over in his business dealings. I mean, I don't think he did. Y'know Gigi and I had our problems. Like all kids, right? But everybody else thought he was great. Just ask 'em."

"Can you give me some names?"

"Like of his friends? Sure."

Quickly I pulled a small tablet and pen from my purse. Sean scribbled down a list of people. "Is there anyone else? Other relatives? Businesspeople?" I tried to jog his memory.

"Oh yeah." He added a few more scratch marks to the list.

When he handed it back I felt jubilant. With Sean's tacit endors.e.m.e.nt, these people might actually talk to me. "Thanks."

"Who do you think did it?" he asked.

"I'd have to get a lot more background before I could venture a guess."

"You don't think Violet did it."

I shook my head.

He grinned. "You don't like her, do ya? What happened? She screw you over, too?"

"Did she screw you over?"

"Oh, sure. Tried to get Dad to change his will, leave it all to her. He balked and they fought, and he lost his license and she was gone. But then she was back. You should talk to Melinda." He gestured at the list. "Dad's wife. You know she had to be really crazy, thinking about Violet returning to Portland, probably worming her way back in. Violet's like that. She just doesn't give up."

"Mm."

"You should talk to my mom, too," he added. "I put her name on the list."

I glanced down, pretending I didn't know whom he meant, though I'd practically memorized the names of the main players. "Renee?"

"Yeah. She doesn't live around here. She came up for the wedding, but, well, you know how that turned out."

Actually, I didn't. Violet had mentioned a minor brouhaha at the rehearsal dinner between Roland and his first wife, but she hadn't been there and I hadn't been able to gather any more information.

"What happened with Renee?"

But Sean, having realized I was fis.h.i.+ng, decided to shut down. He shrugged and said, "She didn't like Violet, either, I guess."

I thought of my timeline and said, "What time did she get to the wedding? Was she with Gigi at Castellina, getting ready?"

"I don't know..." He glanced over his shoulder. "You know, we're gonna be playing some good stuff. You wanna get ready?"

"I'll stay for some of it," I promised. He was clearly trying to get me off track and I wasn't ready to give up.

"No, I mean. Ya wanna get ready?" He inclined his head toward the rear of the building.

I looked in that direction. "You mean, get high?"

"Hey, alcohol's way worse than weed," he said, apparently hearing some condemnation in my tone I hadn't meant to voice.

"I've got my poison, thanks." I hoisted my empty gla.s.s.

"Well, okay...I guess we're done, then." He made a face and headed toward the back.

I hesitated a moment, then returned to my seat. Apart from some leftover questions concerning Renee Hatchmere, I felt I'd gotten all I could from Sean. I managed to stay through the first set before heading for the door. Either I'm growing old or my tolerance is shrinking, but I couldn't handle the pounding beat and roaring, amplified electric guitar. Everything inside my head was throbbing with the music. I slipped out into the icy night air and drew a deep breath. Outside, the din was m.u.f.fled and almost okay.

I walked quickly to my Volvo, climbed inside, switched on the key and s.h.i.+vered until I was almost home. Hurriedly, I ripped off my clothes and threw a T-s.h.i.+rt over my head. When Binkster gave me a blinking, hopeful look, staggering to her feet, I threw back the covers in an invitation and we both settled into bed with a sigh.

I fell asleep with doggy toenails planted against my back.

In the night I heard a peculiar ringing sound I didn't a.s.sociate with any noise I knew. I lifted my head reluctantly and saw it was after 3:00 a.m. Vaguely I discerned that the noise, now silenced, had come from my cell phone, which was lying on my nightstand, being charged. I grappled for it and knocked an empty plastic gla.s.s onto the floor. "s.h.i.+t," I muttered as Binky snorted loudly but refused to lift her head.

I punched a b.u.t.ton to light up the dial and saw that I had a text message. Aha! That was the undefinable ring. I pressed the b.u.t.ton with the little envelope on it, and a message popped up: party at Do Not Enter broke up at one. Since then, lots of crying at Rebel Yell. Something's definitely wrong. Need you to investigate.

DAD.

I set the phone down and drifted back to sleep. Dwayne's initials are DAD for Dwayne Austin Durbin. Now he wanted me to investigate what was happening across the bay?

"He's around the bend, Binks. Completely around the bend," I mumbled.

She answered with an inhaled doggy snort that I swear made the bed thrum as if it were equipped with Magic Fingers.

CHAPTER THREE.

T he next morning I made my usual run to the Coffee Nook and poured myself a cup of basic black coffee while Julie, the shop's proprietress, and Jenny, Julie's number-one employee, served up a rush of customers. One of the regulars I know only as Chuck had been to a charity auction and had bid on, and won, a ride-along with the Lake Chinook cops. I was slightly amazed anyone would be interested. I pictured the cops racing out, sirens screaming, to rescue a cat from a tree. Of course with the current sensibilities of Lake Chinook, it would probably be rescuing a tree from a cat. Either way I was glad it was Chuck who'd parted with his hard-earned money for this treat rather than myself.

"The cop's name is Josh Newell," Chuck said, reading from his "certificate," a page with a glued on gold seal that said he was a WINNER!!! "Ever heard of him?"

Jenny shook her head, but I said, somewhat surprised myself, "I have." Everyone turned to look at me. "I gave his sister Cheryl a ride from the airport. She told me Josh was with the LCPD."

"I thought you avoided the police," said Julie.

"I've never met the guy. Just his sister." I'd tucked the information away for future use, but hadn't expected it to pop into my world so soon.

"Wanna go with me?" Chuck invited eagerly. "It's for two." He waved the certificate in my direction.

No...thank...you...please...G.o.d...

"I don't think I could fit it into my schedule," I demurred.

"Hey, it's not for any specific time. Any time next week work?" Chuck looked at me hopefully. He's around sixty with a barrel torso and close-cropped Homer Simpson hair.

"Not really."

"Thursday?"

"No."

"Yeah, right. Weekends'd be better. Friday. I'll take you to dinner, and then we'll ride around with Josh."

"Take her to Foster's on the Lake," Jenny said. "Her favorite place. She won't say no."

I gave Jenny a long look. She was grinning.

"Foster's it is," Chuck said merrily. "I'll pick you up at six."

"I'll meet you there," I said. He threw an arm up as a good-bye and I turned to Jenny as soon as he was out the door. "Judas."

"You could have said no."

"Free food at Foster's? Yeah, that's gonna happen."

"We'll come and meet you. Right, Julie? Jane, tell Jeff Foster to comp us a meal."

I laughed. We all knew Jeff Foster was a major cheapo and ice cubes would freeze in h.e.l.l before he comped the likes of me a meal.

"Tell him it's for me and Julie."

I snorted.

"Come on, Jane. Go with Chuck. It'll be fun."

Right up there with root ca.n.a.ls.

"We'll all meet at Foster's," she said. I could practically see the wheels turning inside Jenny's head as she planned to weasel a meal. I appreciate this about her.

"All right," I said on a sigh.

My cell phone rang as I was taking a shower. I don't know what it says about me, but I have a h.e.l.l of a time letting a phone ring, any phone, and I half debated on jumping out and running naked for it. It was with a supreme effort of self-control that I let it go to voice mail, and so I was perturbed when there was no message and the number on caller ID was one I didn't recognize.

I threw on my jeans, a blue V-necked, long-sleeved T-s.h.i.+rt and my black jacket, then punched in the digits to see who'd phoned. A woman's voice answered in irritation: "Yes? Who is it?"

"Jane Kelly, returning this number's call." I grabbed for my brown boots and encountered the wriggling body of The Binkster as she decided she needed some attention right then and there. I began petting her and she grabbed my hand with her mouth, a surefire sign she would prefer food over attention.

"Oh." A pause. "This is Gigi Hatchmere."

"Oh," I repeated in surprise. The last time I'd seen her was on the opposite side of her quickly shutting door. I'd had a brief glance of short dark hair, angry brows and a mouth turned down in what looked like perpetual displeasure.

Binkster gave a sharp yip when her ploy failed. I ignored her so she grabbed my pant leg with her teeth and growled. Her growls sound like they were made by Mattel: cute and puppyish. I pushed her aside but she came back for more.

"Sean told me you went to see him last night. What a dope head. I hope you didn't listen to anything he said. He should be committed, he's so screwed up. And he has no family loyalty!"

"He seems to want to know what really happened to his father." Not exactly what he'd said, but she didn't have to know.

It incensed Gigi. "Well, of course he does. We all do. What do you think? Violet killed him! And she gets to just walk around with all her money? That's just plain wrong! Why don't you stop hara.s.sing us and put her in jail where she belongs? Jesus, I can't believe this. The police are doing nothing. Nothing."

That wasn't exactly the truth, either, but I saw an opportunity to push my own agenda. "I've been hired to investigate your father's death and find out what really happened."

"I know! By Violet. You're working for her."

"If I learn Violet's involved at some level, I'm duty-bound to report that to the authorities." Again, not exactly the truth.

"Violet killed him. And she's paying you."

What a stickler for detail. "Are you interested in finding your father's killer?"

"Absolutely."

"Then talk to me. Meet with me. Let me get some background. It may be just as you think, Violet could be guilty, but my loyalty's to the truth."

I heard the ring of conviction in my voice and was impressed with my skills of persuasion. I crossed my fingers that Gigi was impressed, too.

"You would really turn on Violet even though she's paying you?"

"What do you care, as long as justice is served?"

"I don't, I guess..."

"Who knows how long it will take the police to follow leads? I'm working on the case right now. I want to know what happened that day."