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thought about the photo of me standing by Margaret’s car. The photo must have freaked me out a little more than I cared to admit.
    * * *
    I fixed another fluffernutter for dinner, realizing a diet of fluffernutters would get old quickly, but I still didn’t have my car back. At six, I flipped on the news, and the story of Margaret’s death was covered even by the Boston stations. Her family had a compound on Nantucket, but they’d called Ellington home for many generations. Philanthropy and industry seemed to be the main words used to describe the family. After getting my fill of Margaret’s family history, I flipped on the Celtics game. During the commercials I approved posts for the garage sale site. If I’d known how much time the site would take up, I wasn’t sure I would have started it. The admin of the Concord site had warned me and hadn’t been overstating the amount of work.
    At halftime there was a knock on my door. I hoped it was Stella Wild, my friend and landlady, who lived in the apartment below me, so I could vent about finding Margaret. I yanked open the door. Seth Anderson stood there.

Chapter 5
    In his black cashmere overcoat, gloves in hand, he looked every bit Massachusetts’s Most Eligible Bachelor, which he’d been named by a magazine two years running. I hadn’t seen him in person in several months. I’d seen pictures in the newspaper—lots of pictures. Him at this gala or that charity event, always with some dazzling-looking model type on his arm, but never the same one twice in a row. He was a darling of the society pages, and every one of those pictures sparked a jealous twinge in me, as much as I’d like to deny they did. Here I was, dressed in sweats, a Celtics T-shirt, and pink, fuzzy slippers. At least I still had a bit of makeup on.
    â€œI know I’m breaking the ‘You don’t want to see me’ rule, but I thought finding Margaret dead and a trip to the police station allowed for relaxing the rule.”
    Seth was the district attorney for our county and thus would know when any major crimes occurred. He smelled heavenly—fresh air and soap. I’d forgotten how deliciously tempting he was, even with his dark hair mussed, like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times recently. I was happier to see him than I wanted to admit to myself. We’d met in a bar last winter, and I was still embarrassed that I’d slept with him that first night. I hadn’t seen him again until last April, and after that we’d dated on and off until last October.
    â€œI take it by your silence that you want me to go.”
    â€œYes,” I said as I shook my head no. Damn. My subconscious was totally betraying me. I sighed. “Come in.” I managed not to say, “Please, please, please come in and hold me and take me and never, ever let me go.” Instead, I demurely stepped back so he could enter. But I wondered if the amused grin on his face meant he read every thought as it flicked through my mind.
    He slipped out of his coat and laid it on the arm of the couch.
    â€œWould you like a glass of Cabernet?” I asked. I definitely needed one.
    â€œSure. That would be great.” He took off his red silk tie and loosened the top couple of buttons of his pristine blue shirt. His dark gray suit must have been custom made, because it fit him so perfectly.
    Seth settled on my couch like he belonged there. I fled to the kitchen. Well, it was more of a shuffle in my fuzzy slippers. I gave myself a good talking to as I opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses. Do not get too close. Be friendly. Polite. Maintain a proper decorum, as much as one can when wearing sweats, a T-shirt, and pink fuzzy slippers. I took a deep breath, gave my shoulder-length hair a toss, and shuffled back into the living room.
    Trying to look composed in fuzzy slippers wasn’t all that easy. As I handed Seth his wine, I