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out to complete his cheese-stuffed figs.
    Esther took one of my hands and squeezed it. “Be honest with me. Do you feel up to working now?”
    I nodded. “I desperately need to get my mind on something else. Give me some tasks, and I’ll be much better.”
    â€œSweetie. This is crazy! And not even two months after that whole incident at the church bingo hall!”
    I winced, and Esther looked sorry. “I need to be quiet,” she said.
    â€œNo, it’s okay. It wasn’t someone I knew—just a man who was playing Santa at the school where a friend of mine, Jenny, teaches. That’s who I was bringing the food for; they had a big Christmas event today. She said the guy was a local actor named Brad Whitefield.”
    Esther stiffened. “Brad Whitefield. Why do I know that name?”
    I shrugged.
    â€œWhat age is he? Around thirty?”
    â€œProbably. I mean, he had the Santa beard and hat, so I couldn’t really tell, but he looked youngish.”
    â€œOh dear. I’m going to call Mark. I think he might have known this man.”
    Mark was Esther and Jim’s oldest child; he worked for a computer firm in the city. Sometimes he came by and mooched food and flirted with Gabby and Nicole and me; I liked him, although not romantically.
    â€œCall him tomorrow, maybe. I don’t want to get you off schedule.”
    Now Esther was looking at her watch. “I think we’re okay. I think we’re just fine. Now you do as Jim said, and rest here.”
    She got up, but then bent and kissed my forehead. “You and the two girls out there—you’re like daughters to me, you know that?”
    â€œThanks, Esther. That’s sweet.”
    She left, looking a bit shaken, and I leaned my head back on the couch and closed my eyes in their nice, quiet retreat of a living room. One of their cats, Penelope, leaped up and leaned against me as if in solidarity. She purred so loudly that it made me laugh; she squinted at me with her little white face, and it calmed me. I scratched her head for a while, then closed my eyes. I was on the verge of falling asleep when I shook myself and took out my cell phone. I didn’t want to upset my mother and father—I had endured enough emotional scenes for one day. Their reaction could wait until tomorrow. Instead I called my brother, Cameron, whom I knew I could count on not to cry in my ear.
    â€œHello?” he said, sounding distracted. Cam was alwaysdistracted, and usually by his ridiculously beautiful girlfriend, Serafina.
    â€œCam. It’s me.”
    â€œHey, kid. We were just talking about you. We thought—”
    â€œCam, listen. There’s been—an incident.”
    â€œWhat? With Mom or Dad?”
    â€œNo, no. I seem to have witnessed another murder.”
    â€œYou have
got
to be kidding me!” Cam yelled.
    â€œNo. I wish I was.”
    I could hear Serafina questioning him in rapid-fire Italian; Cam turned away from the phone to yell some Italian back at her. Cam taught Italian as a foreign language at Loyola University. Serafina was an Italian in America, studying chemistry at the University of Chicago.
    Finally he was back. “So what’s going on? Are you okay?”
    â€œYes, I’m fine. But—Detective Parker—”
    I held the phone away from my ear as Cam let loose with a stream of invective. Then he said, “Why do you have to deal with that guy? Tell them you want to talk to someone else.”
    â€œThat’s not how it works, Cam.” I felt a little glow at my older brother’s protectiveness. He had been very angry at Parker back when the latter walked out on the fragile little something that we had.
    â€œFine. Then I’ll deal with him. I don’t want you talking to that guy.”
    â€œAnyway, will you let me finish?”
    â€œWhat, then?”
    â€œHe wants me to stay with other people. Not to be alone. He wants to make sure I