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her efforts to master her new job had been evident and sincere. She’d carried yet another Christie home that last night. A cynic might suggest that Pat had merely played to her audience when she talked about the books to Annie, but Pat had plucked meaningful bits and pieces from each book. They had last talked about The Secret of Chimneys and Pat had quoted Virginia Revel: “ ‘It’s just as exciting to buy a new experience as it is to buy a new dress—more so, in fact.’ ” Pat’s cheeks had flushed and she’d blurted, “Until now I never thought about doing anything out of the ordinary.”
    At that moment, Annie had a strong sense that Pat had in mind doing something she considered daring. She repeated the quote to Henny.
    “Virginia Revel.” Henny looked intrigued. “I wish we knew what Pat wanted to do. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.”

Chapter Three
     
    A nnie admired the watercolors above the mantel, then stepped behind the coffee bar at Death on Demand. “Amaretto in your mocha?”
    Laurel beamed at her daughter-in-law. “Such a lovely idea, my dear.”
    Annie added chocolate sprinkles to mounded whipping cream, then placed the mug to one side of the artist’s portfolio Laurel had casually placed atop the counter. Laurel’s mug read: You Can’t Trust Duchesses .
    Laurel glanced at the title and made no comment. Her golden hair shirred short, blue eyes sparkling, face radiant, Laurel looked young and vibrant in a scoop-neck pale blue sweater and knee-length frilly polka-dot-print silk skirt. She crossed her legs. The delicate blue of butterfly-bow denim slides matched her blouse.
    Annie fixed an iced latte with a shot of raspberry syrup for herself. Her mug read: Stalemate .
    Laurel looked amused.
    Not, Annie thought, a good sign.
    A sip and Laurel patted the familiar portfolio. “You always work so hard, my dear.” Her tone was admiring.
    Annie was instantly on alert. The smiling comment, though ostensibly a compliment, was a subtle reminder that Laurel had stepped into the breach when Pat failed to show up. Annie gave a modest shrug. “Same old, same old.”
    “It was such a pleasure for me to be able to help out last week when you were busy at the library and dear Ingrid had the book club all by herself.” Almost as if inadvertently, though Annie knew better, Laurel pushed the portfolio nearer Annie. “I know you didn’t mind my taking advantage of that lovely group of women to raise money for animal rescue. Now I feel in my heart”—a graceful hand was delicately placed—“that I must repay that debt and so”—the words came in a rush as swift as the flutter of mallards honing in on a lagoon—“I’m giving you at no charge, of course, your very own collection of the Paws That Refresh to share with Death on Demand’s wonderful readers.” She picked up the portfolio and held it out to Annie as if presenting her firstborn.
    Annie’s mouth opened. Closed. To refuse a gift was rude. She limply took the manila folder.
    Laurel beamed and plucked the folder back. “Since you are always busy, I will take care of all the details.”
    Laurel twirled in her seat to drop lightly to the heart-pine floor. She dashed another smile. “I use masking tape to mount them and that will make it easy to change them out when I have new ones.”
    Annie gripped the edge of the coffee bar. New ones? Was the collection intended for permanent display? Would cat photos cover every inch of free wall space, spreading like kudzu? There had to be some way of deflecting her mother-in-law, short of a lasso.
    Annie’s cell rang. She plucked it from the pocket of her skirt and glanced at the caller ID. Maybe Henny would have an idea. “Hey, Henny—”
    “Annie, I need help.” Henny’s tone was grim. “I just talked to Billy.”
    Billy Cameron, Broward’s Rock’s stalwart police chief, was a good friend and a fine policeman, devoted to his community, hardworking, fair.
    “He says I’m too close to