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explained that,” she said stubbornly.
    “She’s openly stated that she detested the woman,” he repeated. “Okay, then, the best way you can help Liza is by being supportive and staying alive. Meddling in the case won’t do it.” He watched closely as if to assure himself that she’d gotten the message. Finally, he nodded in satisfaction. “I want to go fill the police in on what Jason Jeffries told you.”
    “He said he’d already told them.”
    “And you believed him?”
    “Yes.”
    “Molly, a man who just committed a murder might not be above a little lying.”
    “He didn’t do it,” she said staunchly. “Not any more than Liza did.”
    “I’m glad you’re convinced, but I think I’ll share the information with the police just the same. Stay put,” he said when she started to wander off in the opposite direction.
    She stayed where she was until he was out of sight, then set out to mingle some more. Inside. In plain view of lots of witnesses. There was no telling what she might overhear. Listening wouldn’t be breaking her vow to Michael. Not exactly, anyway.
    Besides, she really wanted to get a better sense of what Tessa Lafferty had been like. Clearly Liza and Jason Jeffries had pretty jaded views of the woman. Her own contact with her had been limited. Surely there were others who held more kindly memories.
    Then, again, if all the rumors she’d heard over the years were true, maybe not.

CHAPTER
FOUR
    Tessa Lafferty was a bitch. Everyone said so, according to Liza’s frequent, biased reports over the months of planning for this gala. Everyone had a story to tell about how Tessa had slighted them, run roughshod over them, offended them, or, in some instances, even betrayed them. They discussed her lousy behavior as if tolerating it were some kind of badge of honor. Molly was surprised half the women on the committee hadn’t gone out and purchased buttons declaring I SURVIVED TESSA LAFFERTY .
    And yet, to Molly’s amazement, they worked with her. When she’d asked why, Liza had pointed to her powerful name, her sizable bank account, and her formidable determination to get the job done. Mary Ann Willoughby had also run interference.
    Despite the enjoyment her committee had once taken in ripping her to shreds, apparently things had changed now that the discovery of her body indicated some discretion was called for. As Molly circled through the rooms surrounding the courtyard on Vizcaya’s lower floor—the Adam Library, the Renaissance Hall, the East Loggia, the Music Room, the Banquet Hall, and then finally the Tea Room—she was astounded at how many of these previously declared enemies suddenly adored the woman.
    “So generous,” said one aging dowager, who only a few weeks ago had cut Tessa dead in a Bal Harbour boutique favored by the society matrons. Word of the slight by Patrice MacDonald had spread like wildfire. Even Molly, who was not normally plugged into that particular rumor mill, had heard about the incident by nightfall. Liza’s report had been especially gleeful.
    “Such an organizer,” commented another, who’d battled to have Tessa removed as chairwoman for one of her own pet charity functions.
    “A class act. Truly a class act,” noted yet another, whom Molly recognized as the wife of a man who’d just recently had a widely known, passionate fling with the ever-so-classy Tessa.
    The three women managed to deliver their praise with straight faces, a feat that Molly felt was deserving of some mention. She joined them against the backdrop of a stained glass wall beyond which the lit gardens were on display. Since all that glass reminded her of a church, perhaps it would be enough to inspire a few confessions.
    “I’m sure you all must be distraught,” she said, lacing the observation with a heavy dose of somber sympathy that she hoped would cover her inexplicable nosiness. “I know you all traveled in the same social circle. How long have you known Tessa?”
    She