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tragic bad luck. They had to be suspicious. They just weren’t telling Connie.
    That made a kind of sense. Connie wasn’t a player; she was a passenger. When I’d known her earlier, she’d rarely made decisions on her own. She just went along with what the rest of the family decided. If Annette and the others thought some lunatic was stalking them, they’d take steps to protect themselves and Connie but try to shield her from the knowledge. Why frighten her? Talk her out of it, soothe her, make her think everything was all right. That wasn’t the way I’d do it, but the Deckers would see it as guarding their weakest link.
    There were a few cars parked near the family home on Mt. Vernon Street, the passengers courteously waiting until the new widow had returned. Once the various Deckers started coming inside, a lot of the remoteness that had been in evidence at the cemetery disappeared—because they were no longer on public display, I supposed.
    Annette took off her wide-brimmed hat and gave me a surprise. Her black hair was cut short, almost as short as a brush cut. It was the sort of hairstyle that required no attention other than the occasional trim. Someone wearing that hairstyle was saying to the world, Look, I have better things to do with my time than fuss over hair . A busy-woman haircut. And it suited Annette to a T; she looked stunning. Michelle kept her hat on so I couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if she might have the same cut as her twin.
    Dr. Tom was there, his sandy curls more noticeable than ever among so many ebony-haired Deckers. He and Annette spoke briefly and then moved apart; I wondered how many of the out-of-towners knew they were divorcing. Tom was standing by the buffet, scowling at a plate of ham slices. I went over to talk to him.
    â€œAh, Gillian,” he said when he saw me approaching. “What a sad homecoming for you.”
    I said I would have come earlier if I’d known about the other deaths in the family. Tom didn’t look much better than Rob, but he was holding up about as well as could be expected of a man who’d lost a son, a nephew, a niece, and a brother-in-law all in a period of four months. I told him how sorry I was about Ike.
    Then, oddly, he said the same thing Annette had said: “Ike’s dead now. There’s nothing we can do about that.” He straightened his shoulders and changed the subject. “Are you going to Martha’s Vineyard with Connie?”
    â€œOh, I don’t think so. I’ll have to get back to Chicago.”
    â€œIs that where you’re living now? Are you still directing plays?”
    I told him about the museum. “I’m going to stay with Connie a few more days—I don’t think she should be alone with only the house staff for company. Just until the worst of it is over.”
    He nodded. “Yes, Connie needs people around her. All the time. It’s going to take more than a few days for her to get over this.”
    I sighed. “I know.”
    â€œCan’t your museum struggle on without you for a week or so?” Tom asked. “Come down to the Vineyard for a few days anyway—it’ll give us a chance to get reacquainted.”
    â€œYou’re going down?” That surprised me, because of the divorce.
    He nodded absently. “I need some time alone, to do some thinking—Annette’s off to Paris in a few days.”
    And he was going to sit in that empty house, without his wife or his child … and think himself into a depression? He looked halfway there now. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” I asked cautiously.
    â€œIt’s necessary,” he answered shortly. “These past few months have been torture. We could all do with an accident-free environment for a while.”
    I hesitated, and then took the plunge. “Connie thinks they weren’t accidents.”
    Before he could answer, I felt a hand on