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way home from the farmers’ market, to make sure things were going all right with Biddy’s kids.”
    When I went to the farmers’ market, which I rarely did unless I was selling my own produce, I generally ended up with little bits of the free samples stuck about my person—a dab of plum pulp, some nectarine juice, a couple of dribbled tomato seeds. Melanie, of course, had escaped that. The contrast seemed even greater to me because our hair is much the same color brown and we’re about the same height, although she is definitely thinner. She has a thick, turned-under, shoulder-length bob; my hair is short, since I hack it off when it gets in my way.
    When she glanced around the kitchen, I immediately felt like a feebleminded failure. Moira, banging on the high-chair tray, had created a new floor design of small circles and half circles, using the rest of her Cheetos and apple slices. Mick picked up one of the apple slices and offered it to Barker, who licked it and then backed away. Mick promptly began to chew on the slice. Sam had spilled his juice down the front of his already dirty T-shirt, and was loudly demanding more. Corky grabbed a banana and dropped the rest of the bunch on the floor.
    I took the half-eaten slice of apple away from Mick and raised my voice over the resultant protest. “It’s going fine, thanks, Melanie.”
    She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I see.”
    “Chaotic, though.” I finished spreading peanut butter on bread and cut the one sandwich into four pieces, hoping to fill four mouths to the point of silence with it. Corky grabbed the knife and began spreading peanut butter onto his banana. The banana peel reposed elegantly on his head, which made Sam shriek with laughter.
    “Yes, isn’t it?” Melanie inspected a chair and sat down. I found myself hoping that she’d overlooked something dark and squishy, which she wouldn’t know was on the back of her slacks until she’d been in every store on University Avenue.
    Claudia filled the tea kettle with water. “I’ll make some coffee,” she volunteered. “I know Bridget has some instant somewhere in here.”
    Melanie and I exchanged glances. I don’t drink coffee, but Drake did, and I’d watched him make it often enough to know that only the best beans, freshly ground, went into his brew.
    Melanie got up with reluctance. “I’ll make the coffee.” She looked through the door into the living room as she passed.
    “How are the negotiations coming?” Claudia lounged against the counter, arms folded across her ample bosom.
    Melanie rummaged in a cupboard and came away with a box of coffee filters. She found the pot, then looked in the freezer. “Ah!” She held up a bag of coffee. “What negotiations?”
    “Isn’t that why Drake kicked us both out? So he and that hunky archaeologist could dicker?” Claudia grinned at Melanie. “Were the two of you involved in the past? You seemed very friendly.”
    “I’m not at all friendly with Detective Drake.” Melanie’s lips thinned while she measured coffee. “I find him boorish and sly.”
    This tickled Claudia. “No, no,” she chortled. “Not Drake. The archaeologist. What’s his name?”
    “Oh, Richard.” Melanie loosened up a little. “I knew him years ago when we were both students. Of course,” she remembered to add, “he was much older than me. An upper-classman, and he’d done his military service, too.” A reminiscent smile quirked her lips.
    “So was this during your wild period?” Claudia looked interested. She was incredibly nosy, like any good biographer; even if she weren’t really interested in the story of your life, she would probe for details as long as there was an opening.
    Melanie, however, wasn’t open. “None of your business,” she snapped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    Claudia didn’t say any more, but now my curiosity was aroused. I didn’t really care if Melanie had been wild in her youth or not. But since