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smiling at V.J. “Mommies these days can be just as exciting as the innocent girls. It’s great to see you, V.J. You look splendid. Sexy as ever. A great mommy.”
    â€œMy children are all long grown up!” V.J. reminded him.
    â€œMummies, my boy, mummies. We’re talking about dead women, though from what I hear of your indiscriminate womanizing, that might not make any difference to you. How are you, Brett? A kiss will be acceptable, but just on the cheek. And quit mauling Sabrina. The child has the good sense to be your ex -wife, and if the right man is out there, we don’t want him being put off by your foolishness.”
    Brett laughed, freed Sabrina and good-naturedly planted a kiss on V.J.’s cheek.
    â€œI am the right man, V.J.,” Brett protested in a mock-pitiful voice. “One moment’s bad behavior, and she won’t forgive me.”
    â€œMy boy, I’m no marriage counselor, but I sense that it might have been a bit deeper than that. Still…” She smiled, lifting her champagne flute to him. “Congratulations, I hear you’re just below Creighton on the list.”
    Brett bowed his head in humble acceptance. “Thank you, thank you. Creighton just had to put out another book the same month, huh? I might have made number one.”
    â€œWell, there’s always next year.”
    â€œSo there is. And since we’re all together here, a fine assembly of mystery, suspense and horror writers, surely we can come up with some new ways to bump off the competition. What do you say?”
    â€œI say it’s in bad taste, considering where we are,” a masculine voice stated softly, and Joe Johnston stepped into their circle. Joe was an Ernest Hemingway lookalike, a handsome man with a bushy beard and a pleasant way about him. He wrote a series about a down-and-out private investigator, charming and laid-back, who still solved the crime every time.
    Joe clinked glasses with Sabrina by way of hello and continued, “I mean, who really thinks that Cassandra Stuart threw herself from that balcony?”
    â€œJoe, shush!” V.J. warned. “It was great of Jon to do this again after what happened last time.”
    â€œMy point exactly,” Joe said. “And that’s why we can’t talk about bumping off our competition.”
    Susan Sharp sidled into their group. “We can’t talk about bumping people off?” she protested indignantly. “Joe, it’s Mystery Week. One of us is supposed to be a murderer and bump off the others until the mystery is solved. That’s the whole point.”
    â€œRight, but that’s all pretend,” Sabrina said.
    Susan laughed dryly. “Well, let’s hope that Cassandra’s being dead isn’t pretend. Can you imagine if she were suddenly to walk back into this room?”
    â€œSusan, that’s a horrible thing to say,” V.J. admonished. “If Cassandra were to suddenly appear here, alive—”
    â€œIf Cassandra were suddenly to appear here, alive, more than half the people here would be thinking of ways to kill her again,” Susan said flatly. “Cassandra was vicious and horrible.”
    â€œAnd smart, talented and very beautiful,” V.J. reminded her smoothly.
    â€œOh, I suppose. And just think—everyone who was here when she died is back again. The guest list is exactly the same,” Susan said.
    â€œI wasn’t here,” Sabrina reminded her.
    Susan shrugged, as if her presence were of little importance. “Well, you were invited, and the point is that those of us who were here then are here again. All of us. Ready to defend ourselves if we’re accused.”
    â€œAccused of murder?” V.J. asked.
    â€œAccused of anything,” Susan said blithely. “We all have our little secrets, don’t we?” she demanded, staring hard at V.J.
    V.J. stared right back at her.
    â€œSusan, if you’re