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was rather lifeless.
    “It’s older,” Alice replied. “So are we.”
    “Older and wiser.”
    “Well, older, anyway.” Alice put the car into drive and slowly directed it down the gravel driveway. “You’re okay, then?” she asked. “To be here?”
    Poppy nodded. “I’m not going to faint, if that’s what you mean.”
    “Well,” Alice said, “that’s good then.” She wondered if Poppy had been in therapy and hadn’t mentioned it, the way Elinor hadn’t mentioned her affair. Life was more fun, she supposed, when they’d been young and naïve and had discussed life’s minutiae at great, tedious length.
    “Poppy,” Elinor said as she greeted them at the back door. “I am so sorry. I completely forgot. I wouldn’t have had us meet here—”
    Poppy held up her hand. “It’s all right, Elinor. I’m a grown woman now.” She supposed none of them really believed that, but it seemed like the right thing to say. For once, she would try to be there for her friends—for Elinor this time—the way they’d always been there for her.
    “Still, it was selfish of me…”
    “Well, don’t be silly.” Poppy’s head twittered a little, so she spun around. “Catherine Janelle!” she called out to CJ. “You have, indeed, done wonders with this place!”
    Her eyes cruised the living room, with its plump, comfy furniture in natural, neutral shades that accented the copper-like veins of the nutmeg stone fireplace.
    Poppy had no idea how she remembered the fireplace was of nutmeg stone. Memories of this place were usually so confusing.
    She held one side of her cerulean skirt up by its hem and wondered if her heartbeat would ever slow down. She feared that if she let her mouth relax from its smile, her lips would start quivering as they had that day, and that this time they’d never stop.
    With a light fingertip, she touched a bouquet of gerbera daisies that stood in a thin crystal vase. Then she pirouetted to a painting in vivid acrylics.
    “Yours?” she asked CJ, and CJ said, “Yes.”
    “Fabulous!” Poppy twittered again, aware that everyone was watching her, as if they’d been suspended in her precarious air.
    “Simply fabulous!” she repeated, her timbre a bit higher than she would have liked. She twirled back to CJ. “Now where is the kitchen? Do we have Bloody Marys? I believe I could use one or two.”

Eight
    Yolanda was the only one who opted for coffee instead of a Bloody Mary. Then again, Yolanda hadn’t been there when the gardener was murdered.
    Alice meandered around the room, not wanting to witness Poppy’s behavior, but not wanting to look out the window to the garden, where she surely would picture the yellow Police—Do Not Cross tape ribboned through the innocent pink and white blossoms.
    She sat on the sofa and stared at the fireplace until a furnace flared up from her feet.
    Finally, everyone had a beverage, everyone was seated, and everyone waited for Elinor to hold court.
    “So,” Elinor began, “do we have any ideas how we’re going to find out who my blackmailer is?”
    Alice cleared her throat. “What about the note? Did it come in the mail?”
    “No. It was overnighted. A standard courier service. The sender was a phony name and address somewhere in Manhattan. I’ve already checked that out.” A long fingernail traced the crease on her ivory cotton pants.
    “What about the hotel?” Yolanda asked. “Were you at the Lord Winslow with your lover? Is that why your panties were there?”
    Alice blanched.
    Poppy blinked.
    CJ seemed to take a deep breath.
    Sometimes Yolanda was a little too outspoken for the ladies of Mount Kasteel.
    “Yes,” Elinor finally replied. “I met my lover there Thursday night,” she continued. “We’ve often been careful to meet out of town.”
    Out of town? Alice gulped, even though this was not about her.
    “We need to start there,” Yolanda said. “Whoever it was might have been spying on you, maybe waiting to find evidence to