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him about women was like negotiating a minefield. The worst things happened to Jury’s women.
    Jury’s expression betrayed nothing, however. He said, “A neighbor youdon’t know very well, I take it. Hence the ‘Miss.’ ” Jury smiled. “And here’s Bea Slocum, of all people. Hmm. Interesting to speculate on what these women have in common.”
    Good grief, was anything worse than to have written something exceedingly personal and have someone else come along and read it? Melrose was damned glad he hadn’t yet filled in the “Comments” column.
    Ruthven swanned in with their drinks. Jury thanked him and then went on, relentlessly. “Could these be the women in your life?” His smile was wicked.
    â€œWhat? Of course not.” Melrose let out a snort, dismissing this idea.
    â€œOh. Well, since I know them, then it must be a list of the women in my life. Except for Miss Fludd, of course.” He held up the napkin. “Nancy. That her name, is it?”
    Melrose adopted a superior tone. “Tell me, Richard, is this what you came to see me about? Is this what you traveled all the way from Lincolnshire for?”
    â€œNo. Look here, you didn’t put anything down under ‘Comments.’ Are all of these women comment-less, then?”
    Melrose faked an easy smile. Jury could stick to a subject like glue when he wanted to. He was apparently set to grill Melrose on this napkin list until he came up with some acceptable explanation. This was the way Jury handled befuddled and guilty suspects. “Oh, that.” He waved a hand, brushing aside Jury’s questions with feigned self-assurance. “Well, I hadn’t got around to it, had I?”
    â€œLet’s.”
    â€œLet’s what?”
    â€œMake some comments.” Jury took a ballpoint pen from his pocket and clicked it several times in a most annoying manner.
    Melrose coughed. Why wasn’t he better at thinking on his feet? Why didn’t ideas come hurtling off the top of his mind? “I was just noting down their names as witnesses. They’ve all been witnesses at one time or another; I was just pondering who’d make the best witness. You know—which one would be the most reliable.” That was quick thinking! He was pleased with himself.
    â€œWhy’d you cross out Jenny?”
    Melrose studied the jumping flames of the fireplace. He shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t sure she was a witness.”
    â€œYes, you are. You wouldn’t have had to go looking for her otherwise.”
    Jury was just stitching him up, he knew that. Jury with his poker-face. No wonder suspects wanted to confess. Yet, he did seem to be in a good mood and ready for a joke. “We haven’t met since—” He was bringing it up himself, that fatal meeting in Littlebourne. Oh, hell . . . but the words were out now “—since you came back from New Mexico.” He kept his head down, making wet circles with his glass on the little rosewood table, ruining the finish. “I mean that we’ve actually been sitting down talking . . . ” he added lamely.
    Jury merely nodded. Then he said, “I never thanked you. Macalvie told me you’d been a real help. And God knows Wiggins appreciated it.”
    Melrose was surprised. He laughed. “Wiggins didn’t need me. He loved that hospital. That nurse—” Melrose snapped his fingers. “What’s her name—?”
    â€œLillywhite.” Jury smiled, drank his whiskey. His glance strayed again to the napkin.
    Melrose wished he’d stop eyeing it. “Nurse Lillywhite. That’s the one. He had her running all over London looking for books.”
    â€œAnd still does. Apparently she’s ‘done wonders’—his words—for his health. And his temperament. Both of which have always been perfectly sanguine, far as I’m