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shot me an exasperated look. “Of course she did. That’s not the point.”
    It seemed the whole point to me.
    “She had a heart problem, but she didn’t have a heart attack no matter what the doctor says. No matter what your husband says. She was murdered. She took her medicine faithfully and was feeling better than she had in years. She told me so herself. She said she had something special she was working on, something she said I’d really enjoy. We had plans to take a cruise to Italy next month. We were already planning next year’s Christmas ball. She just had one hundred tulip bulbs planted! Does that sound like someone who would just up and die for no reason?”
    I wanted to point out that people made plans all the time, and death intervened. Death doesn’t call and make an appointment; how well I knew that.
    She sat up straight, her momentary emotional outburst over. General Patton had returned. “You work for me, and since your husband won’t do his job, I demand you investigate this crime.”
    I couldn’t help it. Despite my pity for her loss, and even though her cheekbones were tinged a very familiar angry pink and in spite of the fact I knew I’d live to regret my action, I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
    “Investigate? Constance, I am a museum curator, not a private eye. If Gabe doesn’t think there is a crime, what can I tell you? He’s the expert.”
    “You’ve done it before. Found killers.”
    Though she was technically right—I’d been involved in a few incidents where I’d done some investigating on my own—I’d sworn to Gabe I would stay away from playing detective. And, frankly, after what had taken place less than a month ago with the hostage situation, I was more than happy to leave the bad guys to my husband and his officers.
    “Yes, I have,” I said. “But those incidents were all accidental.”
    “But you solved them when the police couldn’t.”
    That was true. It was also the reason I was determined to stay away from this disagreement she had with the police about her friend’s death. My and Gabe’s marriage had enough problems without me getting involved with something like this. Not to mention his mother was coming to town in—I glanced up at the schoolhouse clock on the wall—seven hours.
    “Constance,” I said, looking directly into her red-rimmed eyes. “I am truly sorry about your friend, but I can’t go against Gabe’s decision. I assure you that he and his detectives are very good at their jobs, and if they say that there was nothing suspicious about your friend’s—”
    “They are wrong,” she interrupted. “I’ll pay you overtime. All your expenses, gas and meals and whatever equipment you need to solve the case. Isn’t that what you do with private detectives?”
    “I wouldn’t know because I’m not a private detective.” I took a deep breath, working particularly hard at keeping my voice from sounding irritable. After all, she’d just lost a close friend, and perhaps this was her way of working it out. Besides, I reasoned, it was good practice for the next two weeks with Kathryn who, I was willing to bet, could give Constance a run for the roses in the intimidation department.
    “Benni, please.” Her normally commanding voice sounded odd saying those words. “I’ll do anything. I’ll pay anything.”
    I looked at her a long moment, wishing like anything that I’d called in sick this morning. “I wish I could help you, but if Gabe says there’s nothing suspicious about Pinky’s death, why would you doubt him?”
    “Because I know what I know.” She wagged a long, elegant finger at me. It sounded like something my gramma Dove would say.
    “C’mon, Constance,” I said, finally getting frustrated enough to nip this in the bud. I had too many things to do today. “Who would possibly want to murder your friend?”
    Her triumphant smile told me immediately that my question was the wrong one to ask. She opened up her purse and took