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   Renee pulled out her hankie again, and when the senator moved on to the next guest, she sniffed and blew her nose.

   Thinking I was one of the mourners, the senator shook my hand briefly and moved on to Eve. He held her hand a little longer. Tall, gorgeous blonde . . . Short, round brunette . . .

   I guess it mattered, even in the political arena.

   It wasn't until after the senator had passed that I saw that a man and a woman had walked into the restaurant behind him.

   Unlike a lot of folks in the D.C. area, I am not a political junkie. But I didn't need to be on the Beltway grapevine to know that this man was related to the senator. He had the same square chin, the same gray eyes. He wasn't as tall or as thin, and he was years younger, but his taste in suits was every bit as expensive as the senator's, and he had the same talent for shaking hands, too. No way this wasn't Douglas Mercy's son.

   "Dougy." Eve must have been reading my mind; she whispered in my ear. "Douglas Mercy IV officially, but Dougy was his nickname as a kid, and it stuck. He's not very happy about it, and who can blame him? It sounds like something straight out of Mayberry. He's the senator's chief of staff, and word has it that the senator's grooming him to take his seat in Congress once he becomes vice president."

   I watched Dougy Mercy greet the people in the crowd as his father had done. When he stopped to chat with a man on my right, I let my gaze drift to the woman who walked at his side. She was dark-haired, dark-eyed, and petite, a wiry, athletic looking woman who in spite of the soft, appropriate-fora-funeral smile pasted to her face, looked incredibly bored.

   I didn't have to say a word. I looked at the woman. I looked at Eve. She knew what I was thinking.

   "That's Lorraine, Dougy's wife," Eve whispered. "She's a mover and a shaker; has roots that go back to the Revolution and makes sure no one ever forgets it. Not that anybody holds it against her; she does too much good for that. In addition to throwing the best parties in town, she's a doctor. She runs some sleep clinic in Orange County, and when she's not doing all that or jetting off to Europe to ski, she organizes huge fund-raisers for all sorts of good causes. Of course, when it comes to asking for money, it helps to have a Christmas card list that reads like the Who's Who of Washington social life."

   I didn't ask how Eve knew all this. I didn't need to. She'd spent the morning with these people and, funeral or not, she had a way of instantly turning folks from strangers into friends. Besides, I knew that if there was gossip to be had, Eve was the woman for the job. When it came to investigating, I was glad to have her on my side.

   While the senator and his entourage made their way around the room, Eve and I made sure everyone knew they could move toward the salad buffet. After a while, everyone started eating. A hush fell over the restaurant. It was broken by the sound of a spoon clinking against a glass.

   "Ladies and gentlemen . . ." Senator Mercy was seated at one of the tables near the front windows. He rose and stepped into the middle of the room, wineglass in hand.

   "I'd like to propose a toast," the senator said, raising his glass. "To a young woman whose wit and intellect will be sorely missed."

   While all eyes were on the senator, I took the opportunity to check out the crowd again.

   Renee, the administrative assistant, wasn't high up enough on the office food chain to get a table or a seat. She was standing at the bar, her plate of food untouched in front of her. A single tear slipped down her cheek.

   The senator went on. His voice was deep, his accent as thick as hominy. "Sarah Whittaker was more than just a coworker to many of us. She was an ally, a colleague. She had a razor-sharp mind and she knew . . . as you all do . . . that real transformation begins with the people of this country who have the courage to stand up for what they believe. People like you—people like Sarah—don't just talk about what has to change. People like you—people like Sarah— roll up their sleeves and get the job done."

   "Bullshit!"

   Since I was the only one who flinched, my guess was that no one else heard the comment. Even though it was no more than a whisper, it was the last sentiment I expected to hear at a moment like that. Especially when it was spoken with so much venom.

   Naturally, I turned around to see who was standing close by.

   Renee was just a few feet away, but I knew it wasn't her. She was crying too hard to have said anything. Call it a stereotype and my naive belief that little old ladies didn't curse, but I didn't think it was the white-haired, grandmotherly woman beside her, either. The only other people close enough for me to have overheard were a too-handsome-to-be-real man I recognized as Dylan Monroe and the redheaded woman I'd seen earlier.

   Without looking too obvious, I couldn't take the chance of paying too much attention to either one of them. When the senator started talking again, I had no choice but to turn around.

   "Here's to her beauty, to her talent, and to her life." The senator raised his glass a little higher. "Here's to Sarah Whittaker."

   Everyone repeated, "To Sarah!" and drained their glasses.

   Except for Dylan. Staring into the bloodred liquid, he rolled his wineglass between his palms—right before he banged the glass on the bar, pushed through the crowd, and slammed out the front door.

   "He's feeling guilty." Eve saw what I saw. She looked toward the front windows. Out on the sidewalk, Dylan paced back and forth in front of the restaurant. "He's our guy, Annie."

   Now that the toasting was over, the crowd waited for Charlene, Senator Mercy, Dougy, and Lorraine to start the line at the main dish table. Behind the buffet, Heidi served, and as I talked to Eve, I kept an eye out to see if anyone needed anything.

   "Maybe," I said to her.

   "Maybe?" She shook her head. "Does anybody other than Dylan have a motive?"

   I didn't know. Wasn't that the whole point of investigating? Rather than stick around to debate the issue, I headed across the room. No, I wasn't after Dylan. When it came time to talk to him, he wouldn't be hard to find. It was the redheaded lady I was more concerned about. Was she a friend of Sarah's? A coworker? I didn't know. I didn't even know her name. I couldn't take the chance of letting her get away.

   Lucky for me, the woman was finishing the last bite of her spinach salad, and I had the perfect excuse to approach her.

   "May I take that for you?" I asked, pointing to her empty plate.

   She answered with a dismissive sort of gesture that made me think she was used to being waited on, but even so, I took my time removing the plate.

   "It's a shame, isn't it?" I said. "A funeral for a young person. It's always so sad. Did you know her well?"

   The woman fished in her purse, brought out a tube of lipstick, and took her time applying it. "Worked with her," she said, checking her lips in a silver compact.

   I nodded like this was news to me. "From what the senator said, she was quite a powerhouse. You'll probably miss having her around the office."

   "Think so?" One of the woman's perfectly arched brows rose. She put the lipstick back in her purse and leaned closer to me. "If you ask me, the senator should have fired that little bitch months ago."

   "Really?" I didn't have to pretend interest. I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was listening to our conservation and bent my head closer to the woman's. "You mean she wasn't as great as the senator said?"

   The woman laughed coldly. "She didn't give a damn about her work. Only cared about being the center of attention. For months, she's been screwing up everything she touched. Commerce reports, banking reports, voter reports. You name it, she made a mess of it. And who was left to pick up the pieces?"

   I didn't have to be an insider to guess, so I wasn't going out on a limb when I said, "You, right?"

   "Damned straight," she snarled. "Sarah was given all the plumb assignments. Then when it came time to present her findings, she'd turn in some half-assed report. A man of Senator Mercy's stature, he doesn't need that kind of bungled information. It's too important to his career. So of course, every time he asked . . ." She stood a little straighter. "Of course I told him I'd help. And I always did."

   "Why not just have Sarah redo the work herself?"

   "There's a good question, and believe me, you're not the first one to ask it." The woman shot a look across the room toward the senator, and when she realized he just happened to be looking our way, she pasted a smile on her face. "Missed my kid's last damn birthday party, thanks to Sarah," she said through clenched teeth. "Ended up staying late to clean up one of her messes."

   "That's a shame." Truly, it was, but I made sure I slathered on the sympathy. It was the best way to keep her talking. "You think she was on the verge of getting fired?"

   "It would explain why she killed herself, wouldn't it?"

   It would.
If
Sarah had killed herself. I tried not to look too eager. "It sounds like you knew her pretty well."

   "I knew she was useless."

   "Then maybe you also know . . ." I didn't have to pretend to be embarrassed. Sticking my nose in other people's business did not come as second nature to me. Neither did lying. My cheeks were flaming, but I pressed on. "I've heard a lot about Sarah today," I said, easing into the change of subject. "You know, from the people here. I heard somebody say something about how much money she had. They said she bought a really expensive dog. And that she had really nice clothes. Somebody mentioned that she was going on a cruise. I know it's none of my business, but I hope you don't mind if I ask . . . I've been thinking about getting a new job, and if a position on a senator's staff pays that well . . ."

   "If it paid all that well, believe me, honey, I'd be on a tropical island somewhere. Sure would beat looking forward to another winter in this town. All that money Sarah had . . ." The woman sneered. "Just another example of how lucky she was."

   I dunno, I'd never thought of a woman who ended up dead in a bathtub as lucky, but now was not the time to quibble. When the redhead crooked a finger to call me closer, I moved in.

   "Her aunt Sadie," she said. "Rich widow with no children and no other relative in the world. Died just a few months ago and left every last cent to Sarah."

   I had wondered how Sarah came by the wherewithal to support her lavish lifestyle, and I have to say, this news cheered me. It was enough to have to worry about Sarah's murder; I didn't need to throw the mystery of her finances into the mix.

   "Isn't that just a kick in the butt?" While I'd been deep in thought, the redhead had kept right on going. "Woman leaves Sarah a chunk of change, and before she can go through even half of it, she up and does a hari-kari number on herself. Just goes to prove how much she craved the spotlight."

   This time, I couldn't hide my disgust. "Really, if she wanted to be the center of attention—"

   The redhead stopped me with a snarl. "Look around you, honey. We're all here, aren't we? And on a national holiday, too. What are we all talking about? Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. If you ask me, she got just what she wanted."

   Investigation or no investigation, it was all I could take. With a polite (and very phony) smile, I whisked the woman's plate away. Even though I should have collected a few more of them and not wasted the trip, I headed for the kitchen, the better to put some distance between myself and the redhead's jaundiced view of the world.

   I nudged the kitchen door open with my hip and nearly bumped into Charlene.

   "I'm so sorry!" Charlene hadn't changed much since high school. She was still polite and concerned with other people. She held the door open and stepped back to allow me to get by. "I'm glad I found you," she continued. "I just told Jim . . ." She looked into the kitchen where Jim was putting the finishing touches on the plates of pastries that would be served for dessert. "But I wanted to tell you and Eve, too. This is perfect. Just perfect." She waited until I put the plate down, then grabbed my hand. "Thank you, Annie."

   "I'm glad we could help." It felt good to be telling the truth again, and I smiled, then remembered what the redhead had told me. "And I'm so sorry about your loss," I said. "It must be especially difficult to lose two relatives so close together."

   Charlene tipped her head. "Two?"

   "Your aunt Sadie."

   "My aunt? Sadie?" Charlene smiled. "I don't know where you got your information, but please, don't worry about me, Annie. Sarah and I, we never had an Aunt Sadie!"

          In everyday life, I believe this is a big plus. When investigating a murder . . . well, I hate to say it, but when it comes to getting to the bottom of a mystery, being honest falls into the not-so-good category. To uncover information— any information—it's sometimes necessary to bend the truth. I know this in my heart, but I still can't lie with a straight face or without my conscience prickling.

   It goes without saying that because I don't lie, I assume other people don't, either.

   Naive? I suppose. But, I always believe the best of people.

   I suppose that was why it took me a couple moments to process Charlene's comment.

   No Aunt Sadie?

   I had a couple of reasons to believe this. Number one, it was coming from Charlene, and I knew that if anything, she was even more honest than me. Number two, why would Charlene want to/need to lie about a dead relative?

   The night before, Eve and Charlene had met at Sarah's apartment, and Eve shared our theory about Sarah's death. Charlene wasn't ready to buy into it wholesale, but unlike Tyler, she didn't completely dismiss it, either. Even murder offered a tad more comfort than the thought of suicide, and she was willing to consider the possibility and grateful that Eve and I had the knowledge and experience to look into the matter. (On this point, I think Eve might have bent the truth herself a tad and made us sound a lot more capable than we really were.) But, like us, Charlene was anxious to find out the truth.