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   "Isn't he just the sweetest thing?" Eve wasn't referring to Marc. She was using that singsong voice again, and I rolled my eyes. She didn't notice. She was too busy making funny little squeaky noises at the dog. "He's my little honey bunch! My little sweetie pie! My little—"

   "Your little ticket to the unemployment line." If Damien and Marc thought a little thing like lemon pound cake was going to distract me (even if it was incredible lemon pound cake), they were wrong. I unwound my arm from Damien's hold and hurried closer to Eve and the dog. Maybe if she looked at me, she could shake Doctor Masakazu's hypnotic spell. I waved my arms in the air. "Earth to Eve! They'll shut us down. Get it? Closed. No more Bellywasher's. Are you willing to risk that? For a dog?"

   Eve's brows knit. She let the dog finish the pound cake, then brushed her hands together and scooped him into her arms. Nose to nose, she whispered something to him, retrieved the purse, and gently settled him inside. "I never thought of that," she said, and I knew it was true. More often than not, Eve's heart ruled her head.

   As if she, too, could picture those hordes of health inspectors closing in on us, she darted a look at the back door. She gently nudged the purse farther into the corner. "You stay right there, sweet'ums," she instructed the dog before she turned back to me. "Honest, Annie, I never wanted to cause any trouble. I just didn't know what else to do with him. I've got a dog walker starting tomorrow. I'll take care of the mornings, then she'll come in on the days I work. Once after lunch, another time right before dinner, and a third time on the nights I'm here late. But that's tomorrow, and today . . ." She shrugged and glanced at the clock. "It's just a couple more hours. What could it hurt? Besides, I didn't have the heart to leave him alone today. He's been so down in the dumps. I think he really misses Sarah."

   It was, of course, not the first time that day that I'd thought of Sarah Whittaker myself. Automatically, I checked the clock. Just a little more than twenty-four hours earlier, we'd stood in Sarah's bathroom, looking in horror at her dead body.

   I shook the thought aside and congratulated myself. Though it wasn't easy, I'd worked hard on it all day, and I'd been able to compartmentalize everything I'd seen the night before. Little by little, I was coming to grips with the truth: Sarah had killed herself, and as much as we tried to fool ourselves into thinking we could have done something to stop it, it simply wasn't true. She was in charge of her own life. She'd made the ultimate decision.

   Even before I saw the glimmer of tears in Eve's eyes, I knew she wasn't thinking the same way. It was the whole heart-over-head thing again.

   "I know," I said. It was a lame bit of consolation and ineffectual as well, but it was all I could think to say. "I know it hurts. I've been thinking about Sarah, too. But I really don't think the dog—"

   "He has such sad eyes!" Eve sniffed back her tears. "When I got home last night I walked him and fed him and he was so darling and so thankful, especially for the cheeseburger I got for him at the drive-through on the way home. But even so, I know he's feeling the loss.

   "Maybe, but sad or not, a restaurant is no place—"

   "If we hadn't gone over to Sarah's when we did, think of how miserable he would be right now." Eve sniffled. "He was so hungry and so lonely. If somebody hadn't come along, he might even have—" She gulped. "He could have died before anyone found him. Oh, my gosh, it just breaks my heart to think about it. And I was going to leave him home today. Honest! But just as I was leaving, he called out to me with a pitiful little bark. And I thought about how sad he is and about how lonesome he is and about how he could have starved to death if we didn't find him and get him away from Tyler who would have just left him there because he's a coldhearted son of a bitch. Tyler, that is, not my sweet little Doc," she added, as if I needed the clarification. "I thought about all that, and I tried to leave him home. I couldn't."

   "I know, but—"

   "And I know what you're going to say: that an animal can't know what's going on around him. That he can't be sad. But Doctor Masakazu does. He is. He's so grateful for all I've done for him. You should have seen him last night, curled up there in bed next to me. Why I—"

   "You let the dog sleep with you?" I have already admitted that when it comes to cleanliness, I have something of a compulsion. OK, it's an obsession. Just the thought of a dog in Eve's—or anyone else's—bed gave me the heebiejeebies. "You can't let a dog sleep in your bed!"

   She raised her chin. "Why not? He's clean and cuddly and better behaved than any man who's ever been there! And he was just so sad."

   Eve made a move back toward where Doctor Masakazu was tucked away. "Just take a look at his sweet little sad face, and you'll see. You'll understand why I did what I had to do."

   "All right. All right." I gave in. It was better than letting her get the dog out of her purse so I could see that face. I didn't want to take a chance that Jim would find out what was going on. "But it never happens again," I told her.

   "Cross my heart." Eve did.

   "And you're sure he'll be quiet?"

   She nodded. "I'll walk him on my next break. I promise. He'll sleep until then."

   I glanced toward the linen rack. "And there's no chance he'll—"

   "Get away?" Eve laughed. "Even if he does, he's too tiny to go far. And he's not going to even try," she added when that wasn't assurance enough for me. "His itty-bitty tummy is full, and he's a happy-wappy puppy! Except for being sad about Sarah, of course. And speaking of Sarah . . ."

   I stopped Eve before she could get started. "Neither one

of us needs to deal with the emotional baggage of Sarah's death. Not now, Eve. Not when we have work to do. Let's put it aside for now and talk about it later."

   Eve tapped her chin with her index finger. "But I'm not thinking emotionally. Not this time. I've been trying to work through the whole thing the way you always say I should. You know, logically. And I don't think it adds up. Remember, the linen guy was here."

   Do I need to point out that I wasn't following her train of thought?

   I guess my
huh? e
xpression said it all.

   Eve pointed at the shelf of clean, neatly folded tablecloths and napkins. "The linen guy. He was here. The same day Sarah was."

   "And—?"

   "And he looks like a criminal type. And if he was following Sarah—"

   I threw my hands in the air and turned my back, ready to head into my office.

   "I knew that's how you were going to react," Eve said, darting in front of me to block the doorway. "I knew you weren't going to listen. That's why I did some research."

   
Eve
and
research
. Two words I never thought I'd hear in the same sentence. Who could blame me if I stopped to listen?

   "I looked on the Internet," she whispered, "for stuff about our linen supply company, Table Top Pros. The company is owned by Ivan Gystanovich."

   I nodded. I knew this. Like I said, I'd done my homework before I contracted with the company.

   "And Gregor, his last name is Gystanovich. That probably means he's related to this Ivan guy."

   I hadn't known Gregor's last name, but I nodded again anyway. There wasn't much else I could do.

   Eve leaned closer and lowered her voice. "A couple of the articles I read said that Ivan has ties with the Russian mob."

   This, of course, was news to me. Still . . .

   "That's interesting," I told Eve. "Really, it is. But it doesn't mean a thing. Table Top Pros has a sterling reputation."

   "But Gregor—"

   "Wasn't doing anything but his job the day Sarah was here. Besides, I think he was already gone by the time Sarah arrived."

   "But that doesn't mean he wasn't watching her. You know, from behind a potted plant or something. Maybe he was waiting outside for her."

   "No, it doesn't mean he wasn't. But it sure doesn't mean he was. And why would he? There's no connection between them at all."

   "No connection that we know of."

   "And no reason to think that Gregor is dishonest."

   "Like his shifty eyes don't mean anything?" Eve cocked her head, the better to try to bring what she saw as my irrational argument into focus. "I told you, Annie, there's something fishy about that guy."

   It was hard to argue with that kind of logic, so I gave up without a fight. "OK, let's say this Gregor guy isn't on the up-and-up. That still doesn't mean he had anything to do with what happened to Sarah."

   "But what if—"

   I was done debating the issue. It was painful and it was hard, but it was time for Eve to face the facts. I put my hand on her arm. "I know, Eve, I know this hurts. Sarah was beautiful and smart and friendly. The last time we saw her . . ." The last time we saw Sarah, she was bobbing in a tub of bloody water. I decided on a different tack.

   "As much as you might hate to admit it, this is one time that Tyler is right. You remember what he said. Sarah made a choice, and nobody's responsible for her death but her. Nobody could have stopped her, either. I know you wish you could have done more. I do, too, and I barely knew her. But you're doing all you can. You're taking care of the dog until her sister gets here."

   Eve's eyes were red. She sniffed. "We're doing the funeral luncheon, too," she said. "Next Monday."

   That was the first I'd heard of it. Then again, I'd been a little preoccupied with the whole oh-no-they're-going-toclose-us-down scenario since I walked in.

   Eve understood this and nodded. "I got in touch with Sarah's sister, Charlene. I didn't have the number, but I remembered that Sarah and Charlene had a cousin in Baltimore. I went with them once to visit him. I called him and . . . and, anyway, he gave me a contact number, and I talked to Charlene. She's on her way back to the States. The memorial will be on Monday, and after, people will come back here for lunch."

   I was grateful the next Monday was Veteran's Day and a holiday; the bank was closed. If we had a large group coming, Jim would need the help.

   My mind already racing over the details, I hurried to my office to make a list. Like a lot of restaurants in the area, Bellywasher's was closed on Mondays. That meant I'd have to talk to everyone on staff ASAP to see who could work and who couldn't, and if we needed extra help, I'd need to find replacements. In addition, we'd need at least one extra person to take coats and pass drinks before lunch, and maybe some soft, soothing background music, too. There was a woman in my apartment building who played the harp. I knew I had her phone number somewhere.

   I did a quick sweep of the restaurant before I stepped into my office. Tasteful flower arrangements on the tables would be a nice touch, too, I decided. They would add a hint of color and be a subtle way to help soothe those who attended the service.

   Apparently, I wasn't the only one who'd had this last idea. When I walked into my office, I saw that there was a single white rose on my desk. Its petals were touched with pink, and it was about twelve inches long. Just the right size to be an accent without overpowering our small tables. Somewhere in the piles of papers that littered my office, I knew I'd seen a catalogue from a supplier who offered reasonably priced glass vases. I shuffled through the stacks on my guest chair. I wasn't even halfway through when Jim ducked into the office.

   "This rose is perfect," I told him. "Did they say how much for a dozen?"

   "They? Dozen?"

   I didn't pay a lot of attention to Jim's questions. I was busy trying to excavate. "Yeah, I think we'll need at least that many, don't you? Even if we just put a couple in each vase, we'll want them on the tables and a few more on the bar. Did the people who sent them over say how much they'd be per dozen?"

   "Annie, Eve told me what happened last night. I thought you'd be upset. I left the flower to make you feel better."

   Jim's words sank in. My stomach went cold and my hands froze over the stack of papers. No easy feat, considering that my cheeks were suddenly flaming. "I'm so sorry!" I turned to find him looking at me like I was a stranger. "I just assumed—"

   "That everything is business. Aye." He scraped a hand over his chin. "I'm beginning to get the picture."

   "That's not what I meant."

   "No, what you meant is that you're so busy thinking dollars and cents, you forgot that there are times when people just want to do something nice for you."

   He was right, and realizing it only made me feel worse. As if to further prove the theory about how well I'd compartmentalized the facts of Sarah's death and my reaction to it, I burst into tears.

   In a heartbeat, Jim had his arms around me. I buried my face against his chest, and he rubbed my back and whispered soothing words until my crying subsided. When it finally did, I refused to look at him. I am not a woman who cries prettily. Not like Eve. She can shed a swimming pool full of tears and still look as fresh as if she'd just walked out of a day spa.

   I was not so lucky. I knew my eyes were red and swollen. My nose was red, too. It also needed blowing—badly—and I reached around Jim and grabbed a tissue from the box on my desk.

   Even when I was done, Jim didn't let me go.

   "I'm sorry," he said.

   I sniffed and grabbed another tissue to wipe my eyes. "You? You're not the one who's supposed to be sorry."

   "I snapped at you."

   "I deserved to be snapped at."

   "You've been under a lot of stress."

   "And you haven't been?" A few more snuffles and sniffs, and I could almost make myself sound like I wasn't talking from the bottom of a lake. When Jim tugged me closer, I settled into his arms. "You're right," I said. "All I've been thinking about is money. I should have known—"