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   He was interested in spite of himself. "And is she a blonde?"

   I nodded. "You want to tell me what difference it makes?"

   Tyler scribbled something in his notepad before he answered. "Makes a huge difference," he said. He turned and pushed open the door that led into the restaurant. "Because you see, that hooded sweatshirt our perp wore on the security tape, the sweatshirt we found in a trash can? There wasn't a speck of forensic evidence on it that anyone could see. Not a speck. Except for one long, sleek and shiny blond hair. You know, just like Eve's."

Of course not.

At least not too much, anyway.

   Tyler was nothing but bluster, and the evidence he claimed to have . . . well, it didn't really prove much, did it? At least not when it came to Eve. Besides, like I said, Eve didn't have a felonious bone in her body and not one unkind thought in her head. Not one she'd act on, anyway.

   Then again, Tyler did mention that the murderer was disguised. And lately, Eve was all about disguises.

   I banished the thought with a shake of my head and quickened my steps. It was a soft spring evening, and it seemed like everyone within walking, driving, and flying distance of Alexandria was taking advantage of it. The streets of Old Town were packed with shoppers, gawkers, and folks out for a stroll, and parking (bad, even on good days) was at a minimum. The only spot I could find was blocks away from Bellywasher's and, anxious to get there, I sidestepped around a group of tourists taking a photo in front of the local McDonald's and hurried on.

   It was the day after Tyler had been to Bellywasher's to question us and, being a Tuesday, Bellywasher's was open for business. Of course, being a Tuesday, I had to work my day job at Pioneer Savings and Loan, and since it was the middle of the month, we were slammed with the Social Security crowd. I didn't have a minute to myself and no chance to call Eve.

   And she'd never returned my calls from the day before.

   My steps drifted to a stop as I mulled over that fact. The surge of people walking behind me parted to get past, mumbled their displeasure, and walked on while I stared at my own thoughtful reflection in the window of a buritto place.

   Why hadn't Eve returned my calls?

   What had she been up to yesterday?

   She couldn't . . . she wouldn't . . . she didn't have anything to do with Brad Peterson's death. Did she?

   There was only one way to find out.

   My mind made up, I started toward Bellywasher's again. The sooner I got there, the sooner I could finally talk to Eve, and the sooner I did that, the sooner I'd put my fears to rest.

   Except that I never counted on Bellywasher's being packed.

   I squeezed through the front door and deflected the angry looks of the people waiting in line with a quick smile and an, "I work here, honest." I waved to Jim, who was behind the bar mixing a frozen margarita, and got out of Heidi's way—fast—when she jetted out of the kitchen with a loaded tray of food on one shoulder. Eve was just seating a group of eight at our biggest table near the front window, so I ducked into my office and kept an eye on her. As soon as she was done, I waved her in.

   "Can't. Not right now." Eve glanced at the line of people still waiting to be seated, and I knew she was right. My curiosity might be killing me, but business came first.

   Keeping the thought firmly in mind, I got down to my own business, going over the day's invoices, preparing a deposit slip for the afternoon's receipts, and darting into the kitchen just long enough to stay out of everybody's way while I made sure the linens we'd ordered had arrived before I cut a check to pay for them.

   By the time I was done, I figured the crowd would have cleared.

   Wrong.

   When I peeked out the door, the restaurant was just as busy as ever, and patrons were three deep at the bar. One of them was Kegan. When he saw me, his face lit, and he wound his way through the crowd and came over to my office.

   He was dressed in jeans and an untucked oxford shirt. The sleeves were pushed above his elbows. The buttons were done up wrong so that the shirt hung longer on one side than the other. I was all about neat-as-a-pin, but the disheveled look worked for Kegan. Something about it emphasized his little-boy charm.

   "I didn't want to bother you," he said. "Not when I saw that your office door was closed. I hope you don't mind that I stopped in."

   "Of course not." I held the door open so that he could step into my office. "Sorry about the mess." My office wasn't messy at all, at least not by most people's standards, but I was self-conscious about the to-be-filed pile that sat on one corner of my desk. These days, it was starting to resemble Mount Everest. Filing was something I used to save for Monday evenings when there was no one around and I had the luxury of taking my time and making sure everything was done just right. Since cooking classes had started and I'd been conscripted into helping, my time was at as much of a premium as the parking outside.

   Kegan had a glass of Pepsi in his hands, which he juggled as he asked permission before sitting down in my guest chair. "I didn't have a chance to talk to you much yesterday. I mean, not with the excitement and all." He didn't elaborate. He didn't have to. I knew exactly which excitement he was talking about, and believe me, it had nothing to do with marinated shrimp. A shiver snaked over his scrubby shoulders. "I can't stop thinking about it. Brad wasn't easy to get along with, but picturing what must have happened to him . . ." He offered me an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. It's probably no easier for you to deal with this than it is for me. I'll bet you're trying not to picture it, either."

   "You got that right." I sat in my desk chair. "Good thing our involvement in the whole thing is over. Not that I'm callous or anything," I added, because of course, that's exactly how I sounded. "I mean, if he has one, I feel terrible for Brad's family, and it's always sad to think about a life cut too short. But other than that . . . well, at least we can put the matter behind us."

   "Unless that detective was right, and your friend had something to do with Brad's dying."

   I guess the look I shot Kegan was more pointed than I realized. His cheeks turned a shade of red that reminded me of the Cabernet Jim bought from a vineyard in Barboursville. The next second, every bit of color drained out of his face. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." He clutched his glass in both hands. "I was just thinking . . . you know . . . I mean, that detective, he seemed awfully interested in what people remembered about the first night of class. You know . . ." Now that he'd begun, Kegan knew he had to finish what he was saying, but that didn't make it any easier for him. He rushed through the rest of it, his voice so low, I could barely hear it. "About how your friend, Eve, said she wanted to kill Brad."

   "The only thing Tyler is interested in is making Eve's life difficult." I felt duty-bound to point this out, since Kegan didn't know the ins and outs of the whole, ugly Eve/Tyler soap opera. "Trust me, there's no way he believes what he heard. He knows Eve better than that."

   Kegan's expression cleared. "I'm so glad. I like Eve. I was talking to her earlier. I was here for a while, then left to run some errands. I just came back a bit ago. Anyway, when I was here the first time, it wasn't so busy. Eve was telling me all about how you're a detective, too. She said she was sure you could solve this case."

   "She's wrong." I didn't mean to slap my hand against my desk to emphasize my point; it just sort of happened. It wasn't like me to display so much emotion, and I was embarrassed. I crossed my arms over my chest. "I'm leaving this one up to the professionals."

   Kegan took a drink. He studied me over the rim of his glass. "That's what Eve said you'd say."

   "Eve remembers what it's like to be shot at. She hasn't forgotten the feeling of having a giant flower arrangement rigged to come down on us, either. She's a smart woman."

   "She also said that you're really good at being a detective. She called it your gift. She said you'd solved two cases that the police never would have cracked on their own. She told me about the gun smugglers and that whole thing about the senator and his daughter-in-law. I remember reading about that in the papers, of course. It was a huge scandal! I just didn't know you were involved. Talking to you is like talking to a celebrity. Or a crime-solving genius. You know, like Sherlock Holmes."

   Yeah, I was flattered. But I am also practical down to the tips of my toes. And practical people do not allow their heads to be turned so easily. "Hardly," I told Kegan. "We helped out the cops, sure, but it just sort of happened. It's over and done with. It's not like I've hung out a shingle and I'm looking for new cases."

   "Even if Eve is in trouble?"

   Kegan's question so closely resembled the one that had been pounding through my head all day, I had no choice but to stop and consider it. No matter how much I would have preferred not to.

   "Eve's not in trouble. She didn't do it." Did I say this to convince Kegan or to soothe my own conscience? From out in the restaurant, I heard Jim's voice as he called to Marc to bring more ice out to the bar. "Besides, he hates it when I investigate."

   I didn't realize I'd said the words out loud until Kegan responded. "You mean Jim. So, I was right! I figured you two had a thing going. I mean, just watching you together . . . well, it's pretty obvious. Pardon me for sticking my nose where it doesn't belong, but he doesn't seem like one of those macho, overbearing cavemen guys."

   For the second time in as many minutes, I was embarrassed. I wasn't the type who discussed personal matters with strangers. Still, Kegan had a way of making me feel comfortable. Though we hadn't known each other long, I already thought of him as a friend. "Jim isn't overbearing," I told him. "What he is, is overprotective."

   "He doesn't want to see you get hurt."

   "And so far, I haven't been. This time, that is. Still, he'd rather I put the whole private eye thing behind me."

   "And what would you rather do?"

   I didn't expect that kind of probing and personal question from Kegan. I guess that's why it forced me to think. "I'm not looking for excitement," I told him. This was something I needed to set straight, just so he didn't think I was some kind of adrenaline junkie. "It's the puzzle of a mystery more than anything else that fascinates me. And the realization that if I don't look into things and do what I can do to make sure the truth comes out, there might be a miscarriage of justice."

   "So you would investigate. I mean, if things looked bad for Eve."

   "Which they don't." I had to convince myself of this once and for all, or I'd go stark, raving mad. To emphasize my point, I rolled back my chair and clutched my hands on the desk, signaling that I was officially changing the subject. "You said you wanted to talk. Let me guess; you've got something to tell me about greening up the restaurant."

   Just as I hoped, Kegan got the message. And he knew better than to waste a golden opportunity. He set his drink down on the blotter on my desk and sat forward. "Recycling is the key," he said. "I know that sounds trite. I mean, we've been hearing it for so many years, I think most people just turn off when they hear the word r
ecycling
. But think about it, Annie. You can use recycled paper here at the restaurant for things like menus and napkins and promotional items. Think of all the good you could do for the environment."

   I was not about to dismiss the idea out of hand, but it would take more than that to convince me. Apparently, Kegan knew it.

   "If Bellywasher's recycled the cardboard, glass, plastic, and paper it uses every day, you could save between thirty and forty percent on trash removal fees."

   Now we were getting somewhere! Interested in spite of myself, I encouraged him to tell me more. It was just what he needed to be off and running. Kegan talked about things like putting up an air curtain around the front door to keep warm-in-the-winter or cool-in-the-summer air from escaping when patrons entered or left the restaurant. He told me about the advantages of using all-natural beef, pork, chicken, cheese, and produce from local organic farmers. He explained about something called "zero waste initiatives" and how by recycling, reusing, and reducing waste, we could also cut operating costs.

   I listened, and I was still listening I don't know how much much later when there was a tap on the door. It opened, and Eve stuck her head into the room.

   "Why, there you two are! I was beginning to think you'd run off someplace together."

   "Is it that late?" It must have been. My back was stiff from sitting too long in one place. I stretched, stood, and leaned to one side to see around Eve and into the restaurant. "Things have quieted down out there."

   "It was quite a night!" Eve stepped farther into the office and closed the door behind her. "You talked to her?"

   I don't think I need to point out that she asked this question of Kegan. I also don't need to point out (I hope!) that I'm no dummy. I knew exactly what she was asking about.

I chose to ignore it.

   "Kegan sure has talked to me," I told her. "We've talked about recycling and reusing and what's that other thing? Oh, zero waste initiatives. It's fascinating stuff, Eve, and if we can do half of what he thinks we can, we might be able to save a lot of money around here."

   Eve was not impressed. Nor was she easily deterred. She tapped the pointy toe of one stiletto against the floor. "And you know that's not at all what I'm talking about. I'm talking about our case."

   "We don't have a case."

   "We could, and you know it. And you know exactly where we need to start, too. With Valerie."