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   Richard dared a step nearer to the love of his life. "I know that. I just thought it would be fun. And besides, you might need a little help when it comes to figuring out the toys. You're not used to cars and trucks and dinosaurs."

   "No. I'm not." Fi sniffed the roses, and a tiny smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "You can stay, of course," she told Richard. "The girls are dying to see you."

   As if she'd been waiting for the cue, Eve and Doc walked into the restaurant, the girls behind them in an orderly line. When they saw their dad, they tumbled into his arms.

   Richard kissed them and told each girl how beautiful she looked (the day's matching outfits included denim miniskirts, pink tops, and sparkling hair barrettes that were exact duplicates of the one on Doc's head). After she was sure each of them was satisfied by Richard's attention, Eve clapped her hands.

   The girls fell into line.

   Richard's eyebrows did a slow slide up his forehead. "Are these my girls?" He looked over the line of smiling children. "I think the girls I know have been abducted by aliens and replaced with clones."

   "Don't be silly, Daddy." The comment came from Rosemary, who at six had already lost a couple teeth and had a distinct lisp because of it. "Girls don't have to be noisy to . . . to . . ." Unsure of what came next, she looked at Eve, who pointed at Emma to continue.

   Emma stepped forward. "Girls don't have to be noisy to assert themselves," she said. "We can prove we're smart in other ways."

   "And we never have to fall prey to Weasels," Doris added.

   A smile split Richard's expression. "Well, I don't know about this whole weasel thing. But I'll say one thing for sure, you've done wonders with them while you've been here in Virginia, Fi. If you can do this with the girls, I can only imagine what you'll accomplish if I let you loose on the house. I mean, after our boy here is born and you're ready for it, of course."

   Fresh tears cascaded down Fi's cheeks. "Are you saying—"

   Richard wrapped his arms around her and gave her a kiss. "I'm saying the floors are all yours if you want them to wash."

   And Fi didn't have to answer. We all knew her answer when she kissed him back.

   I joined in the applause, but only for a moment. Our guests were due in just a few minutes. And I had games to plan.

   In no time flat, I was at my computer and making a list.

   I decided to forgo Pin the Diaper on the Baby and the stuffed-shirt event in favor of games that weren't as corny and had the added advantage of not requiring as much room. To that end, I found one game in which our guests had ten seconds to write five things in selected categories (like baby food, or baby clothes) and another in which they had to come up with baby boy names for each letter of the alphabet. I was on the site that suggested the name game when I found another game we could play, and since Richard and Fi still needed to chose a name, it was perfect.

   "What Does Baby's Name Mean?" I read out loud while I jotted down the words on the screen. This game was pretty self-explanatory, each player would have a list of names and have to guess their meanings. I numbered a paper from one to ten and filled in the names, starting with Richard and Jim. After that I added Damien and Marc, Jacques (Monsieur Lavoie was sure to be pleased), Kegan, and Larry, Hank, and Charlie in honor of our three best customers. I needed one more and threw in Reggie just for good measure.

   Then I got to work checking meanings. It took a while, and none of them was obvious. I decided right then and there that this made the game perfect. Most of our guests didn't know each other, and if we paired them up for the game, it would keep them plenty busy, and we'd avoid long, uneasy silences.

   "Richard means
strong power,
" I mumbled to myself, filling in the master list I'd use to check our guests' answers. "Jim is
supplanter
. Whatever that means. Marc means
from the god Mars
, and Damien . . ." I clicked around the baby name Web site I'd found. "That one means
to tame.
Kegan . . ." I did a little more searching and came up with the meaning:
ball of fire.

   OK, it wasn't fair, and I knew he'd be offended if he ever knew I did it, but I had to chuckle. Let's face it, Kegan was a lot of things, but one of them wasn't a ball of fire!

       some great gifts, Jim was sweet enough to include presents for the girls so they didn't feel left out (little white aprons, chefs' toques, and kids' cookbooks) and our guests had a wonderful time. Big points for our students: if we were grading their food and presentation, they would have gotten an A+.

   Things were finally winding down, but of course, that didn't mean the day's work was over for Jim or any of the other Bellywasher's staff. The dinner crowd would be arriving soon, and everyone was helping get ready for it. Richard had just taken out the last load of gifts to his van, and he stopped to thank me. "I've convinced Fi to leave first thing tomorrow morning," he said. "Can't thank you enough for all you've done for her."

   "Thank Jim. And Eve." Richard had left behind a set of embroidered bibs, and I handed them to him. "They did more than I did."

   "Maybe so, but from what I hear, you're the one who keeps everything—and everyone—around here sane and moving in the right direction." He laughed. "We could have used you in the navy. And hey, we could use you tonight, if you and Jim aren't too tired. We've got a lot of packing to do, and I'll bet you're the type who makes the most of every inch of space. I know the girls would love to see you one last time, too."

   "And I'd love to see them." Now that the girls had turned from hell-raisers into paragons thanks to Eve's magic, this was actually true, and no one was more surprised than me to admit it. I assured Richard I'd be there to help, said good-bye to Fi and the girls, and sat down for a well-deserved rest.

   Too bad I couldn't.

   Rest, that is.

   Something Richard had said niggled at my brain, and try as I might, I didn't know why. With Eve busy setting tables for dinner and Jim, Marc, and Damien scrambling around the kitchen, I talked out my problem with Monsieur Lavoie, who was sitting at the table next to mine and just finishing the last of the mimosas.

   "Why would Richard talking about packing the van mean anything to me?" I asked him, even though I wasn't really expecting an answer.

   "Ah, cherie. Perhaps he has given you an idea, yes? About moving along? Perhaps this suggests to you that you and Jim, you are ready to—how do you say it—take things to the next level?"

   How we'd segued from Richard and vans to Jim and me and the perfect happily ever after, I didn't know. I wasn't sure I wanted to. Monsieur's weird advice aside, I thought through the problem again. "What do you do in a van?" I brainstormed out loud "You drive. Richard and Fi drive. From here to Florida. But not until they pack. And packing is what they want me to help them do. Because, of course, I'm an excellent packer. If I was going on a trip, I'd have everything folded and stacked so nicely—"

   I sat up as if I'd been zapped by lightning, and Monsieur leaned forward, concerned. "Cherie? You are all right?"

   "I'm an idiot, that's what I am!" I leaped out of my chair and raced into the office for my phone, and when I dialed and Tyler's voice mail came on—again—I grumbled a word I hardly ever used. Right before I told him where I was going and why.

   "He's leaving town, Tyler," I said. "And we've got to stop him before he does. He's going to disappear off the face of the earth again. And then we'll never prove that Eve is innocent!"

       convinced myself that I was crazy. Folded laundry doesn't mean a thing. Or at least it shouldn't. But when I added the folded laundry to the hair color and the fact that Kegan knew that the fumes from that aerosol can were going to ignite at cooking class that night . . .

   My heart told me it wasn't possible that Kegan was the murderer I'd been looking for.

   But it was looking more probable by the moment.

   I parked in the lot outside his building and did a quick assessment of the cars there. Kegan's was parked near the door, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I could watch and I could wait. I could try Tyler again, and this time if he didn't answer, I could talk to one of the other cops and explain that I'd spotted a wanted fugitive.

   This was the right course of action. It was safe and it was sane, and let's face it, if I am anything, I am safe and I am sane.

   Of course, my safe and sane thinking didn't take glitches into account.

   Glitch number one: Kegan came out of his apartment with an armful of books. He tossed them into the trunk of his car. He took a gas can out of the car.

   My blood ran cold.

   When I dialed my phone, my hands were shaking.

   "Tyler?" I was so relieved it was him and not his recorded voice, I could have cried. If I had the time. "Kegan isn't Kegan. He's Joseph Grant. The arsonist. He's leaving town. Right this very minute. And I think he's going to burn down his building before he does."

   As I may have mentioned before, I am not a fan of Tyler the person. He is cold and arrogant, and once upon a time, he broke Eve's heart. For this, I can never forgive him. But Tyler the cop is another animal altogether.

   "I'll be right there," he told me after he'd gotten the particulars of Kegan's address and apartment number. "So will the fire department. You stay put."

   Of course I would. It was the safe and sane thing to do.

   Except for Glitch number two.

   Not far from where I was parked, a young mother got out of her car with a baby in her arms. She started toward the building.

   Safe and sane went out the window at the same time I hopped out my car door. I stationed myself directly in front of her before she could set foot inside the building.

   "Go," I said, and yes, she did look at me like I was some kind of crazy person. "The cops are on their way," I added because let's face it, this carried a little more weight than me standing there yammering. "There's a dangerous person in the building. You and the baby, get in your car and drive away. Fast."

   She didn't argue. And me? As long as I was there, I figured I might as well make good use of my time.

   I raced into the building and pounded on every door I passed.

   "There's a fire! You have to get out. Fire! Call everyone in the building! You have to get out."

   Doors opened, people streamed into the hallway and headed outside. Theoretically, I was inducing a panic, and I could get in big-time trouble. It was a small price to pay for keeping the tenants of Kegan's building alive.

   The last door in the hallway was his, and I'm lucky it wasn't locked, because I hit it full blast and stumbled into his living room just in time to see Kegan pouring gasoline on his dining room table.

   "You'll never get away with it, Kegan. The cops are on their way." I was short of breath, and the fumes of the gasoline choked me. I fought for air. "Maybe I should just call you Joseph Grant, huh? That is who you are, isn't it? Joseph Grant, the arsonist. The murderer. I can't believe—"

   "Give me a break! Nobody's as naive as you! It's not possible. It's not real." I hardly recognized Kegan, his face was so twisted with anger. He didn't look surprised to see me, and he didn't look especially concerned, either. As cool as can be, he consulted a book that was open on the table.

   "
Home on the Range.
" I choked as I read the title aloud. "I thought—"

   "What? That I was looking to re-create life in the Old West? I guess in a way, I am, if it means ridding the world of the people who are trying to destroy it and returning Mother Earth to the way she's supposed to be. But sorry, Annie, this book isn't all about re-creating things; it's all about burning down buildings. I haven't done this in a while; I'm a little rusty." He finished what he was doing and tossed the can aside. "You couldn't keep your nose out of it, could you?"

   "But you wanted to help with the investigation and—"

   "Your little investigation was a perfect way for me to find out what you were doing and what you knew. Convenient, huh? You got me into Brad's town house so that I could erase his computer files. And in case you haven't figured it out yet, Gillian never would have ended up dead if you hadn't talked to her and I hadn't heard about that package from Brad. I was watching her house, you see. I knew the package arrived early that Monday and I knew I had to find out what was inside. When she wouldn't cooperate . . ."

   He didn't elaborate. I was glad. My stomach went cold. My brain teetered on the edge of panic. It took more selfcontrol than I knew I had to keep words coming out of my mouth. "Then there
was
something in that package!"

   "There was nothing in it!" There was another gas can on the floor, and Kegan grabbed it. Yes, I should have taken this as a clue that things were not going to go well, but honestly, I couldn't help myself. This was Kegan. And he was my friend. Or at least I thought he was.

   My eyes filled with tears. Maybe that was from the gas fumes.

   Noticing my reaction, Kegan's top lip curled. "Brad recognized me in class. It's this damn blushing. Never have been able to control it. Don't you remember? That second week of class. We were leaving the restaurant—"

   "And I thought I heard a cat!" In my current, befuddled state, it took a moment for me to put the pieces together. "But it wasn't a cat. It was Brad telling you he knew about Mother Earth's Warriors—MEW."

   "Damn, if he would have just kept his mouth shut! But Brad was Brad. You know, a real pain in the ass. He tried to blackmail me. No way I was going to let him get away with it."