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  Nice? He stopped. Christ, what had happened to “hot”? It couldn’t be Chloe, she was the same as she’d always been.

  So it’s me, he thought, looking at the scotch bottle in one hand and the aspirin bottle on the desk. I’m played out, relying on booze and drugs to get me through the day.

  Of course, it was Glenlivet and Bayer he was abusing, not Ripple and crack. His eye fell on the photograph on the wall across from him: his dad and Trevor Ogilvie, forty years before, hands clasped on each other’s pinstriped shoulders, grinning at the camera, which they toasted with glasses of scotch. A fine old tradition, he thought and remembered his dad saying, “Trevor’s a great guy, but without me, he’d ignore his problems until they blew up in his face.”

  You left me more than half the agency, Pop.

  Not cheered by this, Gabe stashed both bottles in the desk and began to sort through the mess on his desk to find his notes. Damn good thing they had a secretary coming in on Monday. He needed somebody who would follow orders and make his life easier, the way Chloe had when she’d been his secretary. He shot an uneasy glance at the broken window. He was pretty sure Eleanor Dysart was going to make his life easier.

  And if she didn’t, he’d just fire her, even if she was the ex-sister-in-law of their biggest client. If there was one thing he didn’t need in his life, it was more people making him crazy.

  He was full up on those already.

  * * *

  On the other side of the village park, Nell sat at her large dining room table in her very small apartment and said, “And then as I left, the blind fell down with this huge crash and there was the broken window.” She watched straight-faced as her sister-in-law Suze Dysart hiccuped with laughter, platinum beautiful even while gasping.

  “Maybe he’ll think it was somebody outside who broke it,” Nell’s other sister-in-law, Margie, said from beside her, her plain little face as hopeful as always over the cup of coffee Nell had just poured for her. “If you never tell him, maybe he’ll never know.” She took a small silver thermos out of her bag as she spoke and topped up her cup with the soy milk she carried with her.

  “He’s a detective,” Nell said. “I hope to God he knows, or I’m working for Elmer Fudd.”

  “Oh, God, it’s been too long since I laughed like that.” Suze took a deep breath. “What are you going to do about the rug?”

  “Maybe you can stick the holey part under his desk.” Margie reached for an almond cookie. “If he never sees it, maybe he’ll never know.” She bit into the cookie and said, “I love these, but the woman who makes them is very stingy with the recipe.”

  “If you could make the cookies, would you buy them from her?” Suze said, and when Margie shook her head, she said, “Well, there you are.” She turned back to Nell and pushed the cookie plate toward her. “Eat and tell us about it. What’s the place like? What’s your new boss like?”

  “He’s a slob,” Nell said. “It’s going to take me the entire six weeks just to clean off his desk.” That was a good thought, organizing somebody’s life, getting back in charge of things. Time to get moving again, she thought and sat still.

  “Ouch.” Margie looked under the table. “What did I just kick? Why are there boxes under here?”

  “My china,” Nell said.

  “You haven’t unpacked your china yet?” Margie sounded scandalized.

  “She’ll get to it.” Suze sent an unmistakable shut-up glare Margie’s way.

  Margie, of course, missed it. “If she had her china out, she could look at it, and it would make her feel more settled.”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” Suze said, still staring at her with intent. “Mine’s out and it makes me want to throw up, although that may be because I’m stuck with the butt-ugly Dysart Spode.”

  “I love looking at my dishes,” Margie said sadly over her coffee, which was not news to the rest of the table. Margie had more Franciscan Desert Rose earthenware than any other woman on the planet.

  Suze finally caught Margie’s eye, and Margie straightened, smiling. Nell wanted to say, “Look, guys, it’s all right,” but then she’d just have to cope with both of them reassuring her again.

  “Well, I think it’s wonderful,” Margie said, faux chipper. “This new job and all. You’ve always liked working.” She sounded slightly bemused by that, as if it were a mystery to her.

  “I didn’t like working,” Nell said. “I liked running my own business.”

  “Tim’s business,” Margie said.

  “We built it together.”

  “Then why does he have it now?” Margie said, and Nell wished Suze would glare at Margie again.

  “Well, I’d like working,” Suze rushed in. “I don’t know what I want to do, but after fourteen years of college, I must be qualified to do something.”

  Then get a job, Nell thought, impatient at hearing Suze’s lament again, and then felt guilty. Suze talked about work and didn’t do anything about it, but Nell hadn’t done anything, either, until Jack had called about the McKennas.

  Margie was still obsessing about Tim. “Tell me you at least got half of those ugly glass awards he was so proud of.”

  Nell kept her temper. Snarling at Margie was like kicking a puppy. “The Icicles? No. I left them with the agency. It wouldn’t have been fair—”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of being fair?” Suze said.

  Yes, Nell thought. “No,” she said. “And as for the new job, all I’m going to do is answer phones and type for six weeks. It’s not a career. It’s like practice, just to get me started again.”

  “It’s a detective agency,” Suze said. “I thought that would be exciting. Sam Spade and Effie Perine.” She sounded wistful.

  “Who?” Margie said.

  “A famous detective and his secretary,” Suze said. “I studied them in my film noir course. I thought Sam and Effie had the best jobs. The clothes were good, too.” She pushed the plate toward Nell. “Have a cookie.”

  Margie refocused on Nell. “Is your boss cute?”

  “No.” Nell stirred her coffee and thought about Gabe McKenna. It was his eyes that had made her nervous, she decided. That and the sheer weight of his presence, the threat of potential temper there. Not a man to mess with. “He’s tall and solid-looking, and he frowns a lot, and his eyes are dark so it’s hard to read him. He looks … I don’t know. Annoyed. Sarcastic.” She remembered him sitting behind his desk, ignoring her. “Actually, he looks like Tim.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Tim,” Margie said. “Tim’s always smiling and saying nice things.”

  “Tim’s always trying to sell insurance,” Suze said. “But you’re right, that doesn’t sound like Tim. Don’t get them confused. Tim is a loser. The new guy might be good. Anybody but Tim might be good.”

  Nell sighed. “Look, he was very polite, but that was it.”

  “Maybe he was fighting his attraction to you,” Suze said. “Maybe he was distant because he didn’t want to come on too strong but his heart beat faster when he saw you.”

  Margie shook her head. “I don’t think so. Nell isn’t the type to drive men crazy on first sight. Men do that for you because you’re young and beautiful, so you think it’s that way for everybody.”

  “I’m not that young,” Suze said.

  “He was not attracted to me,” Nell said firmly. “This is a job only.”

  “All right,” Margie said. “But you do have to start dating now. You should be married again.”

  Yeah, because that worked out so well the last time.

  “She’s right,” Suze said. “You don’t want to be alone.” She said it as if it were a fate worse than death.

  “Although maybe not,” Margie said, staring off into space. “Come to think of it, it’s the men who always want to get married. Look at Tim, marrying Whitney so soon.”

  Ouch, Nell thought and saw Suze swing toward Margie, ready to snarl.

  “And Budge can’t wait, he’s driving me crazy about sett