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  Mae blinked at her again.

  “The guy you came with. He’s cute.” Stormy wrinkled her nose in pixie appreciation.

  “Cute?” Mae stared at her. “Mitch?”

  Stormy nodded. “Like a teddy bear. Is he yours?”

  “Uh, no. I hired him.”

  “For what?”

  Mae spoke slowly, taken aback by Stormy’s sudden focus. “To find Armand’s diary. We thought it might be here.”

  Mitch’s voice broke in from the doorway. “Well, it isn’t.”

  Stormy turned to him and smiled. “I know. All his things are packed up. Harold came and took some of them.”

  “The diary isn’t in the box that Harold brought home,” Mae told her. “Is there someplace here he might have hidden it?”

  Stormy shook her head, her ringlets dancing in the sunlight. “No. There’s no place like that here.” She held out her hand to Mitch. “I’m Stormy.”

  He came forward and took it. “Hi, I’m Mitch. Can you think of anybody who might have wanted to kill Armand?”

  “Kill him?” Stormy’s voice sounded stunned, and Mae mentally kicked Mitch around Greater Riverbend. “He died of a heart attack. I was there. We were making love and he died. In my arms.” She started to cry again on the last words, and then she collapsed back onto Mae’s shoulder.

  Mae glared up at Mitch, but he just stood there, staring at Stormy with a frown on his face.

  “I loved him.” Stormy sobbed. “Nobody believed that. They all thought it was for the money. But I loved him.”

  Mae patted her again. “I believe you.”

  Stormy stopped crying and sat up, blinking at her. “You do?” She sniffed. “I always liked you.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” Mae stood up before things got any weirder or, worse, before Stormy started to cry again. “If you’re all right, we really have to be going.” Mae backed away from her and bumped into Mitch. “We’ll see you at the memorial tomorrow.”

  “Oh, will Mitch be there, too?” Stormy stood and drifted after them.

  Mitch took Mae’s elbow. “Wouldn’t miss it.” He pulled her through the archway, and Mae waved once to Stormy and then went gratefully, eager to be gone from all the beauty and loneliness and strangeness in the town house.

  Four

  Mae was so deep in thought that she handed over the keys to Mitch without argument when he asked for them.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked her when they were in the car.

  “Stormy.”

  “No kidding.” Mitch put the key in the ignition. “That woman is strange. What’s her IQ, twelve?”

  “I think she was upset,” Mae said nobly, trying to defend Stormy without feeling cheered that Mitch wasn’t impressed with her.

  “That whole setup is strange,” Mitch went on. “Why would he buy her another place when they had that one?”

  Mae frowned in agreement. “That’s not the only thing that’s strange. Could you explain to me why a man would cheat on a mistress as beautiful as Stormy?”

  “Sure.” Mitch started the car and pulled out onto the road. “He’s a guy.”

  Mae felt the anger that she’d been nursing for Armand’s insensitivity veer toward Mitch. “There are a lot of men who don’t cheat on their lovers.”

  “No, there aren’t.”

  Mae glared at him. “Is this based on personal or professional experience?”

  Mitch looked over at her condescendingly. “Don’t get huffy because you don’t like the facts. I’ll admit I see a lot of it because I get hired to look for it, but the fact is, men cheat. We have to. It’s a biological imperative.”

  “An imperative,” Mae repeated. “This would be testosterone we’re talking about here, right?”

  “Well, that’s part of it. But a lot of it is just man’s need to see what’s beyond the next hill. It’s the reason men crossed the oceans, built the pipeline, opened the West.” Mitch waved his hand, obviously feeling expansive. Iron Mitch.

  “So you’re saying my Uncle Armand cheated on Stormy because he couldn’t open the West?”

  Mitch looked over at her warily. “I don’t suppose we could let this drop.”

  Mae set her jaw. “No, I don’t suppose so.”

  “I don’t know why women always get so upset over this.” Mitch shook his head. “This is just the way men are. It isn’t in our nature to commit.”

  “And why is that?” Mae asked between clenched teeth.

  Mitch turned onto the street that led into Mae’s high-rent district. “All right, let’s say I’m married.” He shot a stern warning glance at Mae. “Of course, I’m never going to get married because I don’t believe in it and there are still a lot of librarians out there that I haven’t kissed, but for the sake of argument, let’s say I’m married.”

  Mae settled into her seat, her jaw still clenched. “This should be good.”

  “And let’s say my wife is beautiful, intelligent, exciting, with terrific legs and the world’s most perfect breasts. I mean, perfect breasts. High. Round. Smooth.” He took one hand off the wheel and cupped it in the air. “Firm. The kind that bounce but don’t shimmy, if you know what I mean.”

  Mae raised her eyebrows. “Been thinking about this a lot, have you?”

  “No. I never think about women’s breasts. Where was I?”

  “Bounce, no shimmy.”

  “Right. So I’m married to the perfect woman with perfect breasts, but then I see another woman. On a street corner, maybe.”

  Mae frowned at a woman in a blue dress on the corner. She was leaning into the wind, unnecessarily, in Mae’s opinion, and the dress molded itself around her curves. “On a street corner.”

  “Right. And she has a nice figure, nothing like my wife’s, of course, and her legs aren’t as good, and she’s just attractive not beautiful.”

  “And the point is?”

  Mitch shrugged. “I want to see her breasts.”

  “Why?” Mae said. “I thought you just said your wife—”

  “Yes, but I’ve seen those. I want to see these.”

  “Even though they’re not as good.”

  “Well, yeah, but they’re still good.”

  Mae thought for a moment. “Suppose she turns out to be a Playboy centerfold. If you buy the magazine, will that do it?”

  “No.”

  “Suppose she’s a stripper, and you get to see them for real. Will that do it?”

  “No.”

  “But you’re seeing them,” Mae said, exasperated.

  “I’m seeing them, but all I did was pay money to see them from a distance. I need to personally—”

  “Open the West.” Mae glared at him. “You are disgusting.”

  “No, I’m not,” Mitch protested. “I’m not married, and I never will be, and I have never promised a woman I wouldn’t see other women. I am free to open the West anytime I want.”

  “You’re still disgusting.”

  “Look, there’s no point in getting upset about this. You can’t understand because you’re a woman, and women don’t think like that.”

  “Women don’t want to open the West?”

  “No. Women want to stay home and keep the East looking nice.”

  Mae took a deep breath as a red mist rose before her eyes. “You’re deliberately trying to make me kill you, aren’t you?”

  “No.” Mitch’s voice was the Voice of Reason. “This is just biology. Men need multiple breasts in their lives. Women need to make a commitment to one penis.”

  “That is garbage,” Mae said flatly.

  “Then why do women always want to get married? Because they want to commit to a penis.”

  “Then why do men get married?”

  “For backup. That way, they always have a set of breasts at home.”

  Mae picked up her purse, using every ounce of self-control to keep herself from hitting him with it. “Stop the car, I’m getting out.”

  Mitch blinked at her in alarm. “Why