Lila Montrose-Hawke went out the tall, polished front doors in a dull, gray body bag she would have hated. Cecil didn’t watch. He’d taken himself off to the morning room where we’d had tea on my second visit. He sat in the bay window with twinkling lights from outside silhouetting him in the half-dark, a picture of misery, made more miserable looking by streams of mascara running down his cheeks, with lipstick smeared onto his chin, with his wig at an odd angle, and his embroidered gown twisted around his rotund body so the place where a breast should be was caught up under his armpit.

He sobbed on and on. His shoulders shook. Tears flowed as he threw back his head and keened the way old Irish and Italian women keened at death. I’d helped him into the room, then sat next to him, talking low, trying to be comforting. Each time I attempted to get up he put his maimed hand on my arm, keeping me in place beside him. I sat straight, embarrassed in my Mary Poppins costume, long blue-serge skirt to my ankles, lisle stockings in prim black shoes, a bunch of plastic flowers at my throat, hair pinned back and up, and a straw pork-pie hat atop my head. The parrot-handled umbrella was lost somewhere in the stampede of the crowd after the shot rang out.

I heard the police, one by one, opening and closing the front doors. Drifts of hot air found their way into the room, little touches of warmth amid the icy air conditioning. Dolly came in from time to time to tell me who’d arrived and who was doing what. Lucky Barnard pulled out all the stops. Every cop I knew from the area was there. Even Lieutenant Brent from Gaylord, and that annoying little automaton, Omar Winston. There were officers from Mancelona and Kalkaska, men I’d talked to for stories.

“We’ve got a lot of interviewing to do,” Dolly came in to inform us. She kept her voice low, glancing at Cecil’s bent head. “Hope you don’t mind, Mr. Hawke. Something we’ve got to get to. Statements have to be taken from every single one of ’em here.”

Cecil lifted one shoulder. I wasn’t sure he’d heard her. “They won’t know anything.”

“Got to get a statement from you too,” she added, pulling a straight-backed chair over and sitting, notebook out, pencil in hand.

“About what? You don’t think I had anything to do with this, do you?” Cecil’s face, when he looked up at her, was bright red from weeping. His eyes were puffed to almost closed. Freddy found him in all the confusion and sat next to his chair, on guard. Cecil reached out absentmindedly and pinched Freddy’s head. At first the dog flinched, then sat totally still.

“I need to talk to everybody. Even Emily.”

Cecil sniffed at Dolly, then fished around in the bodice of his dress for a handkerchief, found none, and sniffed again. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man. “I won’t be able … I don’t know when … Oh, dear. Oh, dear …” He was off into sobbing, eyes closed, hands wringing in front of him.

“It would be better to take care of things tonight,” Dolly said, her voice steady. “You want us to get whoever did this, don’t you?”

Cecil’s body stilled. He opened his eyes wide. “Did what? Lila committed suicide. I’ve been afraid of such a thing for a while now. Her depressions … Oh, my dear, such depressions.”

Dolly gave him a confused look. “No gun in the room. This was no suicide.”

Cecil’s mouth dropped open. He hesitated only a moment, got control of himself, then scoffed at Dolly. “You didn’t know Lila. Of course she would take herself out with high drama. You’ll find it—the gun. She came up with something … I don’t know what. You have to believe me.”

“It’s murder, the way it looks now.”

Cecil sat back, took a few deep breaths, then spoke hesitantly, as if reluctant to say anything. “Then I know who did it.” He gave me a long look, reached over the arm of his chair and snapped Freddy hard on top of the head. “Check Lila’s room. You’ll find her packed suitcase there. She was leaving me right after the party. Probably the reason for what happened. Though I think she’d … misread the person she was leaving me for.”

“Leaving?” Dolly knew how to look skeptical.

“Yes, running off. Just the kind of thing that would appeal to Lila.”

“Who with?”

“Jackson Rinaldi.”

How did I know that name was coming? Oh, Jackson. I wanted to groan, but somehow felt it best to show no emotion in from of Cecil Hawke.

“You know him, don’t you?” he asked Dolly, who half nodded. “Why do you think I accused him during the séance? Fool. Lila and I’d been fighting all day over that man, you see. I didn’t know what to do. It was all I could think of. Of course she was angry with me.” Here he spread his hands wide. “But what’s a man to do? That Rinaldi fellow posed as my friend while secretly having an affair with my wife. And then, I learned he was plotting to steal her away …”

The drama was getting to be too much. I could see Jackson going after a famous man’s wife. Good for his ego. But not running off. Not him.

“Or perhaps not,” Cecil looked from me to Dolly. “Maybe Jackson had no idea she was planning this escape. In that case, I’d say talk to the man. Get his side of it. But remember …” He put a finger up beside his nose. “A woman is dead. Test his hands for gun powder residue, or whatever you do in such cases.”

“That’s crazy,” I said.

Dolly gave me a hard look, signaling me to shut my mouth while she conducted her interview.

“Did she admit to the affair?” she asked.

“Admit! She threw it in my face. I couldn’t believe it. The man’s a fool. A snob and a wannabe—but dangerous around women. A very dangerous man. Just ask Emily, here.” He nodded in my direction. “I’m sure she can tell you a thing or two.”

Cecil waved a flaccid hand at me and went on. “Who knows? Maybe because she was insisting on this running off thing. Maybe because she threatened to tell me and he’d lose an influential friend. I couldn’t begin to read the inferior mind of someone like Jackson Rinaldi.”

“And this other thing …” Dolly leaned in a little closer, notebook resting on her knee.

“What other thing?” He was impatient now, ready to be done with Deputy Dolly.

“Eh, when your wife pretended to be the ghost …”

He raised his eyebrows and waited.

“She asked you if you murdered someone named Amanda, and if you would murder her too. Who’s Amanda?”

I’d heard the same thing coming from the ghost but I didn’t think it was Amanda. More like Armando. Something like that. I said as much to Dolly.

She gave me one of her disgusted looks. “You heard wrong, Emily. It was Amanda. A woman. Not Armando. A man.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think you heard right …”

“Yeah? Well, I’m the professional here. I know what I heard and I’m trained to listen.”

“Not this time,” I insisted, more into showing her up than the truth.

She blew her lips out and rolled her eyes. “I already asked the other guests. They said ‘Amanda.’”

“You know how unreliable eye, or ear, witnesses are.”

She gave up and turned back to Cecil. “Okay. Why did your wife ask if you’d murdered somebody named Amanda or Armando?”

“I thought it was a joke. I’ve never known an Amanda, or even an Armando, in my entire life—that I’m aware of.” He shook his head. “Typical of Lila’s cruel humor.”

Dolly sat back, then looked hard at Cecil Hawke.

“About those friends,” she said, then stopped a minute.

“Yes?”

“Something’s coming up over and over while we’ve been talking to your guests.”

We waited to hear her out.

“Except for a couple of neighbors, the rest said they were hired, down in Grand Rapids. Supposed to be here for some kind of dress-up party. So, almost nobody here is a friend of yours or your wife’s.”

Cecil took a deep breath. “Another illusion. Lila was so set on a party. She was used to city life, night clubs, openings. Here, we live quietly. Really there was no one to invite. I have friends …”

“You said European friends would be here.” I frowned. “The ones who came for shooting, and riding to hounds—or whatever it is you all do.”

“Well, yes. But those are business friends. Lots of those. Sheiks. Even minor Scandinavian royalty. They’ll be here for the hunt this fall.” He thought a while. “I hope this doesn’t put a dent in those plans …”

“So this party was for Lila? Because she was bored?” Dolly said.

“She didn’t know the people I invited weren’t really …” He sighed and sat back. “That’s why I encouraged her to invite you, Emily. And then your friends. I told her it would be droll, having some of the locals attend. You must know Lila was a snob. She so wanted you to see the kind of life she was used to. I think she said it might open your eyes to what you were missing.” He shrugged. “Just her way of helping you out.”

I sat back in my chair. This was a real murder, not another of their endless, silly games. Actually it was a second murder, if my tenuous ‘Toomey’ link between them proved to be true. What I had to do, to keep my tightrope walk going between Hawke, Jackson, the police, and my duty to the newspaper, was stay neutral, keep any feeling I had about all of them out of it.

Cecil reached over and set his hand firmly on my leg, fingers digging into me. “You will stay the night, won’t you, Emily?” His voice pleaded as his eyes insisted. “I have no one else and I couldn’t stand to be alone …”

I opened my mouth to speak as Agent Lo came into the room, hesitated in the doorway, then took a few steps toward me. He stopped and looked hard at Cecil Hawke.