“You might also want to take a look in Carpington’s and Greenway’s cars. I don’t think there’s any snakes in them. They’re out behind the Valley Forest Estates offices. You never know, you might find some interesting things in there.”

“Already have,” said Detective Flint.

i wondered whether they would charge me with something. There had to be lots of offenses to choose from. Not reporting Stefanie’s death to them immediately, hindering prosecution, who knew? They take their time with these things, and I knew that if they wanted to lay charges, they might take months to get around to it.

But they didn’t waste any time charging others. Greenway, who hadn’t bothered to make a run for it that morning, who knew the game was over and simply waited for the cops to arrive, was arrested, as was Roger Carpington.

A couple of days later, with some fanfare, they announced that they were charging Carpington with the murder of Stefanie Knight.

They had found, in the trunk of his car, a bloody shovel. They’d run DNA tests on the blood, and it turned out to be, without a doubt, Stefanie Knight’s.

And I thought: I’ll be damned.

life took some time to get back to normal. Sarah’s bosses told her to take off as much time as she wanted, which meant she probably had about a week. In seven days or so, her editors would be calling to say “You okay? You think, you know, coming back to work and editing stories about murder and mayhem would help take your mind off things?”

There were insurance matters to deal with. We’d lost a car. There was a big hole in the basement wall, from my doing batting practice with the tripod. And there was the grisly matter of the blood-soaked carpet where Rick had fallen on his sword.

And there was some other damage that the insurance adjusters weren’t equipped to handle. Sarah didn’t want to talk to me.

She was there for me, of course, while I recovered from my injuries. She’d make me tea, bring me an ice pack, get me a glass of water to help me wash down my Advils. But she didn’t have much else to say, and I couldn’t blame her. I’d nearly gotten us both killed by being a busybody. I’d nearly turned our kids into orphans.

They weren’t that pleased with me, either, but they were more upset that their mother and I weren’t speaking. Or that their mother wasn’t speaking to me.

“I’ll talk to her,” Angie said to me.

“Thanks, honey,” I said. “But I just think it’s going to take some time.”

“How much time?”