Perry took the seat to my left, and Thatch sat across from me.

“So.” Thatch steepled his fingers. “The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.”

“Shakespeare?”

He nodded. “How goes the investigation?”

“You’d have to ask Anarchy,” I replied.

“Yes, your husband, who's digging into our deepest, darkest secrets in hopes of discovering the killer.”

“If you're innocent, you needn’t worry.”

He grinned as if I’d said something amusing. “Are you really that naïve?”

“Are you really that cynical?”

“Of the two of us, I am a lawyer.”

“Of the two of us, I am the one who’s been directly involved in a murder investigation.”

“That’s right. You were a suspect in Henry’s murder.”

“Proven innocent.”

“It helps when you sleep with the detective.” He glanced at the far end of the table. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m Anarchy’s type.”

Anarchy and I hadn’t so much as kissed for months after Henry's murder. Thatch’s slimy insinuation couldn’t be farther from the truth. “It also helped that I didn’t kill Henry.”

“Thatch Cooke,” said Buffy. “You should be ashamed of yourself. You know Ellison's not a killer.” She’d arrived while Thatch and I were sparring.

“Also, her husband is investigating you,” Perry added. “You might try getting on her good side, rather than antagonizing her. She has the detective’s ear.”

Thatch shrugged. He wasn’t worried. Either he was innocent or, if he was guilty, he didn’t think Anarchy could prove he’d killed Graham.

At the moment, still smarting from his suggestion that I beat a murder rap by sleeping with Anarchy, I leaned toward the latter. “My husband is very good at his job.”

Thatch’s answering grin was almost feral.

“Where's Sumner?” Perry asked Buffy.

“She’s resting in the clubhouse,” she replied. “She didn’t feel up to coming to dinner.”

“Buffy, you sit down there,” Willa called. "Bill come sit by me.”

Bill? He stood behind Buffy, and I hadn’t noticed him.

He followed Willa’s instructions, and Buffy sat next to Thatch. “I take it we're talking about the murder?”

“What else?” said Perry.

Buffy opened her mouth as if she had an answer, but Misty and her staff appeared carrying platters of chicken wings with dipping sauce, crudité huddled around bowls of dill dip, and plates of tomatoes and mozzarella drizzled with balsamic and topped with basil.

“This looks marvelous,” I told the caterer.

Misty offered me a tired smile. "I hope so. May I get anyone a drink?”

“More water for me, please.” The wine had left me feeling muzzy.

Thatch and Perry requested bourbons. Buffy asked for a beer, and Mel, who joined our end of the table and sat next to me, wanted a gin and tonic.

“Ellison was just about to share her theories,” Thatch told Mel. “Given her personal experience with murder, she's an expert.”