“Was the sheriff here, do you think? Was he dredging the pond for clues?”

“I don’t know,” Renee said. “Rick Salvi doesn’t seem that interested in the situation. Maybe it was your detective, returning to the scene of the crime. These look like bits of Geraldine Graham’s mother’s Coalport. She

had place settings for a hundred, all in this blue-and-gilt. They must have fallen into the water during alfresco evenings.”

“People got drunk and threw china into the pond?”

“We weren’t quite as wild as that, darling. I shall have to call Rick and see if he sent a crew to the pond. Recently it would be, too, there are still wet patches under these pieces. You didn’t see anyone? I thought I heardbut I didn’t see-” The flashlight swept around again.

“Here’s something else.” Catherine had moved to the far end of the pond, her own flashlight cutting a narrow cone along the pond’s edge. If I’d left wet footprints on the walk she was obliterating them. “Oh, it’s just more grubby old bits of something. Not more china from Mrs. Graham’s drunken orgies, it’s all dark and nasty-hey, if you look close, it looks like a mask, you know, like the one Grample has in his study. Didn’t some friend in the arts or something give that to him? It looks like they gave one to the Grahams who didn’t like it quite as much.”

Renee’s feet crunched on the broken brick as she strode over to her granddaughter’s side. “I think you’re right. We’ll have to clean it up: most of it’s here, it’s just the top corner around the left eye that’s broken off. I must say, this explains a lot.”

“About what, Gran?”

“Life, Trina, although it is always an inexplicable mystery. Let’s go home now” As their footsteps crunched out of the garden, she added, “What did you see here Sunday night?”

But Catherine wasn’t to be tricked. Their voices were fading, but I heard her say, “Since I wasn’t here, I couldn’t possibly have seen anything.”

CHAPTER 25

Scaling the North Face

I slept three hours at the nearest motel. When the alarm went off at midnight, I lay blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings. Why had I set the alarm when what I really needed was eight-no, make that ten-hours in a warm bed? It was too cold, I was too old, for nighttime derring-do. But when I rolled over and wriggled back under the blankets, I couldn’t get back to sleep.

Catherine had a key to Larchmont Hall. She was shielding someone inside the house. And Renee Bayard was too shrewd not to understand both these things. Renee would have the DuPage sheriff out there first thing in the morning and my chance of finding-Marcus Whitby’s murderer, say, or a possible witness to the murder-would evaporate.

“As if it’s your business.” I could hear Catherine Bayard say that, her narrow face pinched up in scorn, but I got out of bed anyway.