The media. People always say this as if it were some foul disease: you’re not with the cholera pouring out of the sewer, are you? And yet we worship and bow down before the television’s eye. I meekly denied connection to the sewage.

Ruth finished her work with the men, telling them they could have coffee in the kitchen, before turning back to me. “Yes?”

Trying to pitch my voice higher to disguise it from yesterday’s croak, I explained that I was a detective investigating Marcus Whitby’s death. “You know that Mr. Whitby died in the Larchmont pond Sunday night.”

“I watch the news, yes, I saw that story, that he had come out here to end his life, and I fail to see why that means you can bother us.”

“Oh, that’s a story Sheriff Salvi put out to calm down the community” I said carelessly. “We know better than that. 1 can step you through the evidence that shows Mr. Whitby didn’t go into that pond on his own, but you’re probably more interested in his connection to the Bayard family.”

She frowned more deeply but didn’t say anything.

“We know Mr. Whitby came out here to see Mr. Bayard, because-” “That is a lie. Mr. Bayard has seen no one this week.”

“Because Mr. Whitby was writing about one of Mr. Bayard’s authors,” I continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Kylie Ballantine, who had such a difficult time in the fifties and sixties. Perhaps Mr. Bayard didn’t talk to Mr. Whitby, but he did come out here, didn’t he?”

She paused, as if deciding what she could reveal, then said, “The man telephoned, but we don’t allow journalists to talk to Mr. Bayard.”

“So you sent him to Ms. Renee Bayard in Chicago, but she wasn’t helpful and he came out here hoping to gate-crash.”

I held up a hand to forestall a further objection. “We know Catherine was at Larchmont both Sunday and Monday nights. She told me her grandfather-“

“You are full of lies,” Ruth said scornfully. “Catherine was in the city Monday night, as she always is during the school year. And she certainly had no reason to be at Larchmont either of those nights.”

“I talked to Catherine yesterday afternoon. She was certainly out here Monday night. We can call her.” I looked at my watch. “School’s out for the day. Unless she has lacrosse practice, she’s probably with her friends, either at Banks Street or the coffee shop they go to-Grounds for Delight, it’s called. I don’t have her cell phone number, but you probably do.”

It was a bit of a gamble-I had no idea what Catherine would say if the housekeeper called my bluff-so I only paused briefly before adding, “I’ll be honest with you: Catherine would not tell me what she was doing at Larchmont. But she says that when her grandfather can’t sleep, he goes over there, that he has a key, and she sometimes goes with him-they like the privacy at Larchmont Hall.”