Sufi made a face. "The cleaning lady comes tomorrow," she said. "Not that she does much. She worked for my parents for years and I don't have the heart to let her go."

"Do they live with you?" She shook her head. "Dead. Cancer." "Both of them?"

"That's the way it goes," she said with a shrug. So much for family sentiment.

She poured a glass of wine and handed it to me. I could tell from the label, it was the same ultra-crummy stuff I drank before I got into the boxed brand with the picture of a phony-looking vineyard on the front. Clearly, neither of us had the budget or the palate for anything decent.

She settled into the easy chair, wineglass in hand. The change in her manner was conspicuous. She must have come up with a good one while she was gone.

She took a sip of wine, staring at me over the rim of her glass. "Have you talked to Derek lately?" she asked. "He stopped by my office this afternoon."

"He moved out. When Glen got back from San Francisco this evening, she had the maid pack his bags and put them out in the driveway. Then she changed the locks."

"My, my," I said, "I wonder what brought that on."

"You'd be smart to talk to him before you worry about me."

"Why's that?"

"He had a motive for killing Bobby. I didn't, if that's what you're getting at."

"What motive are you referring to?"

"Glen discovered he'd taken out a big life-insurance policy on Bobby eighteen months ago."

"What?" My wineglass tipped and wine slopped out on my hand. I couldn't disguise the fact that I was startled, but I didn't like the smug look that crossed her face in response.

"Oh yes. The insurance company tracked her down to ask for a copy of the death certificate. I guess the agent read about Bobby in the paper and remembered the name. That's how Glen found out."

"I thought you couldn't take out a policy on someone without their signature."

"Technically, that's true, but it can be done."

I busied myself wiping up spilled wine with a tissue. In the midst of the mop-up procedure, I realized, like a cartoon light bulb going on overhead, that she felt an intense dislike for Derek. "What's the story?" I asked.

"Derek got caught with his pants down," she said. "His claim is that he got the policy ages ago after Bobby'd totaled his car a couple of times. He thought Bobby would self-destruct. You know the type. One accident after another until the kid winds up dead. It becomes a socially acceptable form of suicide. Personally, I'm not sure Derek was that far off. Bobby drank like a fish and I'm sure he did drugs. He and Kitty were both a mess. Rich and spoiled and self-indulgent –"

"Be careful what you say here, Sufi. I liked Bobby Callahan. I think he had guts."