"Well, sweetie pie," I said, "as a matter of fact, I was wondering if you had anything to do with it."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Marla. "I wasn't even there, for God's sake." She began to chew something. "Trixie said the guy from the sheriff's department was good-looking in an oversized mountain- man sort of way. That skinny bitch. She thinks anyone who doesn't look as if they just came out of a refugee camp is overweight." More chewing. "So tell me about this guy."

"What guy?"

"The cop."

"Marla," I said in a voice full of vinegar, "tell me why you called me sweetie pie."

"I don't know. Does it bother you? Think I'm sweet on you? I just asked you about a policeman. Schulz, she said his name was."

I gave her a brief description of the investigating officer and then told her about the flowers and their message, with its "sweetie pie."

"Weird," she said. "Is that all you can think of to say? My whole life's falling apart, for God's sake!"

"Well, I didn't send them," she protested. "Did John Richard ever send you flowers?"

"Only when he felt guilty about some fling he was having," I said. "You?"

"No, not after I served him edible nasturtiums." I said, "Could the Jerk possibly have sent them? I mean, is this guy cracking up or what?" I told her about the tomato allergy, about my innocent substitution of the mushrooms. "When Fritz got sick John Richard had a fit and blamed me. Because of the mushrooms, if you can believe it."

Marla said, "Okay, okay. You are still my good buddy and I am still yours. Everything is going to be all right. Let's think." She stopped to drink something. "The Jerk is pissed off with you. So what else is new? But look at it this way. Maybe he did it. He blames you, makes it look like you, raises a stink. So nobody says, Well now, who spends the most time hanging around Daddy? Catch my drift?"

Another new angle. Everyone had a theory. I couldn't wait to try them out on Schulz. On second thought, I could wait.

"Get him sent to jail, will you?" Marla begged. "I'm getting tired of avoiding him."

After hanging up I considered. Would Schulz have thought of these possibilities? Perhaps not yet.

I spent the remainder of the morning calling the clients whose parties I was supposed to cater in the next month. Canceling felt like pouring money down the drain. Worse, and to my surprise, my clients were all eager to try Denver caterers. Bad news traveled fast. Then I balanced the checkbook. Three hundred ninety dollars. More bad news, even if the November child support payment came on time, which was unlikely. I calculated what it would take to make the next house payment and pay the bills.