I should have majored in math, I'd decided within a week of being single again. The degree in psychology had not only provided the depressing evidence that I had married a violent egotistical narcissist, it had also failed to help in making money.

My fallback during dry periods with the catering business was housecleaning, which paid a reliable eight bucks an hour. If I could book the jobs, Patty Sue and I each were going to have to do three houses a week just to make the November house payment and buy groceries. Luckily, finding needy clients whose houses were a mess was never difficult.

The only questionable debt was monthly dues for the athletic club. Missing this payment meant starting over with the four- hundred-dollar initiation fee, and I certainly didn't want to do that. But the club was a place I needed to get away from the kitchen. Arch enjoyed the pool in summer. I called and got, of all people, Trixie Jackson. "Oh Trix," I said casually, "I need to speak to Hal." Hal owned the club; I knew he was the only one in a position to let me barter for the dues.

"He's gone down to the game," she replied. And then, "I can't get over that mess yesterday. Fritz writhing on the floor like a woman in labor. Makes him know what it's like."

To the best of my knowledge, Trixie had no children. How did she know what it was like? "Just tell me when Hal will be back," I said.

"Oh, not until tomorrow. Why? You have a problem with something?"

"Look, Trix," I said, "tell him I want to do something for him to take care of my dues this month. Clean or whatever. Just see what he says."

She agreed. We decided to talk more the next day at the morning aerobics class, which she had taken over from another instructor. After that I called Alicia and canceled all my food for the upcoming month. Arch and Patty Sue began to wander into the kitchen and litter it with cinnamon roll crumbs, cereal boxes, and grease-soaked paper towels from draining the bacon. At one o'clock the doorbell rang.

Investigator Tom Schulz. He sauntered in. Sensing his first question, I took him silently into the kitchen to look around. He smiled politely at Patty Sue and Arch, nodded at the pots and pans, walls and floors, cabinets and counters, said "Mm- hmm" and "It sure smells good in here," and scanned everything with those green eyes. Next I led him out to the living room, which I had redecorated postdivorce in a riot of yellows and oranges. The eucalyptus in the mysterious dried flower arrangement perfumed the room.

"Nice arrangement," he said.

"A bizarre arrangement," I said, and told him of its sudden appearance and anonymous message. He asked to see the card. I gave it to him and he pocketed it. Then he made a silent visual check of the entire room before settling himself on the lemon-colored couch.