Jeannine was sitting in one of the wing chairs at the window overlooking Lake Michigan. Her face was carefully made up and it was hard to tell how she felt about her husband’s death.

Across the room, feet tucked up under her on an armchair, sat Paige Carrington. She put down her teacup with a crash on a glass coffee table at her left arm. It was the first thing I’d seen her do that wasn’t totally graceful.

“I thought I recognized your Audi out there,” I remarked.

“Vic!” Her voice came out in a shout. “I won’t have it. Are you following me everywhere?”

At the same time Jeannine said, “No, you must go away. I’m not answering any questions now. My—my husband died yesterday.”

Paige turned to her. “Has she been after you, too?”

“Yes. She was out here last week asking me a lot of questions about my life as a corporate wife. What was she talking to you about?”

“My private life.” Paige’s honey-colored eyes flicked over me warily.

“I didn’t follow you here, Paige: I came to see Mrs. Phillips. I might start staking out your place, though—I’m kind of curious about who’s paying those monthly assessmerits. Astor Place—that’s got to run you seven, eight hundred a month without the mortgage.”

Paige’s face turned white under her rust-toned makeup. Her eyes were dark with emotion. “You had better be joking, Vic. If you try bothering me any further, I’ll call the police.”

“I’m not bothering you at all. As I said, I came here to see Mrs. Phillips … I need to talk to you, Mrs. Phillips. Privately.”

“What about?” Jeannine was bewildered. “I answered all your questions last week. And I really don’t feel like talking to anyone right now.”

“That’s right, dear,” her mother said. She turned to me. “Why don’t you leave now? My daughter’s worn out. Her husband’s death came as quite a shock.”

“I can imagine,” I said politely. “I hope his life insurance was paid up.”

Jeannine gasped. Paige said, “What a singularly tasteless remark, even from you.”

I ignored her. “Mrs. Phillips, I’m afraid I talked to you last week under false pretenses. I’m not from a survey research firm. I’m a detective, and I was trying to find out if your husband might have attempted to murder me two weeks ago.”

Her tightly clenched jaw went momentarily slack with surprise.

“My investigations have shown me that your husband had substantial sources of income beyond his salary. I’d like to talk to you privately about it. Unless you want your mother and Ms. Carrington to hear.”