And Lyle was a good listener. He kept his eyes on Marie-Claire, nodding intermittently, as though the aesthetics of fabric and cabinet design. Were the only thing that presently mattered.

When Marie-Claire paused for breath Isabel e stepped in, redirecting the conversation like an air-traffic control er with several flights on her screen.

Though I had to admire her skil , I didn't appreciate the direction she chose.

"Tempe has been working on these dreadful gang murders. Can you tel us something about them?"

"The bikers?" asked Claude-Henri.

"Yes." I wanted to glare at Isabel e, but decided it would be rude. I also wanted to strangle her, which would be stil ruder.

"Were you involved in the discovery I read about in today's paper?"

"Yes. But as Isabel e knows" -- I smiled icicles in her direction -- "I can't -- "

"What are you doing with bikers, Aunt Tempe?"

Kit's interest had wandered during the furniture design lesson, but he perked up at the new topic.

"You know that I work for the provincial medico-legal lab."

He nodded.

"Last week the director asked me to look at some murder cases." I mentioned nothing about my role with Operation Carcajou.

"How many?"

"Quite a few."

"More than the Bee Gees?" he persisted.

"Five."

"Five people iced in one week?" Kit's eyes were huge. Everyone else at the table had gone quiet.

"Two of them were kil ed in 1987. We recovered their bodies this week."

"That's what I read about," said Claude-Henri, pointing a fork in my direction. "C'est ça. That was you in the photograph."

"Who were the others?" Kit pressed on.

Now I wanted to strangle my nephew

"Two were bomb victims. One was a little girl accidental y kil ed during a drive-by shooting."

"Mon Dieu," said Marie-Claire, abandoning the commitment to English.

I reached for my Perrier, desperately wishing I'd paid attention to her so I could dodge with a question about Renaissance veneers.

"Are you counting the young woman whose bones were found in St-Basile-le-Grand?"

I turned at Crease's question. Though his voice sounded casual, his eyes had a glint I hadn't noticed before. If he had hopes of a story he wouldn't get it from me.

"No."

"Have you identified her?" He reached for his wine.

"No."

"Who are you talking about?" Kit asked.

"Near the grave of two of the bikers we also found some other bones. It's a young woman, but we don't know who she is, or if she's connected with the Vipers. Her burial could predate their ownership of the property."

"Is that what you think?" Crease.

"I don't know"

"Who are the Vipers?"

I was fast restructuring my opinion of my nephew's social skil s.

"They're a puppet club for the Hel s Angels."

"No way!"

"Yes, way. And they and their brothers in arms are responsible for almost one hundred and twenty deaths in this province over the past five years. God knows how many others have disappeared."