Clara beamed. “You know, being somebody’s maid means you get to know a lot about a person. Have I taken care of some slobs in my day. But Nat, he was pretty good. Ya know, sometimes he …”

“Hold that thought,” Regan said as she escorted Thomas to the door. “See you in a few minutes.” She took the red box from his hands and turned back to Clara who was clearly enjoying the drama.

“You were saying … ?” Regan prodded.

“Oh, yeah, I had one couple. Always left a mess. Disgusting—”

“I mean about Nat,” Regan interrupted as gently as she could.

“Oh, yeah, Nat.” Clara raised both her hands and looked up to the ceiling as though she’d find some insight there. “So sad after his wife died. She had a thing for all these crazy sheep.” Clara started walking down the hallway toward the master bedroom. At the doorway she stood aside to allow Regan to step in front of her. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Regan noticed the dressing table that Thomas had mentioned, with all of Wendy’s toiletries still there. “Oh, and there is the bathroom,” she said, inching closer. Regan took a deep breath. In the absolute quiet, her senses were heightened, alert to catch every detail of this scene of death.

“I have the worst time keeping that marble clean,” Clara said plaintively. “I’ve tried all sorts of cleaners. But none of them was that great …”

It’s funny what people feel the need to talk about at times like this, Regan thought. But I know she means well. “That’s a big Jacuzzi to scrub,” she said in sympathy.

“Yeah,” Clara said. “But I’ve hardly had to touch it since Wendy died.”

“How come?” Regan asked.

“Because Nat hated baths. He only took showers.”

12

Thomas, now try to think happy thoughts.”

Thomas’s girlfriend, Janey, clad as ever in a cardigan sweater, straight skirt, sensible shoes, her outfit pulled together by her most cherished possession, a single strand of pearls, was doing her best to comfort her agitated boyfriend. They were in his office. She was standing behind him, massaging his temples.

“How could everything have gone wrong so fast?” he asked, his voice quivering. “We had so many plans for the club. Tea dances, brunches, ballroom dances, lectures, culture …”

“It’s not all over. And the brunch you had last Sunday was very successful,” Janey said as her fingers now disappeared into Thomas’s bushy hair and kneaded his scalp.

“Not really,” he whined. “When that group of college kids left, I heard one of them say he’d seen younger faces on cash.”

Janey shook her head from side to side. “We shouldn’t have invited kids on spring break. A gracious brunch is not what they were looking for. But everyone else enjoyed it.”

“The only two who didn’t complain about the food were Nat and Ben, and now they’re both dead.”