“He loved her chicken,” Thomas said sadly. “He ate like a horse. She was just saying this morning that she was sorry he never got to eat the chicken she made for him yesterday.”

Thomas followed Regan into the kitchen. An apple pie was on the windowsill. Dozens of chocolate chip cookies were lined up on paper towels. Several cakes were out on the counter, waiting to be iced.

“She wouldn’t have left this stuff out for hours without covering it,” Thomas said. “If there was anything she hated, it was a stale cookie.”

The answering machine was on the counter, tucked in the corner. The light was blinking.

“Do you want to check her messages?” Regan asked.

Thomas nodded. “We have nothing to hide from each other.”

All of the messages except for one were from Thomas. “Janey, this is Mrs. Buckland. It’s six o’clock. Where are you with the dinner? My guests are arriving in an hour! How can we have a dinner party with no dinner? Call me! I’m very upset!”

“Let’s get her number,” Regan said quickly.

Thomas went and got the file. Regan dialed the number and identified herself to an irate Mrs. Buckland.

“We don’t know where she is,” Regan said. “And we’re very concerned.”

“You’re concerned? You know what it’s like to invite people over and all you have is a bag of potato chips to put out?”

Regan tried to cover the irritation in her voice. “Mrs. Buckland, when did you speak to Janey?”

“At about one o’clock. I called her up and told her it was an emergency. At first she hesitated about cooking for me for tonight, but then I reminded her of all the people I’d introduced her to. So she said she’d do it.”

“What was she going to make for you?”

“Roast chicken. I must say she does a good job with it. The turkey she makes can be a little dry, but the roast chicken is fabulous. On the second day it tastes even better.”

“Mrs. Buckland, I’m sure you hope, as we do, that Janey is fine. In the meantime, why don’t you take your guests to a restaurant tonight?”

“You know how expensive that gets?”

“I’m sure you can find a place that’s reasonable,” Regan said.

“I suppose it would be nice not to have to clean up after dinner,” Mrs. Buckland said, her voice softening. “I hope Janey’s all right.”

“Thank you,” Regan said. “We’ll let you know.” She hung up the phone. “Janey was supposed to deliver a roast chicken to her this afternoon.”

They looked at each other. They knew that they were both thinking the same thing.

“Not my Janey,” he said. “She wouldn’t have taken Ben’s chicken.”

“Mrs. Buckland said it tastes best on the second day.”

“Oh God, why?” Thomas asked.

“Let’s call over there.”