“Oh, look,” she whispered. “There’s Eduardo, SueEllen’s lover.”

“Where?”

“Over there. By the fireplace.”

Hubba hubba. The guy was a stunner. With his tight bod, smoldering eyes, and slicked-back hair, he looked like he just stepped out of a Calvin Klein underwear ad. He stood leaning against the fireplace, in a Hawaiian print shirt and pleated linen trousers, talking to a young blonde with yet another perfect body. Good heavens, wasn’t there anybody at this party aside from Heidi and me with a waist bigger than Barbie’s?

“Who’s the girl he’s talking to?”

“That’s Amber. Brad’s girlfriend.”

I remembered what Brad said the other night about having sex on the den carpet. I had no trouble whatsoever picturing this tootsie getting carpet burns on her fanny.

“Where’s Brad?”

“At the bar.”

I looked over to where Brad was standing at a makeshift bar set up in the corner of the room, tapping his foot impatiently while the bartender fixed him a drink.

“He sure doesn’t look like a happy camper,” I said.

“Oh, Brad’s pissed because SueEllen convinced Daddy not to buy him a Ferrari. He’s getting a Beemer instead.”

Poor darling. My heart bled for him.

“I told Brad she’d never let Daddy buy the Ferrari, but he didn’t believe me. And now he’s furious.”

And indeed, Brad looked like he was barely containing himself as he glowered at the slow moving bartender.

“Heidi, sweetheart. Come say hello to the Millers.”

Hal was standing at our side, craggy and casual in a turtleneck and jeans. He looked me straight in the eye, not the least bit uncomfortable. Not like a man who’d recently been caught zipping his fly after sex. Which meant he probably hadn’t seen me spying on him.

But wouldn’t Larkspur have told him about our encounter in the hallway? And if so, shouldn’t he have been worried that I might suspect something and spill the beans to SueEllen? Oh, well. Maybe he just didn’t care. He was a surgeon, after all. After years of sucking fat out of women’s thighs, the guy probably had nerves of steel.

“You don’t mind my borrowing Heidi, do you, Jaine?”

“No, of course not.”

I was happy that somebody at Heidi’s birthday party actually wanted to talk to her.

Hal led her over to a middle-aged couple eating baby lamb chops.

God, they were gorgeous. Not the couple—the lamb chops. I decided to circulate and see if I could find some. I made the rounds of the room, past the social string beans sipping their chardonnay and nibbling their hors d’oeuvres. And when I say nibbling I mean nibbling. It took some of those anorexics five bites to finish a one-inch shrimp puff.

At last I tracked down the lamb chops. The attractive blonde who’d greeted me at the front door was carrying a platter full of the little darlings.

“Hi,” I said. “I’ve been looking all over for these. May I?”

“Of course,” she said, handing me a napkin.