I shook my head, amused and amazed. I didn’t know which was more impressive: Kandi’s eternal optimism or her ability to leave the world’s longest phone messages.

But I did wish her luck. “Who knows?” I said to Prozac. “Maybe this bench-pressing, walnut-cracking guy really is Mr. Right.”

Prozac meowed angrily, as if to say, Who cares about Kandi? Can’t you get your priorities straight? It’s time for my dinner.

So I padded into the kitchen and opened her a can of yummy chicken innards. I was just unwrapping my Jumbo Jack when the phone rang in the living room. I hurried to get it.

It was Morris Pechter, Mrs. Pechter’s adorable grandson. His voice was soft, and a little shy. I’m a sucker for shy.

“Grandma Rose gave me your phone number.”

I just loved the way he called Mrs. Pechter Grandma Rose.

“Anyhow, I was hoping we could have dinner. Maybe Friday night?”

I told him that Friday night sounded just marvelous, and we agreed that he’d pick me up around eight.

I hung up, smiling. I remembered what Mrs. Pechter wrote in her essay, about how Morris took her to dinner once a week. Such a sweet thing to do. That made me like him all the more. And the fact that he looked a bit like Hugh Grant didn’t hurt either.

I hurried back to the kitchen for my Jumbo Jack. It had been ages since I’d wolfed down my bagels and cream cheese and I was starving.

I know, a fast food burger is loaded with fat, and I really shouldn’t have been eating one. And as it turns out, I didn’t. Because by the time I got back to the kitchen, Prozac was up on the counter, her little pink nose burrowing into my Jumbo Jack, practically inhaling it.

“Prozac!” I shrieked. “How could you?”

She looked up at me briefly, then went back to burrowing.

Frankly, I couldn’t blame her. I’m sure it was a lot tastier than her chicken innards. So I poured myself a glass of chardonnay, and sat down to a hearty dinner of ketchup and fries. For dessert, I had a pickle slice Prozac was kind enough to leave untouched.

Then I went into my bedroom and got undressed. It was time for my bath. I swept aside my uneasy feelings about venturing back into the tub. I really needed some serious soaking time to think about my suspects. I slipped on my robe and headed for the bathroom to run the water for my bath.

When I opened the door, I froze in my tracks.

There was no need for me to run the water. Somebody had already done it for me. The tub was filled to the brim.

And floating on the surface of the water was my hair dryer. Plugged in, and ready to electrocute.

Chapter Twenty

Clearly I’d just received a love note from the killer: Lay off, or you’re next. The important thing, I told myself, was not to panic. Absolutely, do not panic. And so, naturally, I proceeded to panic. Big time.