“Nope, just a group from high school they still hang out with. The closest thing to criminal is that girl, Laura Smith, the one who played Le Mans with Daddy’s Bentley and has had two weed busts over the last three years. Daddy is Imago Smith, this big-time hip-hop producer, and he’s got a rep as a heavy partier so I suppose she comes by it honestly.”

“How’re the girls doing?”

“They still look seriously stressed. Ashley did mention that she’s considering therapy. I fielded a call from the old lawyer, Cohen, wanting to know when I planned to release Ursula’s house from the warrant. Apparently, Richard’s thinking of selling it and taking his inheritance from the proceeds rather than cash in any of Ursula’s stocks and bonds. I had no good reason to keep it going, so I freed it today. And that’s it, boys and girls, unless you can come up with something to nurture hope.”

I said, “The only thing I can think of is a man Ursula dated but didn’t list in her book. Maybe because it didn’t go well. Or someone managed to squeeze into her busy Asian schedule and long distance didn’t protect her.”

“Dark secrets of the Orient?” he said. “Hey, I know, I’ll ask the chief to pay for a trip over there, will even settle for business class. On the other hand, to keep things a bit more realistic, I could serve as a model on Project Runway. Meanwhile, I surrender.”

Two cold cases in a row. I couldn’t recall that ever happening before, had no idea how he’d handle it.

Two days later, I was having lunch with Robin out in our backyard, sitting near the pond, eating sandwiches I’d slapped together after finishing a couple of psych reports. Our French bulldog Blanche positioned herself at our feet, panting and burping, trapdoor mouth ajar, waiting for fallen manna.

Robin had been working overtime and I figured drawing her out of the studio was a good deed. At first, she declined, citing a deadline. A quarter hour later she agreed but remained preoccupied. Then I fed the koi and she watched them burble and slurp and that seemed to draw her into the present.

She picked up a sandwich. “Roast beef. You read my mind, darling.”

“Really?”

“No, but had I been thinking about food, roast beef might’ve come up eventually.”

The phone in my pocket rang.

“Aren’t you going to get that?”

“Not right now.”

She shrugged and kissed my cheek.

Ninety seconds later, more chirping from my jeans.

Robin said, “You might as well.”

I checked the window. Someone calling on my private line, not the business extension my service would pick up. Unfamiliar number. I let it go to voice mail. Seconds later, it rang again.

Robin laughed. I picked up. “Dr. Delaware.”