“There’s supposed to be a photographer from the paper, so I’m sure he’ll snap plenty of photos.” I grabbed my keys, and Diesel saw me. He started toward me, but Justin called him back. “Not tonight, boy, you have to stay here with Justin.”

Distracted by the sudden offer of a bit of ham, Diesel wasn’t looking as I slipped out the back door and into the garage.

Helen Louise was ready when I reached her house several blocks away. She lived in her late parents’ home, a lovely two-story brick house that dated from the early twentieth century.

“You look terrific,” she said as I stepped into the entryway. “Très formidable.” She kissed me, then stood back so I could get the full effect of her ensemble.

She had decided to model herself on Zoë Wanamaker’s portrayal of Ariadne Oliver in the television series. Her below-the-knee-length dress sported a multitude of colors in an abstract pattern. Three long necklaces with beads of varying sizes circled her neck and dangled down her chest. Her hat—well, her hat sported enough flowers to fill three or four bouquets. She carried a handbag, and she opened it to show me several apples inside it. “So what do you think?”

“Magnificent, and beautiful as always.”

That earned me another, longer kiss, and when we drew apart her cheeks glowed pink. Mine probably did as well.

“We should get going,” I said, a little out of breath. “Too bad we can’t enter the contest, because I think we could win.” I opened the door.

“I’m sure we could,” Helen Louise said as she stepped outside. I waited while she locked the door, then escorted her down the walk and to my car.

“I hope everything goes smoothly tonight,” I said as I fastened my seat belt.

“It will,” Helen Louise replied, her tone firm. “Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“It’s not them I’m worried about.”

“Stop scowling, Charlie. Your mustache will fall off.” Helen Louise laughed. “Vera wouldn’t dare pull anything tonight of all nights. It’s a perfect chance for her to be the grande dame, so she’ll be on good behavior, just you wait and see.”

The sun had been setting the past few days at just about five o’clock, but the twilight would persist awhile yet. Traffic was sparse on the way to River Hill. Most of the guests wouldn’t arrive for a good half hour or more, and by then it would be dark.

Lanterns lit the driveway to the estate, and Morty Cassity’s valet-parking staff—employees from his car dealerships dragooned into service—stood ready to go into action as I pulled the car up in front of the house. I handed my keys over to a uniformed young man and received a plastic disk in return. He nodded as I thanked him, and one of his coworkers held the door for Helen Louise. As we climbed the steps to the verandah, I glanced back to see my car disappear down a gravel road to the east of the house.