The rest of us headed outside, where the cool night air felt wonderful against my cheeks. The last thing I heard as I walked out the door was one of the cops saying, “They call themselves the PMS Club. Sure looked like one of them had a case of runaway hormones tonight.”

Ashley, Colin, Pam, and I started down the driveway to our cars.

“How do you like that?” Colin said. “After all those years of putting flags in her empanadas, Rochelle finally flipped out.” He shook his head in disbelief. “What do you bet the cops arrest her? After all, Marybeth was boffing her husband. She had the perfect motive for murder.”

She wasn’t the only one who had a motive, I thought. Hadn’t I overheard Colin saying that he wanted to “kill that bitch” for giving someone else the partnership he thought he deserved?

“It’s so hard to believe,” Ashley said. “Meek little Rochelle.”

“Yeah,” said Colin, “but you saw how angry she was tonight. It was like she was a different person.”

“You’re right,” Ashley echoed. “A different person.”

With deep sighs, we exchanged good nights, then got in our cars and drove our separate ways.

“I just can’t picture Rochelle as a killer,” I said to Pam, as we headed back to Hollywood in my Corolla.

“I know. But like Colin said, she was awfully angry tonight.”

“Yes, but you saw how horrified she was afterward, when she realized Marybeth was dead.”

“Do you think it’s possible she killed her in an insane rage, then came to her senses when she realized what she’d done?”

“I guess it’s possible,” I conceded. “But I don’t believe it.”

“But if she didn’t do it,” Pam said, “who did?”

“Anyone who had access to the guacamole after she made it. She said she made it at four o’clock. And Marybeth was killed at about nine. That’s five hours for someone to sneak into the kitchen and add the oil.”

“Omigod!” Pam shrieked.

I slammed on my brakes and swerved to the side of the road.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just realized,” Pam gasped. “If it’s not Rochelle, it’s probably one of the other club members!”

“Interesting insight,” I said, pulling back into traffic. “Not interesting enough to total my car. But interesting.”

Pam continued, oblivious to my sarcasm. “I mean, everybody was wandering around, upstairs and downstairs, in and out of the bathroom. Any one of them could have wandered into the kitchen when Rochelle was out of the room.”

“That’s true,” I said. “One of them could have done it. After all, nobody really liked Marybeth.”

“But not enough to kill her,” Pam said, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I’m not so sure about that.”

I told her about Colin’s angry cell phone conversation.