The cat hopped in the backseat and stared out the window. I carefully backed out and headed the car toward home. About halfway there my cell phone rang. I didn’t like to talk while driving, so I pulled over to the curb on a residential street and retrieved my phone.

I didn’t recognize the number, but it wasn’t the same as Eugene Marter’s. This one had an unknown area code. I answered it and identified myself.

Winston Eagleton’s cheery voice came through clearly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Harris. I do hope I find you in good health and spirits this fine day.”

“I’m doing well, Mr. Eagleton. How are you?”

“Not tip-top, I must confess. In fact I am rather distraught over the sad news of the death of dear Carrie Taylor.” His cheery tone gave the lie to his words, I thought. But perhaps he was putting a brave face on things. Given his mode of speech, I figured that’s how he would have put it.

“Yes, it’s terrible. I didn’t know her well at all, but she seemed like such a nice person.”

“Oh, she was, she was, let me assure you. Salt of the earth, dear, dear Carrie.” Eagleton sighed heavily. “One simply cannot imagine why a psychopath would attack such a defenseless creature. It boggles the mind, does it not?”

I agreed that it did even as I wondered whether he would ever get to the point of this call—unless discussing the sad event was the point.

“There are those, one must presume, who would think me callous in the extreme for what I am about to tell you, Mr. Harris.” Eagleton paused, and I waited, unsure whether he expected a response. “Er, that is, I had decided late yester eve to hold a small soiree at my hotel, the Farrington House, and invite those who, like myself, are drawn to the works of dear Electra Cartwright. A select group, of course, because one cannot have the hoi polloi to dine with one.”

“Certainly not,” I murmured, wondering at the man’s lung capacity. He hardly seemed to pause for a breath when delivering these long sentences.

“One hopes that you will not think it too gauche of me to go forward with these plans, but perhaps we can raise a toast to the memory of dear Carrie and celebrate all that was good and fine about her life and contributions. That would be fitting, would it not?”

“Yes, it would be.” Before I could say anything else, he was off again.