"Nate wanted to make extra money? Doing what?"

Her face turned rigid. "I really can't say."

"But. . . he's been dead for three years. Look, Boots, Rorry was my friend. A long time ago, we taught Sunday school together. She seemed so terribly unhappy yesterday - "

Boots snarled: "Don't get me started on Rorry," then seemed to regret it. After a moment, she continued in a steadier voice: "I'll tell you why Nate wanted extra money. When you taught Sunday school with Rorry, was she complaining about wanting to have children, but not being able to afford it?"

I thought back. Had she? I only remembered her wistful admiration for Arch, then a toddler. "No. . . but that was years ago. I'd love to get in touch with her again - "

"She works for Killdeer Corp. I think she's still in the same trailer where she and Nate lived. Shouldn't be hard to find."

"Was Nate trying to make that extra money when he died?"

Boots glanced out at the gondola whizzing along, high above the beautiful, treacherous mountain. "I told you: I can't say exactly. He had some film ideas, he had his PBS work. That's what I know."

I got the distinct feeling that that was not all she knew. But I said only, "Rorry is pregnant now. Do you know if she's seeing someone?"

"Man, you don't quit, do you? I don't know anything about Rorry Bullock's social life. She doesn't confide in me." She took a bite of salad and regarded me warily over her fork. "The gallery called and told me you were in this morning. You turned your nose up at their show and went straight to my stuff. Now all of a sudden you're my biggest fan, pumping me with questions about my career, Doug Portman, and Nate and Rorry Bullock. Why?"

The waitress reappeared. I ordered a double espresso and a brownie with vanilla ice cream. Boots declined anything.

"I just wanted to find out more about Doug Portman. That's all. Asking about Rorry popped into my head when you mentioned Nate. Honest."

"And why do you want to know about Portman?"

I sighed. "I told you that already. If you don't want to believe me, don't."

Again she tilted her chin back in appraisal. "How do you take to criticism? I find myself wondering what you thought of the first two sentences under your photo in the Killdeer paper? 'Some call her the corpulent Queen of Cream. But this caterer is one tough cookie'?"

I shook my head. The Killdeer paper was not part of my regular reading material, I was happy to say. Which was probably a good thing, since discussing it filled Boots's voice with vitriol. How she must have hated Doug Portman, with his uncomplimentary critiques. I replied tentatively, "I'd say I'm a tad shy of corpulent - "