single dim lamp was all that illuminated the sitting room. The TV set was off.
“Alberta,” I said, “I’m sorry to bother you, but something happened during the party tonight.”
“Oh?” she asked, blinking. “What’s that?”
Alberta had pale blue eyes and light brown hair sprinkled with gray, which she wore in a short, neat cut around an attractive face. She had the full shape of a woman in her middle years, not slender, but not heavy either, and at the moment she was wearing a deep violet nightgown with pink lip gloss and pearl earrings. It was strange seeing her like that. I was so used to her crisp housekeeper’s uniform of sky blue slacks and matching tunic. But it was her evening off, so more power to her.
“Did you happen to hear or see anything that may have seemed out of place?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, did you hear something that may have sounded like a gunshot?”
“What? Like the fireworks? I heard them, all right. How could you not?”
“But you didn’t come out to see them?”
“Oh, no. I was watching my favorite TV show, enjoying the night off. You’ve seen one fireworks display, you’ve seen them all,” she said with a wave of her hand. I noticed some pretty rings on her fingers.
There was a silent pause. It seemed odd to me that she didn’t ask why I was asking about a gunshot. “All right, Alberta. Thanks. Sorry I bothered you.”
“That’s all right, Clare.”
She seemed in a hurry to shut the door. Nevertheless, I quickly asked, “What is your favorite TV show, by the way?”
“Oh!…you know, that new reality show everyone’s watching, American Star.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?” Alberta wasn’t exactly in the demographic for a show like that, which took a pool of unknown young singers and had them perform every week until the audience voted them down to one winner, presumably America’s next pop diva.
“Oh, yes,” Alberta said quickly. “Talent scout shows aren’t new you know, I grew up on Ed Sullivan. Is there anything else, Clare?”
“No,” I said. “Good—”
I never got “night” out of my mouth. Alberta was already shutting the door with a hastily called “G’night!”
As the thunder rolled again, louder than before, I proceeded down the hallway until I reached the door at the very end. I turned the knob, entered the dark space, and flipped on the light.
There were a few flashlights on a shelf in David’s tencar garage. I grabbed one and resolutely headed out the side door. It was late, it was dark, and it was probably dangerous, but I intended to have a look around the grounds for myself.
FOUR
I clicked on the Maglite and began to walk the perimeter of the building, sweeping the milky white beam back and forth. At this time of night, the lane at the end of the long drive was country dark. There were no streetlights, not even any passing headlights.
When I first arrived here as a houseguest, I asked David about privacy and security issues. Unlike most of the residents of this area, he had elected not to place walls of privets around his property or a gate on his drive. He said it was because he didn’t want to feel hemmed in. But I suspected it was because he was a showman at heart, and he enjoyed the idea of people gawking at his property, although he claimed the location was remote enough that trespassing tourists hadn’t posed much of a problem. (Obviously, a trespassing shooter was another matter.)
An alarm system had been installed on the mansion’s doors, but not its windows. And there was no outdoor lighting, a decision I certainly regretted at this moment. The darkness felt eerie as I moved along. The coming storm had brought thick cloud cover and a hovering mist, making the night feel close. The temperature was also at least ten degrees lower than the day’s high of seventy-six, and I shivered a bit in my khaki skirt and short-sleeved Polo. To be completely honest, however, part of that shiver was from apprehension.
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t afraid. If I had been, I would have stayed inside, because believe me, I’m no daredevil—not like my adrenaline-junkie ex-husband, who routinely got his kicks from rock-climbing, cliff-diving, and scouting out the most dubious dive bars in the Third World.
(In addition to being my ex, Matteo was an astute coffee broker, who traveled the world’s coffee plantations in search of the finest cherries. He was also the Village