"Well, he did have both the opportunity and the motive."

"What motive?" I asked, bristling against my will at the slur on his character.

"His secret, whatever it is. Which brings us back to the list. Once we find out what his secret is and clear him of murdering Tanya, we will know what to do about Dominic."

"Dominic?" I tried to follow her convoluted reasoning. "You mean about him blackmailing Raphael?"

Something occurred to me as I spoke the words. Dominic had a fight with Tanya the day before she died—he might fill the role of murderer. "Or about Tanya's murder? Or both?"

"Hmm. Dominic as murderer—I suppose it's possible." She shrugged and reached for my pot of coffee, pouring herself a cup and adding an unhealthy dollop of cream. "Doesn't matter; either way, we get Dominic off Raphael's back. If he's the murderer, he goes to jail. If he's not and we figure out Raphael's secret, we apply a little judicious blackmail pressure of our own."

"What sort of blackmail pressure?" I asked suspiciously.

"Who knows? We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. You want that last roll?"

I stared at it, not seeing it. Raphael's face loomed large in my mind. "OK. I guess. I'm game."

"Either he's worth fighting for, or he's not the one for you," Roxy said sagely, buttering the roll.

I met her gaze as her words clicked into place. "He's worth fighting for."

"I thought you'd see it that way. Let's get a little breffy under our belts, then we'll tackle item one."

"You've already eaten enough rolls for two people," I pointed out.

"A girl needs her strength when she's saving her best friend's romance, not to mention uncovering mysterious secrets and solving a murder."

"You sound like an overgrown Nancy Drew," I smiled.

"I always liked Nancy. You can be my George."

"Oh, hell," I said, looking over her shoulder.

"What? You want to be Bess instead? That's OK with me, but I always thought Bess was a bit of a wet blanket."

"No, it's not that."

"Don't tell me you want to be Hannah Gruen? Wasn't she elderly? Well, OK, you can be her, but don't be saying things like 'Lawks a-mercy, Miss Nancy' to me."

I nodded to the man in the doorway and rose from my chair. "Will you stop? Inspector Bartos and that flunky of his are here. Eat up, Nancy. I think we're about to be grilled by the coppers."

The bar was closed at this time of the morning, which evidently made it a good place for the local cops to interview people. There were four tables set up at opposite corners of the room, each occupied by a policeman. People from the fair staggered in through the outer door, lining the hall, their eyes blurred and red from being short-shifted in the sleep department.

A policewoman with a little black moustache held up a hand to stop us as she consulted a list. She said something and waved me forward, but stopped Roxy before she could enter the bar.

"Looks like you're on your own, George," she called out to me as I entered the bar. "Don't be so stubborn that you don't call Ned Nickerson for help if you need it. I'm sure he'd help if he knew you needed it."

Calling Ned, AKA Bob the Pigheaded, was not going to be a problem, I reflected as I stepped into the bar. He was standing near one of the tables with Inspector Bartos, arguing in a low but vehement voice. Whatever he was saying did not go down well with Bartos, because the latter was shaking his head and looking like he was wishing he could shut Raphael up. I wondered whether Raphael had volunteered to speak to them or if they'd had to drag him in, then lectured myself for having so little faith in the man with whom, even if he did drive me up the wall with his refusal to dish with the truth, I was madly in love.

Inspector Bartos spotted me and managed to get a word in to Raphael. I decided the best defense was a strong offense and, raising my chin, marched over to where they both watched me. "Inspector Bartos, Raphael. You wanted to see me?" I asked Bartos. "I told you everything you could possibly want to know last night, several times, in fact. What do you want now?"

Not even Nancy Drew's brash best friend George would address a police inspector in such an arrogant tone, but I was just about at my limit, and it wasn't even lunchtime. Inspector Bartos didn't seem to be offended, however. His voice was mild as he said, "Mr. St. John was just giving me the benefit of his advice, Miss Randall. If you would wait at that table, I will be available in a very short time."

"Mr. St. John is very good at giving advice," I told him, ignoring Raphael looming over me. "It's taking it that sticks in his craw."

"Joy," Raphael growled at me in warning, taking my hand.

I took it back. "Unless you have something to confide in me, I don't believe we have anything to say to each other."

His eyes turned molten. "We damned well do." He grabbed my head and laid his lips on me so quickly, so hard and fast and full of unspoken demand, that I just stood there and let him kiss me. "Don't give up on me," he said in a low voice, his eyes burning me as his thumb brushed a line along my jaw. He looked over my head to Inspector Bartos. "You're making a mistake, Bartos. I can prove what I've said. If you'll just contact the Heidelberg police—"

"It is my mistake to make, you agree? Contacting the German police won't be necessary," Bartos told him. "You will remain available for interview."

Raphael's jaw tightened, but he nodded, then looked back at me. His thumb teased my lower lip. "Remember what I said," he warned me, then dropped his hand from my face and left the bar.

I stood brainless, bemused, so madly in love that I could just lie down on the floor kicking my heels and having a hissy fit over the way things had turned out, but we Randalls are made of sterner stuff. Raphael gave me much to think about, but unfortunately—"I am ready for you now, Miss Randall," Bartos said behind me.

I watched through the window as Raphael strode across the parking lot, heading back to the meadow. He looked so tired and frustrated, I wanted to cradle his head against my breasts and make everything all better.

"Miss Randall?"

Two policemen passed Raphael on their way in to the hotel. He literally stood head and shoulders above them, the very embodiment of masculinity. I sighed. He certainly was perfect, if you were willing to overlook the fact that he was pigheaded and stubborn, had difficulty trusting people, and didn't want to need anyone.

"Miss Randall, the morning is passing. If it would not be too troublesome, I would like to conduct your interview now."

Raphael disappeared from view. I turned to look at Bartos, not really seeing him. The conversation Raphael had with Bartos was very interesting. Had he volunteered advice? About the murder in Heidelberg? Perhaps he had decided to come clean with the police regarding his past… then again, the way Bartos demanded he remain available for interview was not a sign the police viewed him as innocent.

"The chair is very comfortable, I assure you. And the table is a fine example of local craftsmanship. If you would just seat yourself, I believe you will agree."

What did Raphael mean about not giving up on him? What kind of a demand was that for him to make of me? He'd given up on me even before we had a chance, hadn't he? And just what did give up mean? Ha! I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to fawn all over him, telling him how marvelous he was no matter how terribly he treated me. How dare he expect me to stay devoted to him, consumed by thoughts of him, thinking of him to the exclusion of all else?

"Miss Randall, my wife is expecting me home for dinner this evening. Shall I tell her otherwise?"

Well, I wouldn't do it! I just wouldn't! If he wanted a devoted slave, a groupie, he could just look elsewhere. I had too much self-respect to turn myself into a doormat just so his manly ego could stomp all over it. Give up on him, ha!