“Me too.”

I drove down to Sheffield, and there it was: a Realtor’s For Sale sign on Gaudios’s lawn. It felt precipitous and strange. Sturdivant had been dead for less than forty-eight hours, and Gaudios was not just cutting his ties, but erasing his past, remaking his life.

The crime-scene tape was gone now, as well as the cop cars and reporters, and in the soft late-summer sunlight the big house looked serene, even inviting. The Beemer convertible was parked in the driveway, and I pulled in behind it. A light breeze rattled a few leaves off the maples, which were already starting to turn. The lawn had been freshly mowed, probably at the suggestion of the real estate agent, who would surely want all the cosmetics to be just right to help compensate for any remaining bloodstains.

Knocking on the front door, where Sturdivant had been gunned down, would have felt not just disrespectful but creepy, so I walked around back. The pool and hot tub were deserted. I walked noisily up the back porch wooden steps – I didn’t want to startle anybody – and rapped energetically on the screen door. I could see into the kitchen, with its gleaming appliances and a fruit basket with a ribbon around it resting on a granite counter.

Gaudios soon appeared, in crisp slacks and a beige polo shirt bearing its manufacturer’s insignia, a small creature that might have been a toad but probably wasn’t. Gaudios did not look glad to see me.

“Oh, Donald, why do you keep tormenting me? What do you want this time? Haven’t you caused me enough heartache already? Really!”

“I’m here with condolences, Steven. I saw that you weren’t mentioned in Jim’s obituary. That stinks.”

He made no move to open the screen door, and said glumly, “Oh, that’s no problem, no problem at all.” He seemed about to add something and then thought better of it.

“So the funeral’s Monday?” I asked.

Gaudios’s face tightened. “Yes. It is. Now, thank you for your condolences, Donald, but I have a lot on my mind and a ton of stuff to do, none of it the least bit pleasant.”

“Will you be going to the funeral?”

At that, Gaudios suddenly trembled, burst into tears, and turned quickly away.

I opened the door, and when Gaudios did not object, I followed him to the kitchen table, where he slumped in a chair, still crying. I took a seat across from him and waited while he uncapped a prescription container, extracted a small white pill with a shaky hand, and popped it into his mouth.

“Would you like some water?” I said.

He shook his head no and gulped the pill down. He seemed well practiced at this.

I said, “So it looks like you’ve been shut out. That’s really rotten.”

He snuffled some more and said, “We buried What-Not today. Nell Craigy and two of the girls in the bridge club dug a hole ourselves and put him in it out behind the rhubarb.”

“Ah.” I wondered about the next owner’s cobbler. “Is his grave marked?”

“No.”

“But you seem to be planning to move.”

Gaudios nodded. “The house is on the market. I can’t live here without Jim. I just walk around the house all day looking for him. I can’t go near the front door, because I’m afraid I’ll find him there on the floor all over again, covered with blood. I can’t sleep because I keep waiting for him to come home, hoping he’s all right. I have to get out of here as soon as possible. I’ll go to our place in Palm Springs for now, for the time being…”

“So, you have a house in Palm Springs. That’s nice. Any others?”

“We have pieds-à-terre in New York and Paris. I’m selling them all, though. I may pick up something in Fort Lauderdale until I decide what to do.”

I said, “You and Jim did well financially, it seems. Are you retired, too?”

“Yes, for some years.”

“What did you do, Steven?”

Gaudios wiped his eyes with a cloth napkin. He said, “Consulting, for the most part.”

“What did you consult about?”

“Ha! You name it.”

“Like what? Mineral extraction? Dandruff control? Past-life regression therapy?”

Now he was looking impatient. “Mostly financial services,” Gaudios said and looked at his watch. “Oh, God, where has the day gone?”

“I know you’ve called in some personal loans,” I said. “Loans with acquaintances in this area.” He looked at me hard. “I’m trying to determine if any of the borrowers might have been involved in Jim’s murder.”

“That is absurd!”

“I have five names.” I rattled them off. “Were there others?”

“You are barking up the wrong tree, Donald. Yes, Jim and I lent money to a number of friends over the years as personal favors. But that has nothing to do with anything, I can assure you. I know you’re determined to get Barry Fields exonerated. But you won’t because you can’t, and you can’t because he is an angry young man who lost control and let his hatred spew out, and he killed Jim over… over nothing!”

“Why,” I asked, “did you and Jim hire me to investigate Fields? You both told me it was to keep your dear friend Bill Moore from making a terrible mistake by marrying Fields. But Moore doesn’t consider either of you dear friends. He thinks of your actions as outrageous butting in where you don’t belong.”

Gaudios considered this and reddened. I thought, Good grief, he may be about to say something truthful.

He said, “The thing was, Jim didn’t like Barry.”

“Uh huh.”

“He offended his mother.”

“His mother?”

“Jim’s mother and brother were at the Triplex one time seeing Star Wars: Episode III Revenge of the Sith. Anne Marie is hard of hearing, and Michael was telling her what the movie was about. Somebody complained about them talking, and Barry came in and told them to keep it down. He was extremely rude in the way he went about it, apparently. Anne Marie told him she couldn’t understand the movie without Michael explaining everything, and how was she supposed to enjoy the movie? Barry told them they were disturbing the other patrons, and he’d give them their money back and they’d have to leave. They thought that was unreasonable – they wanted to see how the story turned out – and they refused to go. Barry lost his famous temper, and he grabbed Michael by the arm, and Anne Marie swung her handbag at him. Somebody called nine-one-one on a cell phone and yelled that the police were on their way. Anne Marie and Michael were humiliated and furious, but not wanting to be in the middle of something that would end up in the Eagle, they left. Without even getting the refund they had coming, Anne Marie said.”

They disturbed people while watching Star Wars? So it wasn’t even The Seventh Seal.

I said, “Did Barry know the yackers were Jim’s mother and brother?”

“No, there’s was no point in telling him. Michael and Anne Marie wanted to let it go. They don’t like to make a fuss.”

“And that was the beginning of some grudge by Jim against Fields?”

“Well,” Gaudios said, “Barry was known to be some kind of weird character. He made up stories about his past – all that BS about Colorado – and he hung around with that annoying Bud Radziwill. Kennedy cousin, my ass! If Jackie O ever met Bud Radziwill, she’d have him arrested for impersonating a Radziwill.”

“Is that a crime in Massachusetts?”

“Now you look here,” Gaudios snapped. “I’ve had just about enough of your smart-ass meddling and insinuations and following me around! I’ve lived a life of law-abiding taste and elegance, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll go back to seedy old Albany and leave us alone to worry about our own problems. Thorne Cornwallis is a man not to be trifled with, and if you get in his way in this, he’ll take you apart. Thorne is going to put Barry Fields in Walpole, where he belongs, and if you don’t watch your step, you’re liable to end up there, also. Now, I’ve got stuff to do, so please, Donald, take your ugly accusations and just get the frig out of here.”