So long, Matt, Peter thought as he typed in the command. It’s been good to know ya.

And then, having set the worm in motion on Matt’s computer, Peter turned his attentions to those that belonged to the Foresters. Through spying on Morgan’s files, Peter had managed to gain unlimited access to Bryan’s computer. Peter hoped that by waiting this long he had given cops ample opportunity to find the bloodied hammer in Bryan’s truck and that they would now be focusing their investigation in that direction. He was certain that the homicide detectives involved would take a very dim view of having their prime suspect’s files suddenly disappear from the family’s computers. Forester could shout to all the world that someone else had destroyed the data, but under the circumstances, who would believe such a story? The missing files would make him seem that much more guilty.

With a few masterful key strokes, Peter launched that destructive process as well, then he turned off his computer and headed for the gym. What he needed before work was a good workout and a nice lunch or dinner.

With Morgan gone, he was once again ready to go on the hunt for a new woman. He knew he was blessed with relatively good looks. When it came to attracting women, that always helped. So did good muscle tone and properly defined abs and biceps. This time, though, he hoped he’d find someone who didn’t ask so many questions.

Peter remembered his mother telling him once that curiosity killed the cat. He had been a little boy at the time, only seven or eight. He had wondered about the statement, trying to figure out exactly how it worked. He no longer wondered about it because he knew it was true.

So did Morgan Forester.

Ali was back home by four-thirty. After showering, still wearing her robe, she turned on her computer and logged on to the Internet. She had been reassured by Leland Brooks. Now, regardless of whether or not her stalled home remodel would be finished in time for Thanksgiving, Ali was determined to start issuing holiday invitations. To that end, she was relieved to see Velma Trimble’s screen name, VelmaT, on her buddy list.

Velma T, an eighty-six-year-old widow from Laguna Niguel, had started out as a fan of Ali’s blog. Over months of regular correspondence, a friendship had grown up between them. When Velma was diagnosed with cancer, both her son and her doctor had been more than willing to write her off. Ali had been the one who had stepped up and encouraged Velma to seek a second opinion. With that dire second opinion, Velma, too, had been willing to give up. She had gone off on what was to have been a final splurge, an all-first-class, round-the-world tour. Much to Ali’s surprise, Velma had returned from the trip determined to undergo treatment.

“That’s what Maddy Watkins told me,” Velma had said, referring to the retired schoolteacher from Washington State who had been her traveling companion on the trip. “Anyone who’s tough enough to go see Mount Kilimanjaro is tough enough to fight cancer.”

Now that Velma was finishing her second round of chemo, Ali wanted her to come to Sedona for Thanksgiving dinner. She immediately sent an instant message to that effect and received an almost instantaneous reply:

Velma T: I couldn’t possibly. I’m bald as a billiard. I look a fright. Ghastly.

Babe: I’m inviting you to come have dinner. It’s not a beauty pageant.

Velma T: Who all would be there?

Babe: My parents. My son and future daughter-in-law. A few friends.

Velma T: But how would I get there? You know I don’t have a car. Don’t drive.

Babe: Just say you’ll come. Let me worry about getting you here.

Velma T: It’s so close. You probably wouldn’t get a very good fare.

Babe: See reply above. I’ll worry about that.

Velma T: I already told my daughter-in-law that I was booked. That was a lie. Now it could be true.

Babe: Is that a yes?

Velma T: Even if I’m bald?

Babe: Especially if you’re bald.

Velma T: Fair enough, then. It’s a yes.

Babe: Okay. Details to follow.

Ali’s phone rang as she was signing off. Her parent’s number showed on the caller ID screen, but since her father avoided using the telephone as much as possible, there wasn’t much chance Bob Larson would be calling.

“Hello, Mom,” Ali said. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Edie said. “I was just worried about you, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Because of all this business with Bryan Forester. What’s going to happen to your house? What if he gets thrown into jail and your job doesn’t get finished?”

This was probably not the right time to mention the cabinet order for which, if things fell apart, Ali would be paying 50 percent more for than the original agreed-upon price.

“It’ll be finished,” Ali declared with more confidence than she felt. “I’ve definitely decided to go ahead with Thanksgiving dinner. Please mark it on your calendar.”

“And where do you plan to have it?” Edie wanted to know. “In the driveway? I heard they were just installing wallboard today. You’ve got a long way to go before the place is going to be ready for occupancy.”

“Turkey dinner is at my house,” Ali said. “If not that one, then this one, and that’s final.”

“What do you want us to bring?”

“Nothing,” Ali said. “I’ll handle it.”

The long silence that followed meant that Edie wasn’t entirely convinced. “All right, then,” she said. “But have you ever cooked a turkey before?”

“Don’t worry,” Ali said. “I’ll figure it out. I can read a recipe.” And so can Leland Brooks, she thought.

“Is Dave coming to Chris and Athena’s get-together at the gym tonight?” Edie asked, changing the subject. “He loves my pumpkin pies. I’ve made one especially for him.”

When it came to Dave Holman, Edie and Bob Larson were absolutely transparent. Ali’s parents really liked the guy and were lobbying to the best of their ability for Dave and Ali to land in some kind of permanent arrangement. Ali had attempted to explain the changed dynamics in the relationship, but it made no difference. Bob and Edie’s minds were made up. They weren’t listening.

“He may be coming,” Ali said. “He was here at the house for a while last night. I know Chris invited him tonight, but I don’t know if he’ll be there.”

“Well, then,” Edie said determinedly. “I’ll bring his pumpkin pie to the gym along with everything else, just in case.”

“Everything else?” Ali echoed. “I thought Athena said Hawaiian Punch and storebought cookies.”

“Christopher is my grandson!” Edie said indignantly. “You don’t suppose I’d let him celebrate his engagement with a batch of storebought cookies, do you?”

“No,” Ali agreed with a laugh. “I don’t suppose you would.”

Just then her e-mail announced the arrival of a new message. And there, moments before the five P.M. deadline she had given them, was a video-bearing e-mail from Raymond Armado. Once Ali got off the phone with her mother, it took her a while to download the attached file. When she finally opened it, she fast-forwarded through the parts that consisted of Billy Barnes and the other guys dutifully hanging wallboard. Boring. Steady. Absolutely unexciting. Toward the end of the film segment, however, Dave Holman, notebook in hand, appeared on the scene. That sequence began with Billy Barnes glancing at his watch and with Ali exiting the frame.

“What can you tell me about Bryan Forester’s situation yesterday?” Dave asked on the video without preamble.

“He was here from around ten A.M. on,” Bryan answered. “We had a problem with a building inspector. Once he got here, he was here for the rest of the day.”

“He didn’t come and go?”