“Well, it’s extremely weird to be in the middle of a love triangle with a guy who’s probably trying to channel messages to his late wife through the prosecutor who’s handling the murder of the woman-”

“Cut it out. I’ve got to go, the baby’s crying and-”

“You don’t have a baby.”

“Well, it works for Nina whenever you’re makingher crazy with your phone calls. Maybe I’ll borrow one ‘til you pass through this phase.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Look, you’ve only dated the guy a couple of times. Jim’s known him forever. Get through with this case and give Drew a chance.”

I was lying down on my side now, with my head propped up on one elbow, holding the phone to my right ear. We made small talk for a couple of minutes before I wormed my way back to the purpose of my call. “Mike thinks this is a bit far out, but do you-well, does Jim think that Drew harbored enough of a grudge against Dr. Dogen that he might have-I don’t mean that he did anything violent himself, but that he would have hired someone to-”

Joan was shouting at me across the Atlantic. “Do you remember what you used to tell me you did your first year in the D.A.‘s Office, when you were assigned to that bureau where all the nuts called in with their complaints? Whenever you got stuck on the phone with a pain in the neck who wouldn’t let you go, you used to reach a point where you’d say, ’Madam, I think we’re about to be disconnected.‘ Keep talking like this, Miss Cooper, and you will be permanently disconnected.”

I could hear Joan take a deep breath.

“Listen to Mike,” she said. “He’s got wonderful instincts about this kind of thing. I’ll be back up in New York on Tuesday, then you and I can get together for a quiet dinner. Call me here on Sunday after you’ve unpacked and settled in.”

Mike had shaved and showered during my call and emerged from the bathroom dressed in a dark blue suit. He was almost ready to go downstairs for the cocktail hour as he finished knotting and straightening his tie.

My conversation with Joan had put things in perspective and cheered me up as my exchanges with her usually did. There was no reason to write Drew off altogether, especially since I wouldn’t have much time for socializing as the pace of our investigation picked up. I might as well enjoy my free hours now and figure out how I felt about him when this case was behind me.

“Is my little wallflower going to stay in her room again this evening or are we going to have the pleasure of your company?”

“Give me half an hour. I’ll clean up and be downstairs-”

“That’s what you told me yesterday.”

I waved him out of the suite and went in to shower and wash my hair. My cocktail dress was a simple black silk with a short pleated skirt that swung when I moved. My mood was lighter than it had been in days as I stepped into my evening spikes and gave the skirt another shimmy.

It was after seven when I walked down the staircase to the Great Hall. I could see Chapman’s thick dark hair amid the thinning pates of the older academics and made my way across the room to join him. Along the route I asked one of the servers for a Dewar’s on the rocks and was told that the only Scotches the bar stocked were single malts. He would bring me a Glenrothes.

When I approached Mike he was standing with his back to me, facing three enormous panels of tapestry that lined most of the south wall of the Great Hall. He was shoulder to shoulder with a woman in a strapless gown whose skin glowed with the creamiest porcelain texture I’d ever seen and whose short platinum hair bounced gently beneath a diamond tiara as her head moved up and down in response to something that Chapman was saying to her.

I hovered a foot or two behind them waiting to be glimpsed instead of interrupting the conversation.

“I never knew Orkney had anything to do with this place but I sure know the story of these things.” The hand with the Jameson’s pointed up at the wall hangings. Chapman was telling the woman that the Earl of Orkney had been England ’s first Field Marshal, second in command to the Duke of Marlborough at Blenheim. The huge tapestries celebrated that victory and, as Mike was describing, depicted the arts of war.

My curiosity was overwhelming my manners and I circled around Mike’s side as my drink was delivered to include myself in their conversation.

“Cheers. I’m glad you could make it, kid. I’d like you to meet my duchess.”

The elegant woman shifted her glass of champagne to her other hand and extended the right one to shake mine, throwing her head back and laughing at Mike’s description, introducing herself to me as Jennifer, Lady Turnbull. Enough midnight soaks in my Jacuzzi with fashion magazines made the introduction unnecessary. Her beautiful face and stunning figure had graced as many covers and articles as those of any professional model. And the stories of the American college girl who had married the elderly Lord Turnbull and shortly thereafter inherited his millions had been front-page tabloid news while I was still an adolescent.

“Jenny’s fiancé is the person who underwrites this conference for the Brits every year. That’s how come they’re here. He’s the guy over there, talking to your boyfriend.”

Lady Turnbull wrapped one of her long thin arms in the crook of Mike’s elbow and turned him around to face into the roomful of people. I saw Lord Windlethorne speaking to a man I recognized from the same sort of magazine articles as the British industrialist Bernhard Karl, a fiftyish man with boyish good looks.

“Your detective and I have been having a marvelous time, Alexandra. He’s told me so much about you, I’m just fascinated to meet you.”

“Didn’t believe me when I told you Creavey and I hit all the nightspots with a duchess, did you?”

Before I could answer, Jennifer held up her finger in protest. “I keep telling Michael I’m not a duchess but he delights in calling me one. We went absolutely everywhere in the neighborhood last night and he’s promised to return the favor as soon as I’m in New York.”

I couldn’t quite picture Lady Turnbull on a barstool at Rao’s in her strapless gown and tiara surrounded by a crew from Manhattan North Homicide, but I’d seen enough politicians, movie stars, and moguls there to know Mike could make it happen.

“I feel terribly underdressed for your-”

“Don’t be silly. Bernie and I just get all done up like this because we’re hosting the banquet. It so suits the setting, don’t you think?”

I clung to the duchess and the cop like a fifth wheel for at least another half an hour and another neat Glenrothes. I kept looking to see whether Mr. Karl was keeping an eye on his consort but he was clearly either comfortable with her style or secure in his skin.

Shortly before eight o’clock, Graham began moving among the guests announcing that dinner would be served in the French Dining Room. Lady Turnbull took Michael by the hand and led him down the corridor while I sort of shuffled along behind them trapped in a conversation about juvenile delinquency with the tedious Danish criminologist. She took her place at the head of the elongated banquet table sparkling in the reflected surroundings of gilded walls and ceiling, dangling chandeliers of all sizes, and countless table-top candelabra.

As I slipped past Jennifer to search for the place cards bearing my name and Mike’s, she pointed at the seat next to her and beckoned to him. “Since this is the French Dining Room, I’m taking the liberty of keeping Hercule Poirot right here beside me. With all the talk of crime at this meeting, I can’t think of anybody to keep me safer.”

“Poirot’s a Belgian, Mikey. He wasn’t French and neither are you. Remind her your roots are in Bay Ridge and maybe she’ll give you back to me,” I whispered, dreading the thought of sitting between the Australian penal expert and the Teutonic ethnologist.