“Please.”

She waved at the fat man. He filled a cup and brought it over. “Anything else, Holly?”

“Something to eat, Alex? Great muffins.”

“A muffin's fine.”

“What's good today, Jake?”

“Cranberry,” said the fat man, almost grudgingly. “Orange-raisin and chocolate-chocolate-chip aren't bad, either.”

“Bring an assortment, please.” She faced me. “It was nice hearing from Robin, too, after all these years. She used to work on all my instruments.”

Her voice was melodious and her eyes crinkled when she smiled. She talked with every muscle of her face- that animated manner you see in actresses and others who live off public adulation.

“She told me.”

“She's still doing luthiery, right?”

“Very actively.”

Jake brought my coffee and the pastry basket and slunk back to his beans.

She picked up a cranberry muffin and nibbled. “You're a psychologist.”

I nodded.

“The center can always use mental-health people. Times are rough financially and we get fewer and fewer volunteers. It's good of you to inquire.”

“Actually,” I said, “that's not what I came to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” She put the muffin down.

“Sometimes I consult to the police. Right now I'm working on a murder case. Hope Devane.”

She moved back. Her eyes lacked the capacity to harden, but there was injury in them- trust betrayed.

“The police,” she said.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “There was no intention to mislead. But the case remains unsolved and I've been asked to learn anything I can about her. We know she volunteered at the center.”

She said nothing. Jake picked up the tension from across the room and stopped grinding.

“Did you ever meet her?” I said.

She studied the muffin's golden-brown surface. Turned it over. Smiled at Jake and he resumed his work.

“What do you know about the center?” she said.

“Not much.”

“It was established so poor women could have access to basic health care: prenatal counseling, nutrition, breast exams and Pap smears, family planning. It used to be part of the University med school rotation but that ended a long time ago and we had to depend upon volunteers. I did a few concerts for them, helped them get stuff.”

“Supplies?”

“Supplies, donations. They still think of me as someone with connections. Sometimes I can actually accomplish something. Last week I heard of an agent who's redoing his office and managed to get some of his old furniture.”

She looked at the pastry case.

Jake said, “Copacetic?”

She smiled again and turned back to me. “I met Hope a couple of times, but she really wasn't involved. Though we thought she'd be. The first time I saw her was at last year's fund-raiser. We had a variety show at the Aero Theater and a buffet afterward at Le Surph. She bought a five-hundred-dollar ticket that entitled her to a whole table but she said she had no one to bring so we put her on the dais. Because of her credentials. She sounded like someone we could have used. And she impressed a lot of people, with her intelligence and her personality- very dynamic. Shortly after, someone sponsored her for the board and we voted her in. But she never ended up contributing much.”

She finger-combed her hair and drummed the table.

“I guess what I'm saying is what happened to her was a horror but she had very little to do with the center and I'm worried about getting bad PR.”

“No reason you should get any,” I said. “It's just background stuff, trying to understand her. Why didn't she contribute more?”

She took a long time to answer. “She wasn't… how can I say this… at the fund-raiser she had ideas. Talked about bringing in other psychologists, grad students from the University, developing a volunteer mental-health program. Her qualifications were fantastic and the person who sponsored her said she was dynamite. She showed up for the next board meeting, came around for a few weeks, counseled a few patients. Then she just stopped. Her book was out and I guess she was too busy. None of the programs got activated.”

She ate more muffin, chewing slowly, without pleasure.

“So she got too busy,” I said.

“Look,” she said, “I don't enjoy judging other people. Especially someone who's dead.”

“Was the person who sponsored her Dr. Cruvic?”

“You know Mike?”

“I met him once.”

“Yes, it was him. Which was another reason she had credibility. He's been one of our most active board members. Really gives his time.”

“So he and Hope knew each other before the fund-raiser?”

“Sure. He brought her… Robin said you're a guitarist.”

“I play a little.”

“She said you were very good.”

“She's biased.”

She wiped her lips with her napkin. “I don't play much anymore. After I gave birth, nothing but my son seemed important… These questions about Mike Cruvic. Do the police suspect him of something?”

“No,” I said. “There are no suspects at all. Is there something I should know about him?”

“He's been good to the center,” she said, but her tone was flat.

“And he brought her to the fund-raiser.”

“Are you asking if they had something going?” she said.

“Did they?”

“I wouldn't know. And what's the difference? Hope was murdered because of her views, wasn't she?”

“Is that the assumption at the center?”

“That's my assumption. Why else? She spoke out and was silenced.”

She stared at me.

“You really do suspect Mike, don't you?”

“No,” I said. “But anyone with a relationship to Hope is being checked out.”

“Checked out. Sounds like CIA stuff.”

“Basic police stuff. I understand about Cruvic's value to the center, but if there's something I should know…”

She shook her head. “Their relationship… I feel like such a traitor… but what happened to her…” She closed her eyes, took several shallow breaths, as if practicing yoga. Opened them and let her fingers graze the muffin, then picked up her hat and traced the edge of the brim.

“I'm telling you this because it feels like the right thing to do. But it also feels wrong.”

I nodded.

She breathed a few more times. “One time, after the board meeting, I saw them. It was late at night, I was measuring rooms for furniture, thought everyone else had gone home. But when I walked out to the parking lot, Mike's car was still there, way at the far end. It's easy to spot- he drives a Bentley. He and Hope were standing next to it, talking. Her car was next to his- a little red thing. They weren't doing anything physical but they were standing close to each other. Very close. Facing each other. As if ready to kiss or they'd already kissed. They heard me and they both turned very quickly. Then she hurried to her car and drove away. Mike stayed there for a second, one leg bent. Almost as if he wanted me to see he was relaxed. Then he waved and got into the Bentley.”

She winced. “Not worth much, is it? And please, if you question Mike, or anyone else, don't mention my name. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said. “After Hope stopped coming round, was there resentment of Mike because he sponsored her?”

“If there was I didn't hear it. As I said, Mike's our most reliable volunteer M.D.”

“How often does he see patients there?”

“I don't get involved in scheduling but I do know he's been coming for years.”

“Doing obstetrics-gynecology?”

She tensed. “I assume.”

“Abortions?”

“I said I don't know.” Her voice had risen. “And if he does them, so what?”

“Because abortion sometimes inspires violence.”

“But Mike wasn't murdered, Hope was. I really don't want to get into any more of this.” She stood. “I really don't.”

“Fair enough. Sorry to upset you.”

“It's all right,” she said. “But please. I beg you. Don't draw us into the abortion thing. We've avoided problems, so far, but all we need is for this to hit the press.”