“Hi! Where’s Clue?”

“At home. Did you see two bullmastiffs? They’re brindle and they’re my daughter’s and they’ve run away.”

“No! But if I do…” The woman paused, apparently not sure what to offer.

“If you do, would you call the police and ask for Brett Fortesque and tell him where they are?” Susan asked.

“Of course.” A chipmunk, popping its head out of a crack in a high stone wall, attracted Sage’s attention and he and his mistress took off down the street.

Susan continued her search, but fifteen minutes later she was rounding the corner back to her street and had seen no sign of either the dogs or her daughter. With a sigh, she decided to go home and call Brett. She probably should have called him in the first place.

As soon as she made this decision, he appeared. Susan almost couldn’t believe it as the police chief’s car roared around the corner, lights flashing, and pulled up to the curb. She ran over to the driver’s window.

“Brett! How did you know we needed you?”

“Chrissy called,” he answered.

Susan smiled. Her daughter had everything under control.

“There’s a rig overturned on 95, but we’ll have more officers on the scene in a few minutes,” he said, getting out of the car and starting up the sidewalk.

“That will help. They don’t know the neighborhood very well. I mean, we walk them when they’re here, but not a lot. You know how it is with two large dogs and-”

Brett turned and stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Rock and Roll. Didn’t Chrissy call the police to report missing dogs?”

“Susan… Chrissy called us, yes. But she was reporting a body.”

“A what?”

“A body. Apparently your new next-door neighbor is dead.”

“Nadine or Donald?”

“I don’t know who. I didn’t take the call.”

But Susan was already running up the sidewalk to the Baineses’ house. A not-too-accurate replica of a turn-of-the-century Queen Anne Victorian, the house had four different doorways as well as three porches. Susan dashed to the front door and hammered on the brass knocker shaped like a mermaid. Large panes of engraved glass were set in the door and Susan could see Chrissy as she hurried across the wide foyer. By the time Chrissy had the door open, Brett was at Susan’s side.

“Chrissy! What happened? Why are you here? Who’s dead?”

Brett placed his hands on Susan’s shoulders and gently pushed her aside. “Where’s the body?” he asked.

“The kitchen.” Chrissy sounded calm, but Susan realized her face was unnaturally pale. “She’s lying on the kitchen floor.”

“An ambulance should be here in a few minutes. Would you stay here and direct them to the kitchen when they arrive?” Brett asked. “Your mother can show me the way. Can’t you?” He looked at Susan for confirmation.

“Yes. Of course.”

“My dogs. Rock and Roll. They’re in the basement. I didn’t know where else to put them. They’ll scratch up the door,” Chrissy added.

“How did they get in? They didn’t kill…” Susan couldn’t even finish the question, it was so horrible.

“Mother!” Chrissy sounded so much like her adolescent self that Susan almost smiled despite the seriousness of the situation. “They didn’t hurt her. They found her. She… she… she was stabbed. A lot.” Chrissy took a deep breath and turned away.

“Susan, maybe you should stay with your daughter. I can find my way-”

“I’ll be fine,” Chrissy said. “You go with Brett, Mother. It’s been a shock. That’s all.”

Susan hesitated. “You’re sure?”

Chrissy’s shoulders stiffened. “Yes. I’m fine. Really. Fine. You don’t have to treat me like a child.”

This was not the time to assure her daughter that many grown-ups would fall apart if they discovered a body, and Susan led Brett from the foyer as sirens sounded in the distance.

Nadine Baines’s elegant “chef’s kitchen” was usually spotless, everything in its place, granite countertops immaculate, Italian hand-glazed floor tiles shining. Now it was covered with blood. Nadine herself was lying beside the dark red Wolf stove, the $200 Sabatier chef’s knife she had bought in France stuck in her chest. Susan suspected it was the first time the knife had actually been used for anything other than status conferral.

“Can you identify her?”

“Of course. It’s Nadine Baines. You and Erika probably met her at my Valentine’s Day dessert party. She and Donald moved here in January.”

“How well do you know her?”

Susan hesitated. “I see her a lot, but I don’t really know her all that well.”

Brett, who had been leaning over the body, looked up at her. “You don’t like her.”

“No, not really. It’s not that she’s a bad person or anything, but she’s sort of self-centered. And she has too much time on her hands… and… and someone must have hated her an awful lot,” Susan concluded.

“It certainly looks that way,” Brett agreed, walking around the body, being careful not to tread in the blood. The dogs hadn’t been so careful; their paw prints were everywhere.

“Not exactly a pristine crime scene, is it?” Susan commented.

“Not exactly. Oh well, it’s amazing what forensics can come up with.” Brett furrowed his brow. “I vaguely remember meeting her-hair a bit too blond, very loud voice-but I can’t come up with a face for the husband.”

“Donald. His name is Donald. He’s a big deal real estate broker in town and he’s usually talking about it when you see him.”

“Can’t say that rings a bell.”

“Are you going to call him and tell him about this? Or just wait until he arrives home?”

“Where does he work? Do you know what time he usually gets home in the evening?”

“He has an office in Hancock-Donald Baines Executive Homes. But he doesn’t have a regular schedule as such. Well, most real estate agents don’t, do they? I mean, he shows houses at all hours. And then there are open houses and things.”

“Is he connected with Blaine Baines Executive Homes and Estates?”

“Yes. His mother owns that agency. His agency is connected to it. At least, I think it is,” she added.

“We’ll find out all those things.”

“I can’t imagine Donald killing anyone.” She looked over at Brett. “I know. You’re going to tell me that people always say that about any murderer.”

“No, I’m going to ask you if that door is the only way out of the basement. I’d like to get the dogs out of there without them passing through here again.”

Susan thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. I mean, the house looks old, but it’s fairly new so it does have all the amenities that you expect in a new home. I think there’s an exit on the side.”

Brett looked out the window toward the fence around the Henshaws’ backyard. “That side?”

“No, the other one. There’s a garage over there and a small garden shed. And I think there is another door-one of those metal things-that leads to the basement. Do you want me to go around to get the dogs and take them home?”

“No, I think we’ll wait to see if forensics wants to look at them first… Susan, I’ll let them go as soon as possible. That’s all I can promise.”

“I was just wondering how much damage they can do down there in the meantime.”

“Can’t be helped,” Brett said.

“Brett.” Susan grabbed his arm. “Chrissy gave birth to twins a few weeks ago and they only arrived yesterday and she’s looking so pale.”

He nodded. “I know, and I’ll make this as easy for her as possible. We’ll need a statement, but after that, she can go on home.” He smiled for the first time since entering the house. “It’s not as though she’ll be difficult to find.”

The door to the foyer opened as he finished speaking and Chrissy herself appeared. “They’re here,” she said simply as a large group of uniformed officers followed her into the kitchen.

Brett stood up and the murder investigation began.