“The blood thinner.” The crime-scene examiner was listening as intently as Tyler was, and he nodded. “That would explain why he bled out the way he did. Poor bastard. If it wasn’t for him taking that medication, he might be here to tell us the story.”

“And let us know who did this.” Tyler looked my way. “Or do you have a theory about that, too?”

“Nope. No theories.” Just to prove that I wasn’t about to start a crime-scene investigation of my own, I clasped my hands together behind my back. “I can only assume that the person who shot Greg never meant to kill him. He couldn’t have known Greg was on the medication. He must have been stunned when Greg collapsed. How did you know, anyway?”

“About the medication?” Tyler looked at me as if I’d suddenly started spouting Chinese. “I didn’t. Not until you told me.”

“Not about the medication. About the shooting.” I glanced around. Except for the swarms of police officers in the place, there was no one else around. Nobody who looked like a customer, anyway. “If there was nobody here but Greg and the shooter, how did you know about the shooting? Theoretically…” This was a new thought, and it caused my stomach to swoop. “I should have been the one who walked in and found the body. But you were already here. Was there someone else in the shop when all this happened? Is that how you knew?”

“Does it matter?”

“It certainly must matter to you. If someone else was here, that means you’ve got a witness. It also explains how you knew about the shooting. I mean, if someone called you…”

I could tell when Tyler surrendered. That would be when he grabbed my arm again and tugged me back toward the Vavoom! display.

“I don’t need your help solving this case,” he said.

“I never said you did.”

“Then why are you asking so many questions?”

“I care. Is that some kind of crime? I liked Greg. I’m sorry he’s dead. And Monsieur is a friend of mine. If Greg is dead, maybe he’s in some kind of trouble, too.”

“He’s the one who made the call.”

I wasn’t expecting this, and it brought me up short. But only for a moment. I heard the undertone in Tyler ’s voice and I didn’t like it. Not one little bit.

“You’re nuts,” I told him, and believe me, I wasn’t worried about being politically correct or about keeping my relationship with Tyler on an even keel. Thanks to what he did to Eve and how much he’d hurt her and how she was my best friend, Tyler and I didn’t have a relationship, so I didn’t have anything to worry about. “You can’t possibly think that-”

“Why not? You said it yourself. You said that whoever shot Greg didn’t mean to kill him. You said that he must have been plenty surprised when he saw the way Greg bled out. That would explain the panicked, muffled call we got from your friend Lavoie. If he wanted Greg to talk-”

“If Monsieur wanted Greg to talk, he would have baked him a flourless chocolate cake. Or opened up a pricey bottle of wine and poured a couple glasses. He wouldn’t have shot Greg in the feet, that’s for sure.”

“Is it?”

“Damned straight.” I didn’t back down from my position, not even when Tyler turned the full force of his icy glare my way. I raised my chin. “Besides,” I said, “Monsieur knew that Greg was taking Coumadin. He’s the one who referred Greg to the doctor who prescribed it. I heard them talking a couple times about the right way to take the medication and how Greg had to be careful about eating green, leafy vegetables while he was on it. Monsieur Lavoie would know that an injury might kill Greg.”

“Maybe that was his intention the whole time.”

I was so incensed by his stupid theory as well as his refusal to listen to reason, I couldn’t face Tyler. My anger choking me, I whirled around, then spun back to him just as fast. “In case you didn’t hear me the first time, you’re nuts,” I said, and I poked a finger at his expensive silk tie just to emphasize my point. “Jacques Lavoie is a food lover, not a killer. And I’m sure he has an ironclad alibi to cover what happened here tonight. He’s the one who called you. That’s what you said, right? Did he call and say Greg needed help?”

“He called and said someone was in the store and he thought Greg was in trouble.”

“See.” I was so pleased that Tyler had finally divulged this important part of the story, I practically crowed. “Maybe Monsieur had just walked in. Or maybe he was in the storeroom or something. Maybe that’s why he didn’t know what was going on. As soon as he saw that Greg was in trouble, he called the cops. That just about proves he didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Greg.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I thought.”

Tyler had been toying with me and when I realized it, my mouth dropped open. I propped my fists on my hips.

“Don’t take it so hard.” He boffed me on the arm. “I just wanted to see what kind of response I’d get from you. You know, see if my gut reaction and your gut reaction matched up. You’ll be happy to know they do.”

“And you should be happy I don’t take a poke at that smug expression on your face.” I glared at him, just for good measure.

But Tyler was already past that. He looked over to where a team of paramedics was putting Greg’s body into a bag and hoisting it onto a stretcher. “We’re right back where we started from,” he said.

I thought about everything he’d said. “Maybe not. Why not just ask Monsieur Lavoie? If he knew Greg was in trouble, he must have seen what was happening. He’ll tell you. Just ask him.”

“I’d love to. If I could find him.”

That jumpy feeling in my stomach solidified into a block of ice. I looked at Tyler hard. “You mean…”

“He’s nowhere in the store, that’s for sure. In fact, the back door was wide open. Like maybe he left that way and didn’t bother to close it behind him. He called from his cell phone, but there’s no answer on it now.”

“Yeah.” Thinking, I worked over my lower lip with my teeth. “That’s what happened when I called him. You’ve tried-”

“His home? Right before you walked in, we heard from the team of officers we sent over there. There’s no sign of Lavoie there, either.”

“That means-”

“Yep.” Tyler didn’t look any happier saying it than I did hearing it. “Your friend Jacques Lavoie has disappeared.”

HAVE I MENTIONED THAT JIM IS A CONSUMMATE professional?

I suppose I have. I mean, it’s impossible for me to talk about Jim and not sing his praises to the high heavens. Yeah, he’s that terrific. On the personal side, he’s always been there for me. Professionally, I’ve seen him come through in a cooking pinch so many times, I’m pretty much convinced he’s a bona fide kitchen superhero.

But if I needed more proof, it came the day after Greg’s murder.

In spite of the fact that he’d soldiered through with the rest of the cooking class even after I called him to tell him what had happened at Très Bonne Cuisine and that we’d been up half the night in an effort to find Monsieur Lavoie, Jim was at Bellywasher’s at his usual early hour. When lunchtime rolled around, he directed the kitchen staff like a conductor in front of his orchestra.

No missteps.

No miscues.

No sour notes.

Me? Well, after calling Monsieur’s cell phone a couple of dozen times an hour the night before, going along with Jim when he visited every one of the haunts he knew Monsieur frequented, and just basically pacing my apartment as we wracked our brains to try to figure out what had happened to our friend, I was a little less perky.

The latest batch of supplier invoices was on my desk in front of me, but the numbers swam in front of my bleary eyes.

When my office door snapped open and Jim stuck his head in, I was grateful for the break. “Anything?” he asked.