"Sure," I said, going into the kitchen. "It's not like I've got anything else to do."

Veritable castaways that we were, we spent an amiable hour at the island. He read out the utensils, bowls, and so on for each recipe, and I located what I could and put them in marked boxes. Skewers for Gaylene, a bundt pan for Ruby Bee, an oblong cake pan for Catherine. I felt as if I were a genial Ms. Santa stuffing stockings for the little tykes.

When we were finished, he bent down over the page and counted those items not checked off. "I'd better get on this now," he said unhappily. "We need at least two large sacks of things, and if I don't have them tucked away before the reception at four, she will have a fit."

He didn't quite manage to capitalize the "she," but he came close. "Kyle," I said, feeling like a gray-haired granny down from the hills, "she can't be any older or more experienced than you. Okay, so she majored in marketing and knows the field better, but you"-I had a small problem here-"have a head start on the product. Think of all those years of growing up in a Krazy KoKo-Nut environment. She's clearly incapable of expressing genuine enthusiasm enthusiasm, so it's up to you to convey it to the media and the world. This isn't her contest-it's yours! She can't make it happen without you."

He brightened at this final bit of banality. "She really can't, can she? I suppose I'd better follow through with this list. If my father were here, he'd pass it to a minion in the office. What the hell-it'd probably be me, anyway."

He switched off the lights, and we walked toward the lobby. As we passed the closed door, we both heard Geri say, "But Buffy, we were roommates for two years! If you recall, I was the one who took you to the clinic and never said a word to anyone afterward. All I'm asking for is an itty-bitty photograph and a paragraph in the 'What's Cooking?' column."

Durmond was sitting in the lobby, flipping through a guidebook. His jacket hung more normally without the sling, but he winced each time he moved his arm. "Good morning," he said as we appeared. "Have you any idea if there's coffee available on the premises?"

Kyle snorted. "I wouldn't count on it. I'd better get to work on the shopping list. See you at the press reception." He went out the door, nodded to Cambria, and disappeared down the street.

"I haven't seen any sign of coffee," I said to Durmond. "There's probably a place nearby, though." I felt myself flush as he regarded me with an expectant smile, and had it been anatomically possible, would have given myself a quick kick to the fanny. "How about the automat? I used to inhale the danishes."

"It closed a couple of years ago, I'm sorry to say."

Feeling as if I'd learned of the death of a beloved pet, I managed a small smile and said, "Well, someplace else."

"A lovely idea," he said as he put the guidebook in his pocket and stood up. "Then, if you're not busy, perhaps you might like to accompany me to the Museum of Modern Art? We could eat lunch there, or farther afield if you have any suggestions, and be back here for whatever it is Geri has in store for us."

"I don't know," I said, now suspecting that my face was beet red and liable to ignite. "Ruby Bee and Estelle took off for the subway station, planning to do the entire city, and I'm afraid that-well, maybe I ought to be here in case something happens. I mean, they really have no idea-"

"I understand perfectly," he said, sounding exactly as if he did-to my regret. "At least let's have coffee at a nearby shop. Your mother and her friend won't be able to bring the entire underground transportation system to its knees that quickly."

"Probably not, and I certainly could use a cup of coffee." We headed for the door. "Is your shoulder any better today?" I asked as he held open the door for me.

"It hurts, but not so much that I need the pain medication the hospital gave me. Certainly not so much that I can't compete in the contest."

"Good morning, good morning," Cambria said, twinkling at each of us as if we'd done something remarkable by maneuvering through the door. "And where are we off to this lovely day? The park for a carriage ride, a cozy restaurant for brunch?"

"Merely a coffee shop," Durmond said, sighing. "The young lady professes to have other plans for the day. I shall find a park bench and sit among the old men, watching the children play and flicking popcorn to the pigeons."

Cambria gave me a stern look. "Is this true?"

Durmond was biting his lip to maintain his sorrowful expression, but his chin was trembling and his eyes patently guileless. "I fear it is."

"We're going for coffee," I said to Cambria. "Is there a place nearby?"

He pointed out a restaurant on the corner and wished us a pleasant day. As we walked down the sidewalk, I heard a slightly suspicious noise from my companion, but refused to so much as glance at him until we were seated in a booth.

Once we'd ordered coffee, along with bagels and cream cheese, I gave him a level look and said, "So why did you enter the Krazy KoKo-Nut thing? The other contestants are…shall we say, more suitable for this kind of lunacy?"

"And I'm not?"

"Not from what I've seen thus far," I said, then paused while the waitress from the Rambo School of Table Service banged down our order and challenged us to ask for anything else. Neither of us dared. I took a sip of coffee and resumed my oh-so-delicate inquisition. "Have you always enjoyed cooking?"

"Since my wife died, I've found it an amusing occupation." I waited, and after a moment, he said, "Inoperable cancer. Grueling, but brief. I took off for the remainder of the semester, sat in my boat and stared at the gulls, and pulled myself together in time to start the spring semester."

"What do you teach, and where?"

"Connecticut, a small liberal arts college. You wouldn't have heard of it. I teach obscure things." He slathered a piece of bagel with cream cheese and carefully took a bite, all the while feigning preoccupation with the process instead of the postulator.

"How obscure?" I persisted.

"Very, very, obscure. Now how about you? You're a cop, you mentioned last night. In this little town your mother mentioned?"

I was searching for a way to explain Maggody when two figures dashed by the window, faces contorted, bags thudding wildly, a guidebook loosing a stream of papers, and one red beehive at a perilous tilt.

"That was…" I said, stunned, then put down my cup and struggled out of the booth. "I'll catch up on the bill," I said as I rushed past the waitress and out the door (in retrospect, I admitted this wasn't wise; customers are shot for much less than skipping out). I caught up with Ruby Bee and Estelle as they reached the door of the Chadwick.

"Oh my lord," Ruby Bee said, grabbing my arm and gaping over my shoulder, her eyes as round as I'd ever seen them. "There's a maniac after us! We got to call the police before he gets here and kills us on the spot!"

"Ladies, ladies, calm down." Cambria put arms around both of them. "You are safe now. I personally will see that this maniac does no harm to you."

"He's been aiming to kill us ever since we set foot in this place!" Estelle shrieked. Like Ruby Bee, she seemed to be anticipating an assault from the direction they'd come. "Get out your gun, Arly! I plan to die in my own bed, not in this dirty filthy place!"

I looked down the sidewalk. There were hordes of people, of course, but all of them appeared to be preoccupied with missions more mundane than murder. A few of them may have noticed the excitement in front of the hotel, but they maintained the introspective expressions of big-city pedestrians and continued around us.

"Who's trying to kill you?" I asked.

"That maniac," Estelle said in a slightly calmer voice. "Doncha remember? I told you about him when I called."