"Daddy's not here," she said.

"You're more fun anyway," I said.

"It depends," she said.

She gestured at a couple of comfortable-looking patio chairs. We sat. There was a big glass pitcher on a serving table and some glasses and ice in a bucket and sugar and lemons and fresh mint.

"On what?" I said.

"On whether you're a business partner or a sex partner," she said.

She put ice in a tall glass, added a lemon wedge and a mint leaf, and poured me some iced tea. I added some sugar.

"It's probably not the business partners who are voting for fun," I said.

"No," Penny said. "Speaking of fun, we're having a little welcome party for you tonight. I hope you don't mind."

"Most employers hold one when I leave," I said.

"Daddy thought it would be a convenient way to introduce you to everybody. Very informal, starts around seven."

"Wouldn't miss it," I said.

The backyard, if one could call it that, was being sprinkled too. It stretched dead level toward some sort of outbuildings in the middle distance. Beyond them was a tennis court and, beyond the courts, a paddock and what I assumed were stables. As we sat, a Dalmatian came sniffing around the corner of the terrace, paused, looked up, put his ears back, and came over toward me, moving more slowly, with his head lowered a little and his tail wagging tentatively.

"That's Dutch," Penny said.

Dutch kept coming until he was in pat range. I put my closed fist out so he could sniff it. Which he did for maybe a full minute, quite carefully sniffing all aspects of it. Then he was satisfied. His ears came back up and his tail resumed full wag. He put his head on my leg and stood while I stroked his head.

"Tell me more about the horse shootings," I said.

She was turned half sideways in her chair, one leg tucked under her, giving me her full attention. She was clearly one of those especially likable women who made you feel that you might be the most interesting creature they had ever encountered. I knew that everyone she talked to felt that way, but it was no less pleasing for that. Right now it was my turn.

"I'm not sure where to start," she said. "I know all of us are in something of a tizzy."

"Well, were all the horses shot with the same weapon?"

"Oh God, I wouldn't know that sort of thing. Jon Delroy might know. Or you could talk with Deputy Becker."

"Any geographical pattern?"

"All here," she said.

"How many horses?"

"Three-a stable pony, and two colts."

She sipped some iced tea, dipping her face into it, holding the glass in both hands, looking at me over the rim.

"Where did they get shot?"

"I just told- Oh, you mean what part of them did the bullet hit?"

"Yes."

"One in the head, the stable pony. He died. Heroic Hope was shot once in the left shoulder. I don't think he'll run again. Saddle Shoes was shot in the neck. The vets tell us he should be fine."

"You said 'bullet'-was each of them shot just once?"

"I believe so."

Dutch took his head off my leg suddenly and walked away. I saw no reason for it. He appeared to be stepping to the beat of his own drummer. He found a spot on the lawn, in the sun, out of sprinkler range, turned around three times, and settled down and went to sleep.

"Only one died?" I said.

"Yes."

I nodded.

"You're looking so wise all of a sudden. Have I supplied you a clue?"

"Just a thought," I said.

"Oh, tell me, what is it?"

I shook my head.

"I assume that's not Three Fillies world headquarters down there," I said.

"The stables? Oh God no. It's where we keep our own horses. The racing operation is about a mile down the road. Are we changing the subject?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"So you won't have to tell me your thought?"

"I have so few," I said. "I like to nurture them."

She nodded thoughtfully and sipped a little more of her tea.

"You're very charming," she said. "But you don't actually say very much."

"I haven't much to say."

"I don't believe that," Penny said.

"And detectives get further listening than they do talking."

"Are you being a detective now?"

"I'm always being a detective," I said.

"Really? Is that how you define yourself?"

"No. I define myself as Susan Silverman's main squeeze. Detective is what I do."

"Are you married to her?"

"Not quite."

"Tell me about her."

"Smart, a little self-centered, intense, quick, very tough, very funny, dreadful cook, and beautiful."

"What does she do?"

"Shrink."

"Wow."

"Wow?"

"Well, I mean, it's so high-powered."

"Me too," I said.

Penny smiled.

"Have you two been together for a long time?" she said.

"Yes."

"But you've never married."

"No."

"Is there a reason?"

"It's never seemed a good idea at the times we've thought about it."

"Well, I'd love to meet her."

"Yes," I said. "You would."

When the sprinklers stopped, Penny and I took a stroll with Dutch around the grounds, the tennis courts, and the riding stables. The unexplained outbuildings turned out to be a small gymnasium with weight-lifting equipment and two locker rooms. Then I went back to my hotel to think long thoughts. As is usual when I'm thinking long thoughts, I lay on the bed with my eyes closed. Susan says I often snore when thinking long thoughts.

FOUR

JAPANESE LANTERNS IN many colors were strung over the dark lawn, defining a patch of light and movement behind the Clive mansion. A number of guests dressed in elegant informality clustered together inside the circling lanterns near a bar set up on a table with a white tablecloth, where a black man in a white coat made drinks upon request. I was there wearing a summer-weight blue blazer to hide my gun, and sipping some beer and eating an occasional mushroom turnover offered me by a black woman with cornrows, wearing a frilly white apron. If you went outside the lanterns into the surrounding darkness and waited until your eyes adjusted, you could look up and see stars in the velvety night.

Walter Clive was there in a straw-colored jacket and a navy-blue shirt. He still had on his aviator sunglasses, probably protection from the glare of the lanterns. A woman in a soft-green linen dress came out of the house and into the circle of light. She had silvery blond hair, and very worthwhile cleavage, and good hips and long legs. She was standing with a graceful-looking younger man with hair as blond as hers.

"Dolly," Clive said. "Over here."

She turned toward his voice and smiled and walked toward us. She had the kind of walk that helped me to think about the soft sound of the linen dress whispering across her thighs. When she got to where we were she kissed Clive, and put her hand out to me.

"Dolly, this is Spenser, the man we've hired."

"How lovely to meet you," she said.

Her grip was firm. She smelled gently of French perfume. At least in the light of the Japanese lanterns, her eyes were violet.

"How do you do?" I said.

"Have you met Hugger yet?"