“I’d looked up a few things about strychnine on the Internet, but I wondered exactly how accessible that stuff is. I tried to ask Rufus a few questions on the phone, but does he-I mean did he-have a family?”

“Divorced, no kids,” she said. “But his mama is still alive. He took over the business when his father died about five years ago. But tell me why I need to be writing anything down, because it sounds like all you did was ask him a few questions.”

I pulled the blanket tighter around me. “He reinforced what we saw, said that strychnine would contort the professor’s body, but he also told me that I wouldn’t need anything that strong to kill a mouse or a rat.”

“You managed to get him to come to your house just to talk about strychnine?” Candace said.

“Not exactly. I told him my cats killed a mouse the night before-and that was true. So I guess he came over to the house thinking I needed his services.”

Her pen was poised, but so far she’d scribbled only a few words. “Tell me the part where he started acting weird.”

“See, when he first arrived he was all friendly. He stayed friendly even after I told him I didn’t want any exterminating done and just wanted to ask him a few questions. But then, when I brought up strychnine, he got this look on his face, and a few minutes later he practically ran out the front door.”

As she wrote this down, Candace said, “What kind of look?”

“Thinking back, I’d say he was scared. Now it seems he was scared to death.”

Neither of us spoke for several seconds as the weight of my words sunk in.

Finally I said, “You don’t have much to write about, I know. But you do trust me when I say something came over that man?”

“Certainly I believe you. And this could be important,” she said. “I’m trying to decide what to say to the chief-and not about the strychnine, but about you calling Rufus up and having that chat.”

“I shouldn’t have done that, should I? You know me; I just got curious.” And then my stomach tightened. “Did I get him killed, Candace? Is that what you’re thinking?”

She took my hand and squeezed. “No. Of course not. Listen, Chief Baca’s back from vacation, and-”

“When did that happen?” I understood Candace’s concern now. Dealing with Morris was one thing, but the chief was her real boss.

“ Lydia called him about Professor VanKleet’s death. Guess she didn’t think Morris was the man to handle a big investigation. Anyway, the chief decided to cut his trip short. Lydia knew where Baca was, seeing as how she likes to keep track of the objects of her affection, even the former ones.” She looked straight ahead and didn’t say anything for several seconds. “I guess I woulda eventually figured out that a bug man could get hold of strychnine-if that’s what happened.”

“Given more time, I’m certain you would have come to that conclusion,” I said.

“Maybe,” she said.

“And last night when we were out together, I should have explained why I called him. But I was distracted by Kara’s sudden appearance. And besides, Rufus told me next to nothing. I guess I didn’t consider that very important at the time.”

“Don’t worry; it’s absence of evidence again,” Candace said. “It’s not what he said; it’s how he reacted. Unfortunately, Rufus running off scared isn’t enough evidence.”

“Maybe not, but the man’s dead, isn’t he?” I said.

“Oh, he is that. Yes indeed.”

Once I was feeling calmer, Candace and I made a run for my minivan with her holding the yellow coat over my head to protect me. That was an exercise in futility. This downpour bordered on torrential, and every square inch of me was now sopping wet again. Before Candace closed my van door, I heard her mumble that the rain was screwing up her crime scene.

I drove home thankful I didn’t have to hang around and talk to Chief Baca or, even worse, to Lydia. I’d already been worried about how I’d react to seeing her after sharing that kiss with Tom. And we’d definitely shared. I feared Lydia would know the minute she looked into my eyes that Tom and I had crossed that line between friendship and… well, whatever came next.

As I pulled into my driveway, I didn’t see Kara’s car, and then I realized I hadn’t left her a key or the alarm code. Maybe she’d come back and left again when she couldn’t get inside. Or maybe her meeting with Tom was a long one. He could have already put her to work installing security cameras at some fancy house on the lake or had her doing some mundane task like answering the phone at his home office.

Merlot and Syrah greeted me when I came in the back door. Their little noses twitched with interest as I bent to pet them. They were immediately intrigued by my being very, very wet. Since I figured Kara would be home any time, I left the back door unlocked and the alarm disengaged.

I hurried into the living room after abandoning my leather sandals. My favorite sandals. The rain had just cost me about seventy- five bucks. I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV before heading down the hallway. Merlot and Syrah darted ahead as I pulled my soaked T-shirt over my head. I stripped off the rest of my clothes in the bathroom.

Merlot and Syrah tentatively approached the sodden pile on the floor while I stepped into the shower, ready for a good steam cleaning. I stayed under the friendly water-so much kinder than rain-until my fingers shriveled. By the time I got out, the cats had disappeared.

After I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and blow-dried my hair, I gathered my wet clothes and a few other pieces of dirty laundry. Time to visit the washer and then see what was going on with Chablis, Dame Wiggins and the kittens.

But I never made it past the living room.

I gasped and dropped the clothes the second I walked into the room.

A black-clad person, ski mask and all, sat on my couch holding my precious Merlot.

“W-what are you doing in my house?” Dumb thing to say. But there are no adequate words for a situation that made fear and dread do flip-flops in my stomach.

I focused on my cat and saw that the man was holding Merlot’s scruff with a gloved hand. Merlot would have scratched his eyes out, would have been yowling, if not for that near-death grip.

My heart pounded against my ribs. Someone was sitting in my living room dressed in a Halloween disguise. And he did not likely have my best interests in mind. But all I cared about at this moment was Merlot.

“Dried off now, Jillian?” the man said in a harsh whisper.

Merlot squirmed, and he tightened his hold. He was now pulling so hard, my cat’s eyes were drawn into near slits.

That got my Irish up.

Four quick strides and I reached the couch. The man started to rise, but I snatched Merlot before he could fully react, and then I gently tossed my cat in the direction of the hall. “Go, baby. Run.”

But I had to turn to send him on his way, and the man took this opportunity to grab my right arm and bend it behind my back. Then he put a forearm around my upper chest. “You’re the one I wanted anyway,” he said into my ear. He twisted me around and practically threw me down on the sofa.

I raised my chin and stared into the only feature I could see-his pale blue eyes. I would remember those eyes, maybe for the rest of my life. But the remainder of my life might only be a few minutes.

I quelled my fear enough to sound brave when I said, “My stepdaughter will be here any minute, and she’ll call 911. I suggest you get out of my house while you have the chance.”

“You’re telling me what to do? I don’t think so.” He reached into his pocket and took out several zip ties. “Where’s your cell phone?”

“Gee, I must have misplaced it.” Anger was trumping fear right now, and sometimes that’s not a good thing.

He dropped the zip ties, grabbed me by both arms and lifted me up so roughly that my bare feet actually left the floor.