B efore I could even ring the bell, Jane’s husband opened the door and enveloped me in a bear hug. Sean was a large man, bulky almost but in an athletic way. He and Jane had started dating our freshman year of college, and with the exception of a short “break” our sophomore year, they’d been together ever since. Whenever I worried that the possibility of a happy relationship between a man and a woman was a myth, thinking about Jane and Sean always reassured me. The two of them together was sufficiently inspiring to make you forgive the fact that they seemed to be dressing increasingly alike with each passing year.

“Hey, Rach, it’s great to see you. Come on in.” He helped me off with my coat, and I followed him into the foyer. The enticing scent of sautéing garlic and onions was in the air, and I felt a pang of hunger. “We’re all in the kitchen. Jane decided on an Italian theme tonight, as you can probably smell.”

“Wonderful,” I said. Lunch seemed like it had been a very long time ago.

He led me down the hallway and into the kitchen. Hilary saw me first and gave a yelp of welcome, rushing to give me a hug that rivaled Sean’s. She’d cut her platinum hair, and the new style flattered her, setting off her jade-green eyes and high cheekbones. “You’re shrinking,” she said, looking down at me from atop her high-heeled boots. That she was five feet eleven inches without the heels probably made most people seem short to her, and the flats I’d chosen rendered me even more diminutive than usual in comparison.

“I feel that way sometimes,” I admitted. Then I turned to greet Luisa, who was her usual elegant self in a black sweater and slim trousers, a Pucci scarf knotted at her neck with the sort of casual ease that always eluded me. She kissed me on both cheeks and handed me off to Emma and Matthew, who embraced me in turn.

Jane waved from the stove. I decided not to comment on the fact that her blue blouse was almost identical to that worn by her husband but to stow it away for future use instead. “Hi, there. Somebody get Rachel a glass of champagne, already.” Jane wasn’t a big hugger.

“Yes, please.”

The brightly lit kitchen was almost a parody of domestic warmth. Jane and Sean had knocked out the walls separating the kitchen, pantry and dining room, creating a large open space with an expansive center island for cooking, a big pine table for eating, and a cozy sitting area with overstuffed furniture and a fireplace complete with a busily crackling fire. Everyone had gathered around the island, where Jane was stirring something in an enormous pot. Her face had a rosy glow, and her dark brown bob shone beneath the warm halogen lights. There were plates of antipasti on the counter-cheese and olives and roasted peppers-circled by my friends’ wineglasses, which were in varying states of emptiness, or fullness, depending on one’s perspective. I hopped up onto the stool that Sean indicated and happily accepted the flute of sparkling wine Matthew handed me.

“Well, now that we’re all here, I think it’s time for a toast,” suggested Emma. “We were waiting for you, Rach.”

Sean and Jane looked at each other. He cleared his throat, and Jane’s cheeks grew pink. “Actually,” began Sean, “there’s sort of an announcement that Jane and I would like to make.”

I think we all knew what was coming, but we let them go ahead anyway. “I’m pregnant,” said Jane.

“To Baby Hallard!” Hilary cried, holding her glass aloft. “Not that it’s a surprise,” she added.

Jane pinkened yet more. “How did you know?”

“It’s been pretty obvious.”

Jane looked down at her trim midriff. “What do you mean? I’m not showing yet,” she protested, but she put a protective hand to her abdomen, and she couldn’t hide the pleasure on her face.

“No, but you’ve been puking every morning since I’ve been here.”

“Hilary,” said Luisa. “I think it’s good manners to at least act surprised. And not to mention the puking.”

“I’m so glad,” said Emma.

I wasn’t surprised, either, but it was nice to have my suspicions confirmed. “Well, this definitely calls for a toast!”

Much clinking of glasses ensued, and we all drank to Baby Hallard. Even Jane clinked, breaking her own nonclinking rule. I noticed that her glass held seltzer rather than champagne.

Jane and Sean fielded the usual questions about due dates, gender and baby names: June, they didn’t know yet, and they were open to suggestions but had a few ideas already.

“I have a ton of ideas about what not to name it,” said Hilary.

“How surprising,” Luisa said.

“No, seriously, the wrong name can ruin a person. I don’t know what people are thinking these days. Honestly, you have to be on drugs to think that you’re doing a good thing by naming a child Tacoma.”

“We’ll have to have a baby shower,” suggested Emma with enthusiasm as Sean popped the cork on another bottle of champagne.

“But a good baby shower. With booze. And men,” said Hilary. “Just don’t expect me to babysit.”

Luisa laughed. “Do you really think anyone would trust you to babysit?”

“I’m sure you’ll all be begging to babysit and change diapers when the time comes,” said Jane.

“You keep on hoping,” said Hilary, but she smiled. “Anyhow, I’ll probably be on tour with my book until the baby’s well out of diapers.”

I turned to her. “This sounds like it’s going to be quite a book. And you haven’t told me anything about it yet.”

“Aren’t you the lucky one,” said Luisa.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hilary was indignant.

“I think Luisa’s just trying to say that maybe she’s heard a lot about the book already,” said Emma with her trademark diplomacy.

“Anyhow, Rach, it’s going to be great. You know how much I travel, and most of my reading comes from airport bookstores. Well, I’ve noticed two things that really seem to sell: true-crime books and thrillers about serial killers. So I decided to write a true-crime book about a serial killer. And there is one, right here in Boston, who hasn’t even been caught yet.”

“This is the guy who’s been strangling prostitutes?” I asked.

She nodded.

“But what if they don’t catch him?”

Not surprisingly, Hilary was reluctant to let reality stand in her way. “They’ll have to catch him at some point soon. And in the meantime, I’ll get most of the book written. Once they catch the guy, I can just slot in the stuff about who he is and how he ended up so twisted, and I’ll be all set.”

Given what I’d heard that afternoon from Detective O’Connell, it didn’t seem like they were even close to apprehending a suspect. But at least now I knew how I was going to get him and Hilary together. “I just met with some of the detectives who are working on the case.”

“What? You’ve got to introduce me. I’ve called the police station but nobody will talk to me.”

I filled them in on my meeting that afternoon as we began carrying platters of food to the table. “Apparently, the police think it’s someone related to the Harvard community in some way. He’s been using a Harvard scarf to strangle his victims.”

“Probably a Yalie,” offered Sean.

Matthew gave an uncomfortable laugh. “Well, now I understand why the police spent so much time at the clinic yesterday. I have one of those scarves, and it was hanging on the coat rack in my office.”

“The police came to see you?” asked Hilary.

“Yup. The most recent victim was a patient of mine, and she’d been in a few days before she died.”

“This is great,” enthused Hilary. “You both have to give me all of the details you have.”

“I’ve told you pretty much all I’ve got,” I said. “Except that one of the detectives I met seems to be just your type.”

That really got her attention.

A couple of hours later we were lazily seated around the pine table, the remains of what had been a magnificent feast before us. Hilary had spent much of the first course discussing her research on serial killers. According to her, the prostitute murderer was following a classic pattern of escalation. “The time period between victims is getting shorter and shorter. Some people say that’s because the killer starts losing control, and some people say it’s because he wants to get caught.”