It occurred to Audie that Drew was starting to resemble Helen around the eyes.

Audie studied him carefully. Did he look dangerous? She nearly laughed at herself for even considering the possibility.

"So how is Mrs. Splawinski?" Audie asked, smiling politely. "Any brownies left?"

Drew chuckled. "Yeah, sure. On the counter. Help yourself."

As Audie made the trip to the kitchen, she thought of the family's energetic cook. She'd stayed on with Drew after Helen moved to Lakeside Pointe, and Audie didn't see her often.

"Is her hip doing better?" Audie was back on the couch, two soft, chewy brownies in her hand.

"Oh, she's the Bionic Woman now, zipping around on all her plastic parts. Fit as a fiddle."

Audie smiled. "So what happened with the detectives, Drew?"

He sighed. "Well, I don't think they're quite ready to cart me off to Stateville, but they wanted to see my computer and printer and get my fingerprints. It was quite the Starsky and Hutch kind of experience, let me tell you."

Audie leaned back into the soft cotton slipcover on the sofa, crossed her legs, and munched. She watched his expression closely. "I'm sorry about the police coming here."

"Oh, for God's sake." Drew waved his hand around before he took another sip. "I was happy to oblige. It's truly awful. I can't believe you never said one word about it to me. Are the letters still coming?"

Audie stretched an arm along the back of the couch and wiped a few crumbs off her shirt. She'd inhaled those brownies and tried to remember how many were still left in the kitchen. Maybe she could take some home. "Nothing in the last week."

"Are you taking this seriously? I mean, why in God's name would somebody want to hurt you?"

Audie groaned in frustration. "I have no idea. But it's not going away on its own, so I have to deal with it."

"What exactly do the letters say?" Drew's eyebrows arched over the rim of the tumbler while he waited for her response.

She shrugged. "At first it was just snide insults. Now he says he's going to kill me, and apparently he's got a schedule to keep, because he selected September twenty-second to do me in." She ran a nervous hand through her hair. "You might want to keep that day open in case you have to identify my body-next of kin and all."

"Don't be morbid, Audie. Jesus." Drew abruptly got up from the chair and made himself another drink at the long, polished cherry bar. He suddenly turned.

"That's rather clever, actually," he said, grabbing a handful of ice and tossing it in the tumbler.

"What is?"

"The twenty-second of September is the first day of autumn this year-get it? Autumn? Autumn Adams?"

She stared at him blankly.

"How refreshing-a psychopath with a dry wit." Drew relaxed back into the chair, chuckling, and raised his glass to that.

"That is pretty weird." Audie shivered slightly and hugged herself across the chest. "I wonder if I should tell the detectives."

"Why not? It could even be a clue-like in Murder She Wrote!" Drew cocked his head and blinked at his sister. "So what brings you up here? Not that I don't enjoy our visits."

Audie braced herself. The family's 1905 Herreshoff Yacht was the only reason she ever came to the house and they both knew it.

Helen was aware that Audie loved the Take a Hint with all her heart and had worked with her father day and night to refurbish the vintage boat just before he died. Helen also knew that Audie would have traded the apartment, the car, the column-everything-for the forty-three-foot cutter. Yet Helen had left it to Drew.

Audie often wondered why. She still couldn't decide if it was simply her mother's final cruelty or Helen's roundabout way of ensuring her children would have a reason to speak after she was gone.

Audie looked up, preparing herself for Drew's list of questions. "I'd like to take the boat out sometime next week. Would that be OK with you?"

He looked at her with casual interest. "Overnight? For a few days? Mackinac Island or something?"

"Oh, no. Just a day sail. I was thinking of inviting a friend along. Will Saturday be all right?"

"Sure." Drew moved his wrist in a lazy circle, watching the ice cubes swirl around inside the glass. "I'll leave the boathouse unlocked. Be sure to wipe down the deck when you're done. Who's the lucky fellow?"

Audie forced herself to remain relaxed. Drew would see them anyway, since he was nearly always at home. It was either now or later.

"The macho Irish cop. If he'll accept my invitation."

Drew's hand flopped down onto the armrest and thin threads of mixed drink splashed onto the slipcover.

"Dear God, Audie! You've run quite the gamut with men lately. What the hell was wrong with Russell Ketchum? I've always thought he was a decent man and a damn good lawyer."

Audie sighed. "Actually, Russell is a-"

"But Jesus, a cop? This would be your first cop, right? I know it's not your first Irishman. What was that slimy Mick politician's name again?" Drew chuckled softly. "At least it's not another Jamaican."

Audie was already off the sofa and headed for the foyer.

"Oh, come on, Audie. Don't be such a cold bitch. Get a sense of humor."

She spun around and stared at him. He looked like a king on his slip-covered throne, his thinning hair a crown, his gin and tonic his scepter.

Maybe he was nasty enough to be sending those letters, after all.

"Do you need money, Drew?" Her voice was soft and polite.

"What?" His entire body stiffened.

"I asked you if you need money. Did what's-her-name wipe you out? Are you having cash-flow problems? Is there something you need to ask me?"

Audie watched the superiority drain from her brother's expression. She observed how his entire body tensed. "You cannot possibly be suggesting that I wrote those letters," he hissed.

She tried to feel nothing, but the anger, sadness, and, yes, fear were boiling to the surface, and she felt herself tremble.

"I think you'd better leave," he said.

She turned into the foyer and headed for the door. Her shaking hand reached for the brass latch.

She heard Drew's voice echo through the huge rooms. "Make it Sunday instead, would you? I'm sailing down to the yacht club for a party Friday and may not get back until late the next day!"

Audie slammed the door behind her, got into her car, and turned south onto Sheridan Road. She watched her childhood home disappear behind her in the rearview mirror, right above the words "objects are larger than they appear."

And brothers weirder.

"Oh, hell."

She'd forgotten the brownies.

Stanny-O was obviously thrilled that Audie let him behind the wheel of the Porsche that night. Though his knees were nearly in his nostrils, it didn't seem to detract from the driving experience.

"What year is this beauty?" he asked, pulling into the southbound lanes of Lake Shore Drive.

"A '96." Audie unwrapped her shin guards and fluffed out her hair. "Helen had the dealer custom-paint it this lovely champagne pink. It's your color, Stan."

"Baby, don't I know it," he said, shifting up and taking the curve a bit too fast.

"Hey, careful. There's always a cop waiting for speeders up here to the right."

He shot her a toothy grin framed in goatee and kicked up the speed.

"You're bad, Detective," she said, laughing. They drove for a few moments in friendly silence. During the past week, Audie had come to enjoy Stanny-O's shy, earthy personality. They frequently argued about Cubs statistics and Chicago politics and listened to loud rock and roll on the car radio. They went out to Baccino's for deep-dish pizza one night. And another night they went to a movie, and tonight he escorted her to her game. She felt safe with him.