LITMIR.BIZ

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shelves of the Azure Bay Library.”

      Mary ignored him and addressed Gina. “Remember the day you brought that man into the kitchen and introduced him to me? The one who’s staying all summer with his daughter?”

      Gina nodded. “Alex Colton. He’s arriving in a few days.”

      “And remember how I told you after he left…” Mary paused to add more milk to her batter. “I told you I was absolutely positive I’d seen him somewhere, and you said I was probably wrong because he’d never been in the valley before?”

      Gina nodded, baffled. “I remember. Why?”

      “Well, I was right,” Mary said, crossing the kitchen to rummage through the pile of books and magazines.

      Gina got up again and crossed to the big central table, cradling her coffee mug in her hands and sitting down next to Roger.

      Mary opened a recent copy of a newspaper and laid it out on the table in front of them. “See?” She stood back with an air of triumph.

      Gina gazed in astonishment. Alex Colton’s picture appeared at the top of a newspaper column on the financial pages. She studied the image, struck once again by the man’s appealing masculine look, and the contradictory mixture of sensuality and asceticism in his face.

      “I’ll be damned!” Roger exclaimed. “Alex Colton is a columnist? I thought he was a college professor.”

      “Not just any columnist. He’s Alexander Waring.” The usually reserved Mary clearly enjoyed the sensation she was causing. “He writes this column about investment and personal finance,” she told Gina. “It’s syndicated, and Roger and I read it all the time. His column’s in a lot of the big papers, but it never used to have his picture at the top. He also has four or five books in the library.”

      Roger leaned closer to examine the paper. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he repeated. “Alexander Waring. I have two of his books at home, you know. He has terrific money sense.” Roger shook his head in amazement. “And to think I talked with the man about woodwork and cello music, and didn’t even know who he was.”

      “Well, I don’t know as much about the world of high finance as you two obviously do.” Gina took the paper from Roger and studied the picture. “Is he really good?”

      “He’s one of the best,” Roger said. “His books give down-to-earth advice on investing and money management, things an ordinary person can actually use. And sometimes,” he added with a smile, “they’re really funny. The man must have a great sense of humor.”

      “Can I borrow one of them?” Gina asked. “It’s probably…it’s time for me to start learning something about money management,” she said lamely when the other two looked at her in surprise.

      Roger’s eyes were bright with teasing. “That’s all you want to learn?”

      “Of course,” Gina said. “You know, I just remembered—he did say that he planned to do some writing this summer. He asked me about electrical outlets on the gold-room balcony for his computer.”

      “I suppose he has to keep writing even during the holidays,” Mary said. “He could hardly take two whole months off, after all. A lot of people swear by that column of his.”

      “Really? You think he’ll still be doing the column?” Gina asked with sudden excitement. “Maybe he’ll mention the hotel. Anything that brings us to the attention of the public is good for business.”

      “As long as he writes about how good the food is,” Mary observed placidly.

      “And doesn’t devote whole columns to disruptive pets.” Roger glanced at Annabel, who’d emptied her dish and was now clattering it noisily around on the floor in a vain attempt to discover stray morsels clinging to the sides or bottom.

      Mary glared at him. “Most people,” she said coldly, “have better things to do with their time than sit around insulting poor defenseless animals.”

      “Ah, yes. My cue to depart.”

      Roger got to his feet, smiled at the two women and strolled from the room. They could hear the sound of a truck starting outside, followed by the slow rumble of his departure along the lakeshore road.

      “He isn’t going home,” Gina said, leaning forward to peer out the window. “He must be going into town.”

      She seated herself at the worktable again, setting the newspaper down carefully next to her tackle box. Mary continued to work at the central table, mixing batter in the bowl with fierce strokes.

      “Mary?” Gina said.

      “What?”

      Mary bent down to take Annabel’s feeding dish away. The poodle sank onto her fat haunches and watched with a comical look of dismay.

      “Did you notice something different about Roger tonight?”

      “Of course I did,” Mary said curtly.

      “What is it?”

      “He’s all dressed up. He’s wearing his second-best pants, those gray pleated corduroys, and the new sweater I gave him for Christmas.”

      Gina’s eyes widened. “You’re right,” she said, putting down her pliers. “I remember when he got that sweater, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wearing it before.”

      Mary murmured something to the poodle, then returned to her task.

      “Why would he be all dressed up?” Gina said, puzzled. “This is just an ordinary Saturday night, isn’t it? I mean, their chamber group isn’t playing anywhere. He always tells me when they have a concert in case I want to go along.”

      “Oh, it’s certainly not a concert,” Mary said.

      Gina pushed her chair back, completely intrigued by now. “Mary, I want you to tell me what’s going on.”

      “Nothing very important. Roger has a lady friend, that’s all.”

      “You’re kidding.” Gina gaped at the cook, astounded, while Mary continued to whip the batter. “How could Roger possibly have a girlfriend without me knowing?”

      Mary remained silent and tipped the contents of the blue bowl into a pitcher, then stored it away in one of the two oversize fridges along the wall.

      “Look,” Gina persisted, “are you serious? I mean, about Roger having a lady friend?”

      Mary poured herself a mug of coffee and sat wearily at the table. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I’m quite serious.”

      “I can’t imagine,” Gina said, “who the woman could be. I don’t think there’s anybody in town who’d be even faintly eligible. Although—” she frowned thoughtfully “—when one considers Cecil Bedlow and Marianna Turner, I guess anything’s possible.”

      “It’s not somebody from town,” Mary said, bending to stroke Annabel. “It’s a stranger. A woman who’s staying at Fred’s motel out near the winery.”

      “How did Roger meet her?”

      “Apparently she came to one of their chamber concerts and struck up a conversation with him. Roger’s taken her out several times since then for drives and coffee.”

      “Why,” Gina said plaintively, “does nobody ever tell me anything?”

      Mary shrugged. “I thought it was no big deal at first. Apparently this woman is one of the shareholders in the winery, and she wanted to come out and look at her investment firsthand. At least, that’s what Fred says.”

      “Well, Fred should know. He runs the motel, after all.”

      “Fred’s not all that bright,” Mary said sadly. “Even if he is my second cousin.”

      “So how

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