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I slowly calmed down and retreated into my own thoughts as the committee pondered with gravity one absurdity or another. I had much to think about. Mostly, I realized, I was anxious to help the investigation into the murder of von Grümh. To this end, sitting there, feigning attendance, I let my mind run through a maze of conjectures with all of their dead ends. I am desperate to find who killed the man in large part to eliminate the possibility that I am the one who did it.

On the notepad of my mind, I wrote: All of the suspects had motives. All of us had the opportunity. And Heinie, it would seem, had provided them with the means. What I couldn’t shake was the notion that someone had shot him with his consent. And that could have been any number of people. Merissa. Col Saunders. Max Shofar. Myself. Even a bad Samaritan in the guise of a passing pedestrian. Because murder is, after all, murder.

Someone on the committee was about to make a motion. I glanced at my watch, stood up, and said, “I’m afraid I have a prior engagement. With my PO.”

There were puzzled glances. “His probation officer,” Bertha said, and laughed to let the frowning ones in on the joke.

Back in my office I put in a call to Lieutenant Tracy and left a message regarding my suspicions about von Grümh’s boat and the possible location of the real collection. No response. I suppose I should accept it. I have been charged with accessory to murder, after all. I am out on bail. I could go to prison. I am not someone the lieutenant can relate to except as a suspect.

I was at a very low point when I came home to find a message from Diantha asking me to call her at the cottage. Her voice sounded friendly and enticing, which surprised and elated me as we hadn’t spoken since I told her that Alphus was staying at the house.

“How are you, Norman,” she asked when I returned the call. “Elsie misses you.”

“I miss her very much.” We both knew that we were using Elsie as a kind of proxy for our own feelings, our love for her being unconditional.

“What I want to tell you, Norman, has to do with Heinie’s murder and may be of some help.”

“Okay.”

“But I don’t want to talk on the telephone.”

“I see.”

“Can we meet?”

“We can. Do you have a sitter?”

“Bella’s here.”

As Ridley was already at the house to keep an eye on Alphus, though, frankly, I’m not sure who keeps an eye on whom with those two, I said yes and mentioned a roadhouse with dinky little cabins about halfway between the cottage on the lake and Seaboard. We agreed to have dinner there together.

I showered and shaved my already smooth face. I fussed with what to wear, making myself sporty in a short-sleeved button-down oxford, a pair of Levi’s she had given me, a chino safari jacket with shoulder tabs, and loafers with no socks. I wanted to look the part.

Diantha was there when I arrived, sitting at the bar with a glass of pale wine. She wore one of those thin summery dresses that cling just a little, along with a light green sweater that she draped on her shoulders like a cape.

Our greeting kiss lingered. She put a hand on my thigh as I sat on the barstool next to hers and ordered a Jack Daniel’s and soda, no ice, and easy on the soda. Though a decent if ramshackle kind of restaurant, I didn’t trust them to make an acceptable martini.

So we cooed tête-à-tête over our drinks until a waitress with a knowing eye, real lovers these two, led us to a table off by ourselves. We ordered a bottle of vin not entirely ordinaire and two of the steaks being grilled on the barbecue outside.

Diantha leaned toward me and turned serious. “Okay, here’s what Merissa told me a couple of nights ago. She drove out to the cottage and we had a few drinks. And when Merissa has a few drinks, well, she likes to talk.”

Diantha hesitated. I reached across the table and took her hand, as though that might steady and encourage her. She took in a breath. “Merissa told me that Max talked about getting rid of Heinie. I mean she didn’t actually use the word murder, but that’s what she meant. With Heinie gone, she would not