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Lily said to her husband, “You can’t.”

Charlotte said in her rich-as-sin Savannah-smooth voice, “Elcott wanted to come tonight, but he had a slight indigestion. Now, listen to me for a moment, Lily. My son loves you very much. Since he’s a man, it’s difficult for him to speak from his heart—that’s a woman sort of thing to do, so I am telling you for him that he really does need you.”

“Actually, Charlotte, Tennyson can speak very eloquently. However, I don’t think his heart has anything to do with it. No, Charlotte, what Tennyson really needs is my Sarah Elliott paintings.”

“That’s not true!” Tennyson whirled about to face Savich. “You have filled her head with suspicions, doubts, with lies about me and my family and my motives. I don’t have any ulterior motives! I love my wife, do you hear me? Yes, that is from my bruised and bleeding heart! I wouldn’t do anything to harm her. She’s precious to me. Why don’t you and your wife just go back to Washington and fight criminals, you know, people who have really done bad things, not innocent people you’ve just taken a dislike to. That’s what you’re paid to do, not rip apart a loving family! Leave us the hell alone!”

“That was a very impassioned speech,” Sherlock said, smiling and nodding in approval. She knew from the furious pulse pounding in Tennyson’s neck that he would cheerfully murder her.

Charlotte’s voice was still as silky and soft as gently flowing honey. “Now, now, my dears, all of you need to calm down. Lily dearest, you’re a grown woman. My Tennyson is just as protective of his own younger sister as your brother is of you. But your brother and his wife have gone over the line. They dislike my son, for whatever reasons I’m sure I can’t say. But there can simply be no proof to any of their accusations, not a shred. Mad accusations, all of them. Lily, how could you possibly believe such things of my son?”

Sherlock said, “I wouldn’t call them particularly ‘mad accusations,’ but, yes, ma’am, you’re right about proof. If we had proof, we’d haul his butt to jail.”

Charlotte said, “So, then, why are you continuing to poison poor Lily’s mind? You’re doing her a disservice. She’s really not well, you know, and you’re pushing her farther down a road none of us want her to travel.”

“Mother—”

“No, it’s true, Tennyson. Lily is mentally ill. She needs to come home so we can take care of her.”

Lily said in a loud, clear voice that brought everyone’s eyes back to her, “A young guy tried to murder me this morning.”

“What? Oh, God, no!” Tennyson nearly jerked her up into his arms, but Lily managed to press herself against the headboard and hold firm. Even as she was struggling, she said, “No, Tennyson, I’m quite all right. He didn’t succeed, as you can see. Actually, I beat the stuffing out of him. The cops know who he is. Do back away now before my sister-in-law bites you.”

Sherlock laughed.

“That’s right,” Savich said. “His name is Morrie Jones. Ring a bell, Tennyson? Charlotte? No? Well, you certainly got to him quickly enough, set everything in motion with nary a wasted moment. The cops will catch him anytime now and he’ll spill his guts to them, and then we’ll have our proof.”

Tennyson said, “It’s another lie, Lily. The guy must have mistaken you for someone else; that, or more likely, the guy was just a mugger. Where did it happen?”

“That’s right, you couldn’t have known where he’d find me, could you? He got on a local city bus that was empty except for me and the bus driver, because of the funeral.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said. “Dear old Ferdy Malloy died, probably poisoned by his wife. Everybody knows it, but no one was about to insist on an autopsy, least of all the coroner.”

“Yes, yes, but that’s not important, Mother. Someone tried to hurt Lily.”

“A sharp knife probably meant he was planning to do more than hurt me,” Lily said. “Lucky for me that Dillon had taught me how to protect myself.”

“Just maybe,” Tennyson said now, his voice all soft and gentle, his patented shrink’s voice,