The house was set well back from the road, accessed by a long driveway of terra-cotta coloured Lock stone. The taxi slowed to a stop in a small turnaround in front of the entrance. I paid him off and walked slowly up to the front door. Lawrence Bravo was waiting in the entrance, his smartly tailored blazer over beige slacks and turtleneck sweater contrasted vividly with my, 'relaxed fit' chinos, golf shirt and polyester wind jacket. He extended a pale hand, simulating a handshake, and beckoned me inside.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Wallace." He pointed me to a sunny atrium with a stunning view of manicured lawns and plantings. "I wasn't sure that you would comply."

From his appearance and manner I concluded he either had no idea about his daughter's adventures, he knew and was party to them, or he didn't care. Not much of a conclusion. We crossed the precision lawn to a huge oval table inside the air-conditioned room. I took a comfortable looking wicker chair in a puddle of warm sun and settled comfortably, he wasn't as formidable as I had imagined.

"Curiosity," I said, not waiting for small talk. "First, about how you found me and second, why."

"How is academic, really; a little investigative acumen of my own." He pored two tumblers of reddish liquid, offering me one, and sat opposite me with his. "As to why, well it's because I understand that you were hired by my daughter." He ended abruptly, sipping his drink and waiting on me. "Sangria," he supplied, when I studied the drink.

"Is there some problem?"

"I want to know why she hired you."

"I really don't thin—"

"Mr. Wallace, I will think for both of us. Just answer my question." I immediately reassessed my first impression. Mr. Bravo was suddenly very intimidating.

I gulped some of my drink and figured, what the hell, my job was over anyway.

"She wanted me to... moderate her husband's affair."

"That's it?"

"Well, I was supposed to warn him to cool it or at least be discreet until the end of the month."

Lawrence snorted softly and swirled the drink in his glass contemplatively. "And did you?"

"Look, Mr. Bravo, I won't break a client confidence. Why do I get the feeling you already know?"

"Just confirming my suspicions, Mr. Wallace. My daughter has indicated some things recently that unsettled me."

"Like?"

He smiled sadly. "Client confidentiality."

"Right. So what does it matter now, anyway?"

His head came up sharply. "What do you mean, now?"

"Yesterday was the end of the month and your daughter is still married to Jarmon Wyatt. From what I understand she is entitled to the trust fund."

"But she didn't really do it according to the rules."

"That's not for me to say. Your father would have to be the judge of that I guess, and he would need proof."

"That brings us as to why you are here." I stared at him. "You could provide that proof, Mr. Wallace... for a handsome fee."

"Sorry for all your problems, Mr. Bravo. I hope things work out." I put my glass down and stood. He seemed to want to say more, and I waited.

"I'm taking the trust matter to litigation you know."

"No, I didn't, but I guess that would be expected."

He nodded to himself. "It has uncovered a lot of dirty linen."

I slowly sat again as he began talking as though I wasn't even there. He revealed his discovery of the affair between Carleton Smithee and Julie Devers. When he learned about the murder of Julie Devers, he would be thinking very hard about how his own actions contributed to the mess.

I stayed tight-lipped and Bogart cool until he spilled the shocker that Cynthia had tried to do a deal with Bernie Bonducci after her funds were frozen, and her monthly payment stopped. When he finally finished it was with a long, trembling sigh, I swigged the last of the Sangria and stood again to leave.

"So I can't persuade you to help?" He gave me a quizzical look. "Ethics, in a private investigator?"

"Don't judge us by the movies, Mr. Bravo." Imagine me saying that!

"Very well," he sighed. "I can still get it from other sources I suppose."

I wasn't about to tell him that those sources were now fewer; he'd hear about that soon enough. I left him in the garden in the sunlight in his reverie, put in a call for a cab then called Rory and told him I was going home, and could he find a place for Karen for the night. He told me that Karen was in a room upstairs at the Howden. I made him promise to protect her. He didn't complain. A real prince.

●○●○●○●○●

Nora was home when I arrived. Miracle of miracles. We embraced, but neither of us was in the mood; Nora was just stopping by to change and had little time. I was eager to spill my guts and she listened while dressing, with a stony expression, as I ran through the litany of goings-on in the case.

Her posture changed to defensive when I related how I felt obligated to protect Karen until I figured out how to resolve the situation. When I was done, she gave me the book version of what I should be doing. Absent was any hint that we were married and that we loved one another a lot - at least I hoped so on her part too.

Instead, I got the cold, hard lawyer presentation with the added observation that I was a world-class boob of the first order; a bit of overkill I thought.

"You have to go to the police, Christopher." The statement screamed the obvious and she looked at her watch.

"With what?"

"Your friend witnessed a murder! And now you tell me the wife was also murdered!"

"I can't prove a thing. There's nothing left to say they even happened."

"You have a witness! She tells her story and the police investigate. You aren't required to prove anything."

"But meanwhile she's vulnerable to Bernie... and so am I for that matter. My footprints are all over this mess."

Nora hooked her hair behind one ear and leaned her chin on her fist. "We both know what Bernie is capable of, Chris." The softened voice and expression calmed me down.

"Yeah. Three years in Kingston."

"Don't be a smart ass. That whole episode could have turned out much differently." She probed my face with her star-bright eyes. "As a matter of fact some of your tale sounds eerily familiar."

"I know, it's scary isn't it. I mean, Bernie and his goons. The killings. Even talking it over with Rory gave me a strange sense of déjà vu. A lot of things are the same."

"You and this Karen." The name was pronounced with a definite frost. "I sincerely hope that she isn't one of them."

"Nora! For God's sake! There's nothing at all like that going on. Rory is making the arrangements for a hotel room for her and I'm only going to be there until we develop some kind of plan, and it keeps them away from here. From you. I hope." Her look was a dart to my chest. "It's professional business, Nora. Private eye, professional business."

She stood and straightened her skirt, then folded her arms... a pose I'd seen before and didn't particularly like. "You won't take my advice then there's nothing I can do. Just don't make me a widow, Christopher... or a spurned wife. Why don't you call that detective, Houseman?"

"Yes. Look, Nora, I'm trying to get out of this as cleanly as possible. If I go to the cops I'm done. They'll charge me as an accessory or at least abetting and arrest me and I won't be able to do anything."

"He knows Bernie and he knows you, don't you think you'd get the benefit of the doubt?"

"Nora, you aren't a criminal lawyer. As much as I respect your abilities in the legal field, you don't know squat about criminal law."

"And you do." She bridled.

"I know that Houseman wouldn't just say, sure Chris, let me look into it, I'll get back to you. He'd have me in chains until the cows come home."

"Fine. Do it your way. If everything goes south, I'll wait for you 'til the cows arrive... unless of course..."

The implication was that I would be jailed for some time, or even for all time, and my shock turned to dismay to doubt to the sudden realization that my loving wife was jerking my chain, and when she saw my reaction her face lit up as we collided in the middle of the room in a mighty embrace.

"You're a real piece of work, Nora Wallace."

"I'm your piece of work, Christopher Wallace, and don't you forget it. Don't you ever forget it."