André had confirmed what I already knew. First, the motives for Helios Belanger's death were plentiful. Second, my husband was an absolute wretch.

The letter wasn't at all in Milo's style. He would have issued a much more elegant threat on vastly superior stationery.

Now was not the time to reflect on the irony of facing down the barrel of a gun held by a killer for the second time in as many months.

It certainly wasn't my fault people went about getting themselves killed wherever I happened to be.

So what happened . . . with Rupert?' I asked at last. I was genuinely curious. If I were to be murdered tonight by a deranged killer, I should hate to do it with questions still lingering in my mind.

When motives are prettily packaged they are much more easily obscured.

In the novels, it always seemed best to keep the suspect talking. Inevitably, help would arrive. I really held out no hope for such an opportune occurrence, but it seemed the best course of action would be to distract her until I could determine what to do.

Poor darling," he said, shaking his head, "you're not cold-hearted enough to be a detective. You only want the disagreeable people to be guilty, and I'm afraid you'll find that life isn't like that.

Love makes a mess of things, doesn't it?' he said, as though he was speaking to himself. 'People are always falling in love with the wrong people. It happens over and over. It would be so much simpler if . . .

Well, one can't stop love, can one?