Absolutely, Positively

“You aren't old, and you definitely aren't a fool. Cutter or Clarence or whatever his name is conned all of us, Aunt Venicia.”

    “He's conned a lot of other people, too,” Harry said. “He's an expert.”

    “An expert at hurting people.” Venicia stiffened. “What if he returns? You say he's dangerous.”

    Molly looked at Harry.

    “It's not likely that he'll come back to Seattle any time soon, if ever,” Harry said. “At heart he's a con artist, not a killer. Fraud is his thing. He needs anonymity to pursue his business. His main goal now will be to bury his Cutter Latteridge identity so that he can go back to work on a new scam somewhere as far from here as possible.”

    Venicia shrank back into the enfolding cushions of her designer chair. “Now I know why he had begun to pressure me to move the date of the wedding forward. He said he couldn't wait to marry me.”

    “He was starting to get nervous because of my presence in the picture,” Harry said. “He probably sensed that the con was in danger of blowing up in his face.”

    “I'm supposed to go for one more fitting on my gown,” Venicia whispered. “It's so lovely. And it cost a fortune.” She reached for a fresh tissue. Then she paused and looked at Molly. “I've just had a thought.”

    “What's that?” Molly asked.

    Venicia smiled with the natural resiliency of a woman who had been married to an inventor for thirty years. “We'll tell the boutique to fit the gown to you, dear.”

    Ten days later Molly was in the process of measuring out a tiny smidgeon of saffron when she heard the shop bell jingle. She glanced toward the door and saw a young woman dressed in a studded leather belt, black vest, and jeans hovering anxiously in the doorway. The woman had short, spiky hair that had been tinted dead black. Her bare arms were decorated with a variety of tattoos. She wore little round glasses on her nose.

    “Are you Molly Abberwick?”

    “Yes, I am.” Molly smiled. “Can I help you?”

    “I'm Heloise Stickley.” Heloise glanced at Tessa, who was just returning from the storage room with a sack of green peppercorns. “Hi, Tessa.”

    “Heloise. You made it.” Tessa looked at Molly with an air of determination. “Molly, this is my friend, the inventor. You know, the one who plays bass guitar for Ruby Sweat?”

    Molly got a sinking sensation in her stomach. “The one who wants to apply to the Abberwick Foundation for grant money?”

    “You got it.” Tessa beamed at Heloise. “Did you bring your sketches and notes?”

    Heloise nodded. She cast another nervous glance at Molly. “I promise I won't take up much of your time, Ms. Abberwick.”

    “This is about some sort of device designed to measure paranormal brain waves, isn't it?” Molly said slowly.

    Heloise came forward eagerly. “I'm on to something here, Ms. Abberwick. I'd really appreciate it if you'd give me a few minutes to explain my theories. No one else will even listen to me.”

    Molly sighed. “Come with me.”

    She led the way into her office. Heloise followed, her face aglow with enthusiasm and excitement.

    A three o'clock the following afternoon it dawned on Harry that something in his environment was not functioning in a normal manner. He slowly surfaced from the deep pile of notes he was making for his paper on François Arago's work in light and optics. It took him a moment to figure out what was bothering him. Then it hit him.

    The private line phone had not rung all day.

    Because he had intended to devote himself to the paper on Arago, he had set the answering machine on his business line to take messages. He had turned off the ringer so that he would not be bothered by incoming calls.

    But he had not turned off the private line. Everyone in the family knew that when he was at home, he was available.

    There had not been a single call on his private line all day. An unusual turn of events. Harry could not remember the last occasion when he had gone an entire day without a phone call from someone in one or the other of his extended clans.

    It was not as if everything had quieted down. On the Stratton side, Danielle was still fretting over Brandon's decision to seek funding from a venture capitalist. Parker was fuming about Brandon's intentions and demanding to have input into the decision-making process. For his part, Brandon was trying to get his grandfather off his back.

    Gilford was annoyed because he blamed Harry for having upset