Mourn not your Dead

just as well wish for a case in which the victim had been a saint, and he disliked all the suspects equally. Things would be so much simpler, but in his experience, saints seldom got themselves murdered.
    Through the bodies clustered at the bar, he caught an unexpected glimpse of Lucy. She must have come in the back way or down from upstairs, as he couldn’t have missed her if she’d come in the front door. She was speaking to someone, and as the crowd shifted he saw that it was Geoff.
    In jeans and a flannel shirt several sizes too large, she looked innocently childlike, but as Kincaid watched she moved a step closer to Geoff, putting her hand on his waist in a gesture both provocative and possessive. Geoff smiled down at her, but did not return the touch, then at a summons from Brian they both disappeared into the kitchen.
    Kincaid finished his drink in undisturbed solitude and slipped out the door, his departure apparently unremarked. He left his car parked against the green and walked through the dark village, retracing the beginning of his afternoon walk.
    Madeleine Wade’s steps were still unlit, but this time he climbed with some familiarity. When she opened the door to his knock, he smiled and said, “You can compare me to a bad penny if you like.”
    “I’d already opened the wine and set a place for you.” She stepped aside to allow him in, and he saw that she had opened up the small gateleg table that stood next to the settee and pulled up the two rush-seated chairs. The table was indeed set with plates, cutlery, and wineglasses for two.
    He took a slow step forwards, aware of the hair prickling at the back of his neck. “Sometimes you quite frighten me, Madeleine. Are you dabbling now in foretelling the future?”
    She shrugged. “Not really. I just had an odd feeling tonight and decided to risk making a fool of myself. After all, if I were wrong, no one would ever know but me, and you have to admit it’s a rather effective parlor trick.” In a voice rich with amusement, she added, “I could say the same of you, you know.”
    “I frighten you?” he asked, surprised.
    “Sometimes I feel a bit like a mouse fascinated by a snake—it’s such fun, but I never know when you’re going to pounce. Come sit down and I’ll pour the wine. It’s had long enough to breathe.”
    “I promise I didn’t come with pouncing in mind,” he said as he took the place she indicated at the table. “And as long as we’re being so honest, I must say that I haven’t quite got used to the feeling of being an open book, and I’m not all that sure that I like it.” This time the music playing in the background was classical—Mozart, he thought, a violin concerto—and the candles burned on windowsill and table.
    “You’re coping admirably,” she said as she carried in a tray from the kitchen. She set a platter on the table, then filled his wineglass before seating herself.
    Kincaid whistled as he read the bottle’s label. “You didn’t find this at Sainsbury’s.” The platter looked an equal treat—cheeses, smoked salmon, fresh fruit, and biscuits. “You’ll spoil me,” he said, sniffing the wine before taking his first sip.
    “Oh, I don’t think there’s much chance of that.” Madeleine watched the deep purple-red stream of wine as she filled her glass. “You won’t be around long enough to spoil. You’ll bring this case to a conclusion—I have no doubt.” She met his eyes. “Then you’ll go back to whatever life you lead when you’re not working, and you’ll forget all about Holmbury St. Mary.”
    For a moment Kincaid fancied he heard a trace of regret beneath the amusement in her voice. “I’m not sure I have a life when I’m not working,” he said as he positioned a slice of salmon on a biscuit. ‘That’s the problem.”
    “But that’s your choice, surely.”
    Kincaid shrugged. “So I thought. It seemed enough for a long time. In fact, after my wife and I split up, anything seemed preferable to going through that sort of emotional turmoil again.”
    “So what happened to change things?” Madeleine asked as she spread a crumbly white cheese on a biscuit. “You should try this one. It’s white Stilton with ginger.”
    “I don’t know.” Kincaid polished off his salmon while he considered her question. “Last spring I lost a friend and neighbor. I suppose it was only when I couldn’t seem to fill the hole she left that I realized I was lonely.” He felt astonished