Steamed

up.
    I took a blissful two-hour nap and watched E! for a few hours to catch up on the celebrity gossip before getting ready to go to the Raffertys. When I left my building, I had the misfortune to run smack into Harmony, who was again grilling outdoors in her negligee dress. “Hi, there! I told you there’s otha fish in the sea, didn’t I?” Just what I needed—having Harmony keep tabs on my love life. There was, however, one minor point about Harmony and the fish: she’d been absolutely right.
    When I arrived at the Raffertys’, I had to park on the street because their driveway was filled with luxury cars. I rang the bell and was greeted by the wiry Sheryl, who ushered me through the foyer and into the living room. “Come in, dear, and meet everyone.”
    Until I’d seen the cars, I hadn’t realized there’d be other guests, but I was quickly introduced to Sheryl’s two brothers, John and Brent, their wives, and Phil’s sister, Emma. I knew I’d never be able to confess the truth about my nonengagement in front of the entire family. Phil came over and hugged me. Even though his eyebrows still needed a trim, he looked better than he had the day of the funeral.
    I sat down in the formal living room and immediately noticed some cardboard boxes that had been pushed to one side of the room. I accepted a glass of wine from Phil and tried to peer inconspicuously into a study off to my right. More boxes.
    “Are you moving?” I asked Phil.
    “Yes,” Sheryl jumped in. “Well, we’re going to keep this house, of course. But we’re going to be spending part of the year in a new house in Huntington Beach, California. We’ve had enough of New England weather, so we’ll likely stay in our new place most of the year.”
    Phil shuffled across the room to a bar set up on a coffee table. “With Eric gone, it seems like this is the time to do it. We’ve always wanted another place. I just retired from the bank, so there’s no reason we have to stay.”
    Murderers on the verge of escape! Fleeing the scene! But I just nodded silently.
    Sheryl passed around a tray of flavorless cheese on flavorless crackers while the group conversed quietly.
    Phil took a seat next to me.
    “When are you moving?” I asked.
    “Oh, in about six weeks. Sheryl and I are flying out for a quick trip to check out the house again and make some arrangements for everything to be settled when we get there. Sheryl is busy trying to figure out what to take and what to leave here. If you ask me, I think we’ll just end up buying new furniture when we get out there. We’re still going to use this house, so we should just leave it as it is.”
    “I didn’t realize you were moving. Did you just decide?”
    “No, it’s been in the works for a while. We had some technicalities to work out before we finalized our plans.” Technicalities that had to do with inheriting Eric’s money? If, of course, Eric’s parents were his beneficiaries. If so, his money wouldn’t yet be theirs; inheritance didn’t happen immediately after a death. But what kinds of monsters would kill their son for a beach house? And if the Raffertys wanted another house, they probably had enough money of their own to buy one. Still, my classmates had raised the idea that for some people, there is no such thing as enough money. Also, according to the members of the group, I was supposed to be on the lookout for signs of pathology within the family system or for anything else I could report to Detective Hurley to divert his attention from Josh.
    Unfortunately, the most pathological thing I discovered during dinner was that the entire Rafferty clan was exceedingly boring. Conversation centered around the Raffertys’ move to California and the upscale gated community in which they would play golf and tennis. Worse, the food was terrible. Eric’s good culinary taste was apparently not genetic: dinner consisted of iceberg salad and bland roast pork with overcooked broccoli. If the Raffertys actually enjoyed this horrible food, they must have hated the divine concoctions Josh had prepared for the gathering after the funeral. Fools.
    “So,” I said, trying to steer the conversation toward the murder investigation, “have you heard anything from the police? Any leads on Eric’s killer?”
    Looks of horror appeared on the faces of Phil, Sheryl, the aunts, and the uncles.
    “No, Chloe, we haven’t,” answered Sheryl, her face as pinched as ever. “I didn’t want to