The Edge

into the living room. Goodness knows, we've had more federal agents trooping through the house, tearing everything apart, making huge messes and not bothering to clean them up."

    Elaine Tarcher looked elegant in a pair of tight white jeans and a loose pale peach cashmere sweater. Her rich brown hair was tousled around her face, and she wore cream-colored ballet slippers on her feet. She led the way, not looking back to see whether or not we followed her.

    "Poor Maggie," she said as she gracefully displayed herself on an elegant wing chair that looked at least two hundred years old. "Is she dreadfully distraught over Rob's death?"

    "How did you find out so fast?" Sherlock asked, uncrossing her legs and sitting forward.

    Elaine shrugged elegantly. "One hears things so quickly in Edgerton. Perhaps it was our postman who told our housekeeper who told me, just minutes ago. I can't be expected to remember everything."

    "He didn't just die," I said. "Someone murdered him. Two shots in the back. They threw him in the shed and left him there. We found him by accident."

    "Yes, I know. Rob wasn't at all faithful to Maggie, you know. It wasn't Maggie's fault. Actually, I've never known Rob to be faithful to any woman for longer than perhaps two and a half weeks, maximum."

    I leaned back in my chair, a match to hers, my elbows resting on my thighs, hands clasped between my knees. "He was only faithful to you that long, Elaine?"

    "I suppose there'll be an investigation," she said, giving me a sad smile. "It was two and a half weeks exactly. I'll tell you, I was very surprised when he patted my cheek one evening after we'd made love and told me he was moving on. He was speaking metaphorically, of course, since we were at his cottage and so I was the one who had to leave. It was always so clean, that precious little house, what with Mr. Thorne taking such good care of it. I never even questioned if the sheets were fresh. I knew they were." She sighed and dabbed a very pretty swatch of white handkerchief to her eyes. "Rob was such a lovely young man. I could be with him for hours, not saying anything, content to touch his beautiful body." She actually sighed again. "Such endurance he had. And he just got more and more devoted as time went on." She looked over at me through her lashes. "In matters of the flesh, I mean."

    "Who did he move on to?" Savich asked. He'd remained standing behind Sherlock, who was sitting on a low blue brocade love seat, his hand lightly resting on her shoulder.

    "To Maggie. I tried to tell her that he was a Teflon kind of guy, but she just laughed and said just because I was rich didn't mean Rob would stay with me."

    "Mother, get rid of these creeps. Tell them to get out. They don't have a warrant. They have no power to make us do anything."

    "Now, Cotter, there's no call to be rude," Elaine said. She looked at him like she really loved him, but she also let him see her parental disappointment. "You did learn manners and good breeding when you were growing up, remember? I don't know what happened to them though."

    "You can take the boy out of the loony bin," Sherlock said, giving Cotter a small salute, "but you can't take- well, you know the rest of it."

    I thought Cotter would leap on Sherlock, but then he saw Savich's face.

    "I'm not crazy."

    "No, of course you're not, dear. You're just high-strung, like I was when I was your age. I want you to keep yourself calm. Our guests are nearly ready to leave."

    "Do you know anything about Rob Morrison's murder?" I asked him.

    "Not a damned thing," Cotter said, his voice savage. "But no big loss. The bastard's dead. No one wants the prick now."

    Savich said in that deep, calm voice of his, "I'm tired of your foul mouth, Cotter. You're an undisciplined boy in a man's body. You're offending me."

    Cotter just stared at Savich for a long moment, then he took a step back.

    "I can say whatever I want to, you fuckhead."

    "That's quite enough," Elaine Tarcher said, rising gracefully to her feet to face the man who was her son, and who was also certifiable. "You're not off in the woods with them somewhere, Cotter, you're here in the living room of my house."

    To my wonder and relief, Cotter said in a calm, controlled voice, "I'm sorry, Mother. I don't want to make a mess in the living room. You have so many nice things in here." He'd made the right choice.

    "Yes, dear. It's kind of you to remember. Go find your father now."

    Cotter walked out