Since Ophah knew everything that went on she might be able to answer a question for me. I asked, “Were you here when the fire alarm went off on Wednesday-the day Dr. Weiss died?”

“I was at lunch. It must have happened just after I left. I went to lunch a little early.”

“Did anything unusual happen that morning?”

“It depends on what you mean by unusual. A young man came in and said he had a delivery from a restaurant. He asked to use my phone to call one of the residents. He had a package, all wrapped up. I remember because he was real handsome and he said his name was Mark, just like my son.”

“Who was the package for?” I asked.

“I don't know. He made the call, himself, and I didn't hear him say a name. After he hung up he went out to the parking lot and I didn't see him again. So at least he didn’t set off the alarm, if that’s what you’re fishing for.”

I wasn’t sure what I was fishing for. “Do you know what restaurant he came from?”

“He said it was in Durham-some seafood restaurant-but I don't remember which one.”

CHAPTER 3

As I drove out of the woods at the end of the mile-long, unpaved road, the expanse of the Morgan estate lay before me, with its green acres of neatly-mowed lawn. My son Albert had a sit-down mower and mowed the lawn himself when he couldn't convince anybody else, Tom Sawyer-like, of the pleasures of bouncing around and being deafened for several hours.

The purple of the flowering crepe myrtle bushes contrasted with the green of the lawn and the trees. Albert's small red barn completed an idyllic scene that any landscape artist would love to paint. But an artist I'm not.

Our family's regular Sunday dinner gave me an opportunity to enjoy my family for the afternoon-and then to go and live my own life. Today I also wanted to forget about Gerald Weiss choking while holding a perfect bridge hand. I resolved not to talk about it, even though I had been thinking about Gerald, against my will, and wondering what had really happened.