Melanie made a tut-tutting sound. "Alone, I suppose?"

Melanie was never loath to bring up the subject of sex. Six months ago she had terminated her third, or maybe it was her fourth. Marriage of Convenience. She made no secret about the fact that she was open to the notion of a fifth.

On the basis of her considerable experience, Melanie had appointed herself Lydia's personal sex advisor. Not that she had any great need of the expertise, Lydia thought. Her sex life, never what anyone would term lively, had become downright moribund in the past year.

Lydia absently fingered the amber stones in her bracelet. "How does a person verify that she was innocently asleep in her own bed when someone got murdered?"

Melanie folded her arms and leaned against the door frame. "It would certainly be a whole lot easier to prove if you had not been alone in said bed. I've been warning you for months about the dangers of not having a more active social life. Now you see the risks of being celibate for extended periods of time."

"Right. A person never knows when she's going to need a good alibi for murder."

Concern replaced some of the fascinated interest on Melanie's face. "Lydia, are you—you know—okay?"

It was starting already, Lydia thought. "Don't worry, you don't have to call the folks in the white coats yet. I'm not going to have a nervous breakdown in front of you. Thought I'd save it until I get home tonight."

"Sorry. It's just that you told me that the para-rez shrinks had advised you to avoid stressful situations."

"What makes you think I've had a stressful day? All I've done so far is find a dead body in the Tomb Gallery, spend a few hours being grilled by the cops, and probably lose my shot at signing up a private client who could have single-handedly elevated my financial status into the next tax bracket."