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getting married in two weeks,” Porter said. “Why don’t you leave the police business to us and concentrate on your fiancé? I ought to send him a condolence card. The poor guy probably has no clue what he’s getting into.”
    â€œYou don’t care if Creeley
didn’t
kill Aggie, do you?” I said before my mind could put the brakes on my mouth. “You want to close a cold case and up your solve ratio.”
    Porter hung up. The sound reverberated in my ear.
    I flipped my phone shut and dropped it into my purse. “Well,
that
was productive.” I managed a tight smile.
    Zack was frowning. “Do you really believe that the police are just interested in closing the case?”
    â€œNot really. Although Andy Connors is always telling me that the big brass are upset with the number of unsolved cases.” I tapped my fork against my plate. “Porter annoyed me. I wanted to annoy him back.”
    â€œWhat did he say?”
    â€œHe felt sorry for you ’cause you’re getting stuck with me.” I made a face. “He said I should leave the police business to him and focus on you.”
    â€œI like the last part.” Zack smiled. “The focusing on me.”
    â€œYou think I’m obsessing, don’t you?” I tend to be like a dog with a bone. It’s a flaw or a virtue, depending on whom you talk to, or if you’re the bone.
    â€œThat was a joke, Molly.”
    â€œBut
do
you?”
    The furrow between his brows told me he was choosing his words. “When you care about something or someone, you get intensely involved,” he said. “It’s one of the qualities I love about you.”
    I braced myself. “But . . . ?”
    â€œWhat if there’s nothing to find out? You’ve been living with this for almost six years, so it’s hard to let go. But at some point you’ll have to, or this will eat at you forever.”
    I thought about one of Bubbie G’s Yiddish sayings.
Az
me laigt arein kadoches, nemt men arois a krenk.
If you invest in a fever, you’ll realize a disease.
    Was I investing in a fever, or was the disease already there?

four
    Tuesday, February 17. 11:40 A.M. Corner of Vermont
Avenue and Sunset Boulevard. A robber approached
a man from behind and put a knife to his stomach. He
demanded the victim’s money and backpack. A second robber pushed the victim to the ground and the
two fled with the victim’s wallet and $585.
(Northeast)
    I HAD A SLUGGISH START TO MY DAY THAT A HALF HOUR on the treadmill and two cups of coffee didn’t help. After mah-jongg at Edie’s last night, Zack and I had stayed up past three finalizing the wedding music and cataloging the gifts that had usurped most of the space in my small apartment and would do so for several weeks until we closed on the house we had bought.
    I felt awkward about the gifts, especially those from people who had gifted Ron and me four years ago and might be wondering if this marriage would “take.” (Ron and I had lasted fourteen months.) I felt awkward about the wedding, too, which my parents have insisted on paying for, despite my repeated offers to use money from my divorce settlement. I would have preferred an intimate affair, but I couldn’t blame Zack’s parents for wanting to share the nuptials of their only child with all their family and friends. And of course Zack had to invite the entire congregation, including the Hoffmans (Ron’s parents), and Ron, who had been close with Zack in high school and sits on the synagogue board. The Hoffmans, not surprisingly, had written that they’d be out of town. Ron hadn’t responded. I couldn’t imagine that he’d want to watch his ex-wife standing under the chuppa with another man. My guess was that he wouldn’t come but was enjoying dragging out my discomfort.
    With a third cup of Taster’s Choice French Vanilla steaming my face and my new