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stowed on the door shelf.
    Sylvie either needed to do some grocery shopping or she was the typical Hollywood anorexic who could barely summon up strength for the obligatory, energetic love scenes that sent couples slamming themselves up against walls and rolling off the bed onto the floor. Methodically, I opened and shut cabinets, then searched under the sink for a wastebasket. Found it empty with a clean white plastic liner.
    “George Clooney could’ve performed ER surgery in this kitchen,” I said to Bud. “Either she hasn’t been here much or she’s not human. Or your mother does her cleaning.”
    Across the room Bud made a mock hurt look. “Hey, my mother made me what I am today. Cleanliness is next to godliness. Of course, you wouldn’t know about either of those.”
    “Didn’t you tell me your mom used to iron your underwear?”
    “So? You got a problem with that?”
    I had to grin as Bud meticulously went through every article on the desk. “She’s been here, all right. Lookee here what I found, Claire: two weeks of mail, all stacked up, nice and neat. The last two days are still unopened. And”—he held up a single sheet of expensive beige vellum between two gloved fingers—“here’s a cozy little note from the good Doctor Black, giving her grief for skippin’ out on their appointment. Dated two days ago.”
    “Lovers’ spat, you think?” Interested in that particular relationship, I joined him at the desk and picked up a couple of letters written on pale blue stationery. Both were addressed in the same nearly illegible handwriting, and I did a double take at the return address.
    “Well, now, guess who these are from? Gil Serna.”
    “The bad boy actor Gil Serna?”
    “They must’ve had a thing going on.” Frowning, I considered the implications. “That’s all we need, a big celebrity like him giving tearful, grieving interviews to Diane Sawyer.”
    The second blue envelope was unsealed, and I extracted a single sheet, careful to hold it by the edges. I skimmed the handwritten message. “Looks like our bad boy’s got a little of the green-eyed monster. Take a guess whose ass he’s threatening to come down here and kick?”
    “Doctor Black, I presume?”
    “You got it. And Gil baby’s accusing her right here in black and white of having an affair with her shrink, not to mention cheating on Gil and ignoring his phone calls. Which might explain why her answering machine’s unplugged. Gil Serna seems a bit out of control. Wonder where he spent the last few days?”
    “How ’bout I find out?” Bud whipped out his cell phone as if it were a magic wand. Sometimes I believed it was. He could obtain just about any kind of information by punching a few numbers. Which made him very handy to have around.
    “Make sure Black’s assistant is telling the truth. I want verification as to exactly when Black left the premises, how he left, and where he ended up. And I want a crack at him before he has time to compare notes with his assistant, or anyone else who can brief him on what we know. If they were lovers, it’ll be interesting to see how he reacts to the details of how Sylvie died.”
    “I’m on it, man. Sounds like Buckeye’s here.” Bud stood up when the front door opened and bantering voices filtered into the living room.
    Buckeye Boyd was the county medical examiner, and I nodded at the motley crew of criminalists that filed into the room. Excellent technicians they were indeed, but they looked more like they’d crawled en masse out of an Ozzy Osbourne concert. Lucky for us in the Canton County Sheriff’s Department, the real estate around the lake was worth millions in taxes, which funded us as well as any big city police department. We were going to need all the forensics help we could get on this case.
    “So, Bud, you headed for a wedding, or what?” Buckeye said right off. He wasted no time entering his quip war with Bud. “Man, I gotta remember from now on to wear my