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people she happened to like were on it—Jason Jeffries and Liza. Before the evening was out she had to see to it that they were cleared or, at the very least, that the suspects list grew to a sufficient number to assure reasonable doubt.
    Based on what Jeffries had told her, she wondered if Roger Lafferty was still as enamored of his wife as he had been. Perhaps his patience had been wearing thin and some incident tonight had sent him over the edge. The only way to find out would be to talk to him. Since that seemed unlikely given the cadre of protectors surrounding him, she decided a little chat with the Laffertys’ closest friends would be in order. Surely Carl and Mary Ann Willoughby were around here someplace. Hopefully, not right at Roger’s side.
    Molly eased around the fringes of the courtyard, hoping to spot the couple who usually cochaired every event involving the Laffertys. Instead she ran smack into Michael.
    “Where the devil have you been?” he demanded.
    She regarded the tense set of his jaw with some surprise. “You sound upset.”
    He muttered a curse in Spanish, one Molly had made it a point to look up since he used it so often. If her son had used the English version, she would have grounded him for a month. She had less say over Michael’s choice of vernacular.
    “Upset?” he said finally in English. “Why would I be upset, amiga? A woman was killed less than two hours ago. Someone in this crowd likely did it. And given your foolish penchant for snooping—”
    “Sleuthing,” she corrected. It was a fine distinction, and an important one to her way of thinking.
    Eyes black with anger glared back at her as Michael ran through his entire repertoire of colorful curses, at least one of which Molly suspected implored the gods to lend divine assistance. He looked as if he were just itching to shake some sense into her. Molly’s chin went up.
    “Don’t use that sort of language around me,” she said huffily, and turned on her heel.
    “You don’t speak Spanish,” he shot back, though he looked somewhat chagrined when she peeked at him over her shoulder.
    “I speak enough,” she informed him.
    His gaze narrowed. “Enough to carry on a conversation? Or just enough to get yourself into trouble on the street?”
    “Tío Pedro says I order dinner in perfect Spanish.”
    “Tío Pedro would tell you that if you mangled every word. He’s a gentleman.”
    “A gentleman who would be appalled by the language you just used around a lady.”
    “Okay, yes,” he conceded. “I apologize. But that does not negate the stupidity of your going off alone in the dark in the midst of a murder investigation.”
    “I wasn’t alone,” she said, and recounted her conversation with Jason Jeffries. As she’d expected, the information she’d gleaned took Michael’s mind off what he’d viewed as her foolish disappearance.
    “By the way, I’m sorry if you were worried,” she added at the end. It had been a long time since anyone had genuinely cared what happened to her.
    “I was worried,” he said emphatically. “You tend to think you’re indomitable. It’s a dangerous State of mind when you’re messing with a murderer.”
    Molly conceded the logic in his warning. “I know you’re right. I just assume everyone will dismiss me as some naive, slightly nosy single mother and spill their guts to me without thinking anything of it.”
    “They might have done that six months ago, but I suspect most of these people know all about your involvement in solving those other murder cases. They’ll be on guard with you, or worse, they’ll consider you an enemy who’s getting too close to the truth. The good Lord may protect fools, but even He can do only so much. For your sake and the sake of your son, stay out of the investigation, Molly. I can’t put it any plainer than that.”
    “But Liza could need my help.”
    “I still wish you’d tell me why you’re so convinced she needs help.”
    “I’ve