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ran deep, Jean-Charles had a temper, but the level of sheer hatred I saw in his eyes surprised even me.   Love and hate, two passions equally strong pulling in opposition, like the moon and the sun.
    His mask fell back in place as he turned and glared at me.   “I will kill him,” he muttered, the tone of his voice leaving no doubt he meant it.
    I assumed he meant Teddie.   “Not if I get to him first.”   The level of joy in the anticipation left me breathless.   For the first time I understood what the bard meant when he said revenge was best served cold.
    And my father standing there, bloodied and a bit unnerved, sobered me up.     Seeing him that way … Dear God, he couldn’t have had something to do with this, could he?   An irrational thought, of course.   My father wasn’t prone to killing, at least not that anyone had proven.   But, even if he had that proclivity, why would he kill his prize pony?   If Teddie was right, Holt Box was worth millions to the Babylon.  
    Teddie.
    “Somebody get that pan off the stove,” Jean-Charles shouted, then turned on his heel and pounded through the swinging door so hard it reverberated off the outside wall.   If some hapless soul had been on the other side, Jean-Charles’s exit would have doubled tonight’s body count.
    Brandy followed him out, tossing a worried glance back at me over her shoulder as she disappeared.
    “Fetch me a plastic bag large enough to hold that knife,” Romeo ordered, extending his hand toward the kitchen staff.   Someone managed to locate one, and Romeo held it open in front of Teddie.   “Put the knife in here.”
    Teddie’s eyes found mine.   He shook his head slightly, then did as Romeo asked.   The knife looked old, with a long, narrow blade, the tip angled only on one side.   The metal had a green tinge.   “I know how it looks,” he started.
    My father elbowed him.   “Wait.   You need a lawyer.”   His eyes found me.   “Lucky, will you make the call?”
    I nodded, but the trouble was, I had no idea who to call.   We had the requisite team of corporate pitbulls, but none of us had a personal defense attorney.
    “Your mother will know,” he added, as if reading my thoughts.
    “Mother!”   I’d better find her before the news of this mess did. “Am I free to go?” I asked Romeo, unsure exactly why he wanted me to see the scene in the kitchen—he knew how much I hated dealing with dead people.   Holt Box wasn’t a personal friend.   Hell, he wasn’t even an acquaintance.   We’d met a couple of times but that had been years ago.   I’d met his wife then, too, but could barely remember her.   A slip of a thing, practically mute, but stunning.   And I had no idea if he’d kept her or tossed her back, or vice versa.   As I turned to go, I stopped, then whirled back around, scanning he room and the small crowd gathered there.   My eyes searching, cataloguing.
    Holt Box.   Years ago.   When I’d been Irv Gittings’ arm candy.
    “What is it?”   Romeo watched me.
    My lips pinched into a thin line as I took my time, taking in every detail.   Nothing seemed amiss—well, except for poor Mr. Box.   “Let me think on it.   I don’t know exactly.   Not yet.”
    He nodded like that was a normal thing.   “ That’s why I wanted you here,” he said, in answer to my unspoken question.   Lucky me.   “Any idea why somebody would want to kill Holt Box?” He directed the question to me, but his gaze encompassed my little posse of Teddie and the Big Boss.
    Nobody said anything.
    Even I clammed up despite being privy to a very damning motive Teddie had, including his admission that he’d like to kill Holt Box.   Said in the heat of anger, he hadn’t meant it literally.   At least that’s what I chose to believe.   It’d come out.   But later.   Not with an audience who I’m sure was videoing the whole thing on their phones and salivating over being the first to upload it to