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know."
    "How much was your husband worth, Eve?"
    "I have no idea." Her lovely mouth flattened out like a dash.
    "Oh, c'mon." Aline smiled. "No idea at all?"
    She shrugged her thin shoulders, slipped her hands into the pockets of her shorts, tipped her head forward, shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I know he was a multimillionaire, but I don't know specific figures."
    "And his beneficiary?"
    "Carlos can tell you all that. Doug was always changing his will, you know?" She looked at Murphy when she said it, as if sensing he was an ally.
    "Is there anyone who could confirm that you were home all evening, Mrs. Cooper?" Murphy asked.
    "I was here alone."
    She stayed home alone, went to the beach alone, took drives alone—it made it sound like her name was Eve Alone Cooper, a woman whose life was lived entirely in the present tense.
    "Maybe someone you talked to on the phone?"
    She lifted her right foot and, with her toes, scratched at the back of her left calf. Aline thought she resembled a stork, a flamingo. One small shove and she'd topple.
    Stop it.
    "No. But I can tell you what shows I watched. I mean, I can describe the plots, you know?"
    The eagerness in her voice was childlike and filled Aline with pathos. Eve and the TV, Eve and her sitcoms. Here she was, a woman lovelier than Aphrodite, sitting alone in her huge, expensive house, killing time. She felt a sudden urge to gather her into her arms and hold her, stroke her hair like she might a child's, and whisper that it was going to be all right. But in the next moment, when Eve looked directly at Murphy, she seemed adult, certain, coy, and Aline disliked her.
    "I watched Murder, She Wrote ," Eve went on. "It was a repeat. Does that count?"
    Murphy looked embarrassed. He ran a finger over his upper lip, ruffling his dark mustache. "Did you leave the house after you got home for lunch? When Doug told you about his dinner tonight with Ted Cavello?"
    She turned and closed the safe. She carefully replaced the picture on the wall. "Yeah. Let's see. I left the house again around two, I guess it was. I took the boat out for a couple of hours, and I was home by five."
    Boat: the magic word. Murphy's face lit up. "What kind of boat?"
    "A sloop. We've got a slip down at the marina."
    Aline, anxious to steer the conversation away from boats, from anything Eve and Murphy might have in common, asked for a glass of water.
    "I could fix a pot of coffee or tea or something," Eve said. "Would you guys like some?"
    "No thanks," said Aline. "Just water."
    "Sure," said Murphy. "I'd love some coffee."
    Eve's laugh was soft, hoarse, not the laugh of a woman who'd found her husband's corpse less than an hour ago, and all Aline wanted to do was get away. She walked into the family room just as Jack Dobbs stepped through the sliding glass door from outside.
    "Hey, Al."
    "Is Bernie out there, too?"
    "Nope. I think she's in Miami for the weekend. Roxie hounded me outta bed."
    Bed this early on a Sunday night meant Dobbs was with one of his numerous ladies. "Yeah. I bet." She smiled. "You almost finished out there?"
    "Just a few more pictures." Dobbs made a face and tilted his head toward the door. He and Aline stepped outside, onto the deck. "What d'you think?" he asked.
    "Her alibi sucks."
    Dobbs nodded and raked his fingers through his khaki hair. He had pale blue eyes, a hawkish nose, and a nice mouth, which at the moment struck Aline as severe. His broad chest and thick biceps were testimony to his greatest passion besides sailboats and women: weight lifting. "I'd say a couple of million is a pretty good motive."
    "A couple of million? I think Cooper was worth a lot more than that."
    "Hey, after one million, it becomes a little redundant, Al."
    "She looks like Monica." Aline said this softly.
    "Wrong. She's Monica's Doppelganger."
    "You've seen her?"
    "Yeah, when she turned on the floodlights. I nearly swallowed my tongue."
    "Murphy's doing more than that."
    Dobbs scratched at