"You tell him is good, the pickled beef," she said. Rosie can speak in perfect order the English when it suits her purposes. Tonight, for some reason, she was behaving like someone recently admitted to this country on a temporary visa. She seldom addresses men directly unless she's flirting with them. A similar inhibition applies to strangers and women, children, the hired help, and people who pop in and ask directions of her. She might answer your question, but she won't look.

I said, "The pickled beef is great. Fabulous. And the deep-fried cauliflower is not to be believed."

"I think I'll have that," Stewart said, setting aside the menu.

"What to drink?" she asked.

"Try the white wine. It's piquant. The perfect complement to pickled beef," I said.

"Sounds good. I'll try it."

Rosie nodded and departed while Stewart shook his head. "I wish I had the nerve to order something else. That Hungarian stuff is for the birds. I come here because it's quiet, especially on Sundays. I go home with indigestion keeps me up half the night. Now what can I do for you?"

I need to ask you about the Hightowers."

"What about them?" he asked, with a caution that didn't bode well for me.

I took a deep breath. "Here's the deal," I said. "My ex-husband was shot in Los Angeles. This was in the early morning hours, May fourteenth. He's currently in a coma, with no clear indication he'll pull out of it. For various reasons too complicated to go into, I'm trying to figure out what happened. Obviously, the cops are too." I was watching his eyes: intelligent, attentive, giving, nothing away. I went on. "Both the Hightowers know Mickey, and I'm trying to determine if there's a link."

"What's your question for me? Because some things I'll tell you and some I won't."

"I understand. Fair enough. What's your job?"

"My job?"

"Yeah, what do you actually do for them?"

"Chauffeur, handyman. I wait table sometimes."

"How long have you been there?"

"It'll be two years in June. Same as Clifton. He tends bar at parties like the one they had last night. Otherwise, he manages the house and handles general maintenance. All the major repairs are hired out, but it seems like there's always something broken or in need of adjustment."

"What about Stephanie? Does she work for both of them or just Dixie?"

"She's Mrs. H's personal assistant. She comes in Mondays and Thursdays, noon to five or five-thirty. Mr. H takes care of his business on his own. Phone calls and letters, personal appointments. He keeps it all up here," he said, tapping his head.

"I take it there's a cook, as well?"

"Cook and cleaning crew. There's two women do the laundry and another one does flowers. Plus the gardeners, the pool guy. I wash the cars and Mr. H's van. Clifton and the cook, her name's Ima, both live on the property. The rest of us live out and come in as needed."

"Which is when?"

"It varies. I'm usually not there during the week. Fridays and Saturdays I'm always on call, especially if the two of them are going out. Other times Mr. H prefers to drive himself. Mrs. H likes the car. They have a six-passenger limo she enjoys."

"Did you drive either one of them to Los Angeles last week?"

"I didn't, but that doesn't mean they didn't go down on their own."

"You know Mickey Magruder? Good-looking guy, in his fifties, an ex-cop?"

"Doesn't sound familiar. What's his connection?"

"We go way back, the four of us. More than fifteen years. Mickey and Dixie were having an affair back then. I have reason to believe they've rekindled the flame. I'm wondering if Eric knew."

Stewart thought briefly; then he shook his head. "I don't carry tales."

"I can appreciate that. Is there anything you can tell me?"

"I think you'd do better asking one of them," he said.

"What about the marriage? Do they get along okay? "

Again, Stewart paused, and I could see the conflict between his knowledge and his reticence. "Not of late," he said.

TWENTY-THREE.

That was as much as I was able to get from him. I must say I admired his loyalty, though it was frustrating. The evening wasn't completely unproductive. Henry's point was well taken. If jealousy was the motive for the shooting, the number of suspects had just increased. Eric Hightower was in the mix and Thea was another candidate, though not a particularly strong one. She'd risked a lot for Mickey, and while she professed her care and concern, that might have been laid on for my benefit. Dixie was another possibility. What would she have done if she'd discovered Mickey's affair with Thea?