I recovered quickly. Which is to say, I stammered and mumbled and Sinclair had to totally help me out.

"Can you believe it?" she said gleefully.

"Of course he did, dear. Frankly, I'm surprised there hasn't been a stampede. You are a worthy prize for any man."

She beamed. "Aw, Eric. Let's gloss over how incredibly creepy that is and instead talk about the fact that I have a date."

"I'm surprised that you're surprised," he said.

"If they're rich, they don't try," she explained, "and if they aren't, they're freaked out because I'm rich. That's oversimplifying it, but..."

"I know several men who would leap at the chance to see you in a... social capacity," Sinclair said. "Really, dear, what are"-another tiny hesitation-"friends for? You should have mentioned this long ago."

"Well, I dunno. It's hard to set up a friend with a friend... it's so awkward if it goes badly."

"Wait a minute!" I cried. "Eric Sinclair! You knew when she came back in the room that-you could hear their whole conversation?"

"This is new?" Jess asked. "You guys all have ears like bobcats. Fucking creepy, is what it is."

"You could have a conversation with me, make out a little, and listen in on them, but you can't go meet the florist because you've got a conference call in Paris at the same time?"

"I think the thing to focus on," Sinclair said, "is what Jessica will wear to the opening."

She was actually jumping from one foot to another. I hadn't seen her so excited since she got her tax bill down to six figures that one time. "I was thinking my black Donna Karan."

"No, no. First, every woman there will be wearing the de rigueur little black dress."

"Good point," I admitted, momentarily distracted.

"Number two, you have wonderful coloring that you simply must play up."

Jess was hanging on his every word. "Really, Eric?"

"Dear, you've got the cheekbones of an Egyptian queen. You're a Tiger Lily. You have to, and shall, stand out among the drab little Minnesota daisies."

"Hello!" said one of the daisies.

They ignored me. "Eric, that is so nice."

"I'm not nice, dear. Now. Back to the matter at hand." He began to pace. I began to wonder why I'd gotten out of bed that night. "You could get away with, say, the orange Tracey Reese."

"Isn't that one backless? You think that'd be okay for the Walker?"

"The Kay Unger poppy print, then," he suggested.

"I must say, Sinclair, you are not afraid of color," I commented, trying to affect a Sinclair tone and failing. "Isn't that the one with the green flowers all over it? Head-sized flowers?"

"Not every woman can wear it," he admitted.

"It cost a friggin' fortune," Jess said, watching him prowl back and forth like a big panther, "so I'd better wear it again."

"We must walk a careful line," Sinclair lectured, "between dressing appropriately for your role, but not making Detective Berry feel out of place or inferior. Which, given the disparity in your incomes, will be difficult at best."

I reeled. There were so many things wrong with that statement I hardly knew where to start with the bitching.

"So dress well, but not rich," Jess said, oblivious to the massive wrongness we were in the middle of.

"Exactly."

"Excuse me," I interrupted. "Sinclair, I haven't forgotten about the florist/eavesdropping thing. And you're weirdly interested in Jessica's date, which I've got problems with on about nine different levels. And Jess, I have to say-" What? What the hell was I going to say?

I can't believe Nick asked you out. For someone who was supposedly into me, he sure got over me pretty damned quick. How could you agree to go out with him when you were sure he liked me? I tried to find a nice way to sum up my weirded-outness in one sentence. It was tough work, being an honest friend. "-I haven't seen you this, uh, excited in a long time."

"I haven't dated since way before you died." She hugged herself and spun in a small circle. "And he's sooooo cute!"

"Exceedingly cute," Sinclair encouraged. "Quite very much cute."

I figured it out right then. Sinclair never did anything without about nine secret agendas. He wanted a cop on the string. Awfully handy. Of course, it was only a first date, but if things went well...

"I thought you didn't go out with white guys," I pointed out. It was a straw, sure, but I was desperate to clutch at anything.

"I thought you said that was bigoted, asshole-esque, and twentieth-century."

"Oh, you're going to start listening to me now?" I grumbled. "I'm not saying I wasn't right, but your timing's a little weird."

"Now that that's settled, we have to decide on the appropriate post-gallery activity."

"That's not all we've got to decide on," I muttered and was-surprise-ignored.

"Because Detective Berry did the asking, I think we can assume he will want to treat you to whatever diversion you select."

"Dude. You are getting way overinvolved in this. Do you obsessively plan our dates? Not that we've ever actually been on a date..."

"Shut up, Betsy. For just this one time, it's about me. Go on, Eric."

"So it must be something you both like, that will not be terribly expensive, and that will encourage him to see you again in a social capacity, but not be too intimidating or force a false sense of intimacy."

I hitched up an imaginary belt. "That's a tall order, sheriff."

"Dinner anywhere decent is out. So is coming back here for a drink; this house definitely sends a message. Your idea of fast food is Red Lobster, so that lets out activities that are, ah, middle class. Which means..."

Jess waited. I waited. What the hell, I was curious. He could write a book. Nobody was good at dating. Everybody liked advice about it.

"Coffee and dessert at Nikola's," he decided after a moment's thought. "The coffee is first-rate, the food is excellent, it won't be terribly expensive if you don't eat a full meal, and the biscotti is homemade."

"Oooooooh. Sinclair, you are it."

"Yes," he replied smugly.

"I am so scared right now," I said.