Ruth perked up. “Bread pudding? When did you have time to make that, Dix?”

Rafe snickered. “Nah, Dad didn’t make it, it was Ms. Denver, the physics teacher. She’s been after Dad since the beginning of the school year. She’s a really good cook, so Rob and I don’t mind except—”

“That’s enough, Rafe.”

Rafe subsided, slouching back in his chair.

Rob said, “Dad, you are going to catch the killers, aren’t you?”

Dix looked at his eldest son. “What do you think?”

Rob didn’t hesitate. “I told the kids you’d have them in jail by Tuesday.”

“Well, that’s a motivator,” Dix said, with a rueful glance at Ruth.

Ruth leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “I agree with you, Rob. I’m thinking Tuesday is about right. But you and Rafe both know it’s not quite that easy.”

“I’m thinking Monday, myself,” Dix said, and folded his arms over his chest.

Ruth thought the boys would burst with pride at this macho display.

Rob said, “Dude! Dad, we’re not kids. You can talk stuff over with us, really. Everyone at school is talking about Ms. Rafferty being killed in her bed, about how you found that student buried in Winkel’s Cave.” He paused for a moment and cleared his throat, but his voice was unsteady. “And about Mr. McGuffey. Oh man, that was really bad.”

Dix’s own voice wasn’t all that steady, either. “Walt was a fine man. I really liked him.”

Rafe said to Ruth, his voice still quavering, “Mom always liked Mr. McGuffey. Last Thanksgiving he said Dad’s turkey was as good as Mom’s, but he couldn’t do stuffing worth a damn. I told him you couldn’t find Mom’s recipe.”

“I’ll give you one, Dix,” Ruth said, knowing they were skating on very thin ice. The boys seemed both hyper and scared, and trying not to show either. “Corn bread with water chestnuts and cranberries.”

“I like water chestnuts,” Rafe said. “But I like lots of sausage in my dressing, too.”

Ruth beamed when Rob said, “Maybe we can try it your way, too, Ruth.”

DIX’S DOORBELL RANG not long after the boys went to bed.

“You missed a great corn-on-the-cob gross-out,” Dix said by way of a greeting.

“Let me get your coats,” Ruth said, peeling off Sherlock’s leather jacket. She paused, then took a step back. “What’s wrong, guys? What happened?”

“Sorry,” Savich said shortly. “Lots on our minds, no excuse.”

He and Sherlock followed Dix into the living room. Savich held up his hand when Ruth opened her mouth. “No, Ruth, Sean’s all right, we spoke to him earlier. He’s already decided he wants a Yorkshire terrier whose name is going to be Astro.”

Sherlock was still acting a bit stiff, but she tried, giving Ruth and Dix big smiles. “Last summer we talked about putting down Astroturf in the backyard for a very miniature miniature golf course. I guess Sean fell in love with the word.”

But it had nothing to do with Astroturf or anything else, Ruth thought, glancing at the two of them. She looked from one carefully expressionless face to the other, saw the strain in Dillon’s eyes, the red creeping up Sherlock’s cheeks, which meant she wanted to kick someone—Dillon?

Dillon and Sherlock were the anchors of Ruth’s professional life. She was immensely grateful to Dillon for bringing her into the Criminal Apprehension Unit eighteen months earlier. He was an intuitive, natural leader, tough as a rock, honorable to the core. Sherlock was funny and insightful, sharp and focused, and you could count on her no matter what. She had only one speed—full steam ahead. Ruth had never seen them like this before.

Then the light dawned. She said slowly, “I don’t believe this, you guys have had a major argument, haven’t you. Even if I told everyone in the unit, they’d demand I take a lie detector test, which no one would believe because they know I can cheat lie detectors in my sleep.” She looked at the ceiling. “I’m ready to pass over, Lord, since I’ve now seen it all.” She wagged a finger at Sherlock. “What did you do, Sherlock, drive the sacred Porsche?”

“Very funny, Ruth,” Sherlock said. “You know, every time I’ve driven that car I’ve gotten a speeding ticket.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Savich said, his voice too loud. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’ve got some serious stuff to talk about.”

Sherlock nodded. “Here’s the deal. We have to take off early tomorrow for Quantico because—”