“That was a very impassioned speech,” Sherlock said, smiling and nodding in approval. She knew from the furious pulse pounding in Tennyson’s neck that he would cheerfully murder her.

Charlotte’s voice was still as silky and soft as gently flowing honey. “Now, now, my dears, all of you need to calm down. Lily dearest, you’re a grown woman. My Tennyson is just as protective of his own younger sister as your brother is of you. But your brother and his wife have gone over the line. They dislike my son, for whatever reasons I’m sure I can’t say. But there can simply be no proof to any of their accusations, not a shred. Mad accusations, all of them. Lily, how could you possibly believe such things of my son?”

Sherlock said, “I wouldn’t call them particularly ‘mad accusations,’ but, yes, ma’am, you’re right about proof. If we had proof, we’d haul his butt to jail.”

Charlotte said, “So, then, why are you continuing to poison poor Lily’s mind? You’re doing her a disservice. She’s really not well, you know, and you’re pushing her farther down a road none of us want her to travel.”

“Mother—”

“No, it’s true, Tennyson. Lily is mentally ill. She needs to come home so we can take care of her.”

Lily said in a loud, clear voice that brought everyone’s eyes back to her, “A young guy tried to murder me this morning.”

“What? Oh, God, no!” Tennyson nearly jerked her up into his arms, but Lily managed to press herself against the headboard and hold firm. Even as she was struggling, she said, “No, Tennyson, I’m quite all right. He didn’t succeed, as you can see. Actually, I beat the stuffing out of him. The cops know who he is. Do back away now before my sister-in-law bites you.”

Sherlock laughed.

“That’s right,” Savich said. “His name is Morrie Jones. Ring a bell, Tennyson? Charlotte? No? Well, you certainly got to him quickly enough, set everything in motion with nary a wasted moment. The cops will catch him anytime now and he’ll spill his guts to them, and then we’ll have our proof.”

Tennyson said, “It’s another lie, Lily. The guy must have mistaken you for someone else; that, or more likely, the guy was just a mugger. Where did it happen?”

“That’s right, you couldn’t have known where he’d find me, could you? He got on a local city bus that was empty except for me and the bus driver, because of the funeral.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said. “Dear old Ferdy Malloy died, probably poisoned by his wife. Everybody knows it, but no one was about to insist on an autopsy, least of all the coroner.”

“Yes, yes, but that’s not important, Mother. Someone tried to hurt Lily.”

“A sharp knife probably meant he was planning to do more than hurt me,” Lily said. “Lucky for me that Dillon had taught me how to protect myself.”

“Just maybe,” Tennyson said now, his voice all soft and gentle, his patented shrink’s voice, “just maybe there was this young guy who came on to you, maybe even asked you out. I know Dr. Rossetti believes that a young woman, vulnerable like you are, uncertain, her mind clouded, can imagine many different things to disguise her sickness—”

Lily, who’d been staring at him like he had sprouted a TV antenna from his head, said, “Why did I ever think I loved you? You’re the biggest jerk.”

“I’m not, I’m just trying to understand you, to make you face things. Besides, that’s what Dr. Rossetti thinks.”

Lily began laughing, rich, deep laughter that didn’t stop for a good, long time. Finally, wiping her eyes, she said, “You’re really good, Tennyson, both you and Dr. Rossetti. You combined all your shrink analysis with some pills to drive me over the edge, and no wonder I wanted to do away with myself. So I made the guy up to assuage my guilt. Do you know what, Tennyson? I think I’m just about over blaming myself.”

Charlotte said, “Lily dearest, I’m glad to hear you say that, actually—”

Lily interrupted her mother-in-law. She was waving Tennyson away even as she said, her voice light, amused, “Please go now, both of you. I hope that I’m lucky enough never to see either of you again.”

Sherlock said, “Oh, I hope we do see them again, Lily. In a courtroom.”

Savich said suddenly, “Your first wife, Tennyson. I don’t suppose Lynda’s fondest wish was to be cremated?”

Tennyson was shaking so much from rage, Sherlock was sure he was going to go after her husband, a singularly stupid thing for him even to consider. She stepped quickly to him, laid her hand on his forearm and said, “Don’t even think about it. You couldn’t take me and I’m half your size. Even five days after surgery, I doubt you could take Lily either. So please just leave, Tennyson, and take your mother with you.”