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   He was dressed in the same wrinkled khakis and a navy sweater that had a hole in one elbow. His dark hair had been trimmed since last I'd seen him. "This is perfect," he said. "I'd much rather work with you than with Brad."

   It's not like I missed Brad or anything, but since I'd screwed up the courage to talk to him about his past and his dirty dealings with the Weasel bashers, I was anxious to get it over with. I glanced at the door, hoping to see him stride into the kitchen. When he didn't, I shrugged. "Maybe he just forgot about class."

   "I don't think so."

   This comment came from Marc, who was handing out the night's recipes. He slid two packets of papers onto the table in front of us. "Brad stopped in Saturday afternoon. He said he forgot what he was supposed to bring to tonight's class. We were slammed, no way anybody had time to help him. I just told him to come into the kitchen and showed him the bulletin board where Jim hangs the recipes and the instructions. I'll tell you what, we were so busy that afternoon, we didn't know which end was up. I don't even know how long he was here. All I know is that last I saw him, Brad was writing down the list of things he was supposed to bring tonight."

   "Celery salt, tomato juice, Tabasco." Reading from his own list, Kegan emptied his cotton market bag. There was already a bunch of crisp, green celery on the table, and he laid a hand on it. "It's just as well Brad isn't here. I'll bet he didn't buy organic celery."

   "I'll bet he didn't, either. But still . . ." Against my better judgment, I'd promised Eve and Valerie that I'd investigate Brad. That didn't mean I was comfortable with the situation. Or that I'd ever talk myself into doing it again. I looked at the door one more time and whispered words I thought I'd never hear myself say: "Come on, let's get this over with. Get in here, Brad."

   And for one, incredible moment, I thought my fervent prayer had actually worked. The kitchen door swung open, and a man swaggered into the room.

   It took only a second for me to realize it was the wrong swagger. And this was definitely the wrong man.

   Oh yeah, right then and there, I knew those weren't the only things that were wrong.

   Because the man who walked into Bellywasher's kitchen that night was none other than Tyler Cooper.

of the whole, ugly story.

   Eve used to be engaged to Tyler. This isn't any big news, of course, because over the years, Eve's been engaged to a lot of guys (including the senator who tried to kill us). I have any number of unworn matron of honor gowns in the back of my closet to prove it. But I digress.

   The big deal about Eve and Tyler's engagement is that, unlike all those other engagements and not counting the fiancé who wanted us dead, Eve isn't the one who broke it off. Tyler broke up with her. And believe me, it wasn't pretty.

   Since then, we'd heard through the grapevine that Tyler was engaged again, this time to a woman named Kaitlin Sands. Eve pretends not to care, but remember, I'd known Eve since the day in kindergarten when we were assigned to be each other's bathroom buddy. She might talk the talk, but she didn't walk the walk. Not when it came to Tyler.

   Tyler Cooper was Eve's own personal human version of poison ivy. He was in her system, and until she found the right antidote, the itch would never go away.

   One look at Tyler sent all of those thoughts spinning through my head, along with the realization that I was glad Eve wasn't anywhere near the restaurant that night. Until I realized that Tyler Cooper—Lieutenant Tyler Cooper of the Arlington Police Department—didn't have any reason to be barging into a cooking class in Alexandria.

Not unless something was wrong.

   In one, heart-stopping instant, I remembered all those phone calls I'd made to Eve earlier in the day, and all the times she hadn't answered the phone. My mouth went dry. There was a lump in my throat. I was up at the front of the room even before the kitchen door stopped swinging and— who could blame me—I didn't bother with the niceties. I was suddenly too nervous, and besides, when it came to nice, Tyler didn't know the meaning of the word.

   "What happened?" I asked him. "What's wrong?"

   I hadn't seen Tyler since we did the final wrap-up of our investigation into Sarah Whitaker's murder. He didn't look any happier now than he had been then. Then, the fact that I'd out-investigated him and solved a murder he couldn't had soured his already acid personality even more. Now . . .

   "Miss Capshaw." The way Tyler said it and the way he tipped his head in my direction wasn't so much a greeting as it was simply his way of saying that seeing me again was his cross to bear. "I can't say I'm surprised to find myself here again. There's something about you and dead bodies—"

   
Dead?

   The word sank way down deep into me and froze me from the inside out. But before I had a chance to ask what he was talking about—who he was talking about—Tyler turned toward Jim. "Can we talk somewhere? Privately?"

   "Sure." Jim wiped his hands on a kitchen towel, turned the class over to Damien, and assured our students (who were more than a little curious) that he'd be right back. "We can go out into the restaurant." He led the way.

   Tyler didn't follow. He couldn't, because I was still hanging on to him.

   "Looks like you're coming, too," he said.

   "I am. I will." My blood was rushing so hard and so fast inside my ears, I could barely hear my own voice. "Only tell me, is it Eve? Did something . . . did something happen to Eve?"

   "Miss DeCateur?" In as long as I'd known him, I don't think I'd ever seen Tyler smile. He didn't smile now. He sort of smirked. "Why, I haven't thought of Eve in months. You really don't think I'd come all the way over here from Arlington to talk about her, do you?"

   I let go the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Until another thought hit. "But if it's not Eve, why are you here?" I did a quick mental inventory. Jim was alive and well, thank goodness. So were Marc, Damien, and Monsieur Lavoie. I'd talked to Heidi, our only waitress, about a glitch in her paycheck earlier in the day, so I knew there was no reason Tyler would be here about her. That only left—

   "Brad?" OK, the name came out of me a little too loud. As if they'd choreographed the move, our students leaned forward.

   When he saw them staring, Tyler rolled his eyes. "That's right," he said and because he realized that whatever he wanted to say in private wasn't going to be private much longer, he raised his voice. "It's Brad Peterson I'm here about. I'll talk to you all about him in a bit, when I'm done with Miss Capshaw here. Just so you know: Mr. Peterson, he's not just dead. Heck, that would be too bad, but it wouldn't be any of my business. This is. You see, this morning Brad Peterson was murdered."

that demands attention.

   It certainly got mine. My stomach went cold, and my breath caught. I'd be the first to admit that Brad Peterson was no prize, but to think he'd been killed . . .

   The shock hit and, like a rock tossed into a deep pool, it caused a ripple of awareness that shivered through me along with thoughts I barely dared to consider.

   I wrapped my arms around myself and listened to Jim's voice echo through my head as he told the class we'd be stepping out for a few minutes and that they should get busy with the night's recipes. But even when he put an arm around my shoulders and tugged me toward the door, I found it hard to move. My memories kept me frozen to the spot.

   Valerie Conover said she wished that Brad was dead. So did Eve.

   Now he was.

   And Tyler was here at Bellywasher's asking questions.

   I tried to gulp down the sour taste in my mouth. Until I had time to think through everything that had happened and listen to whatever it was Tyler had come to talk about, I had to be careful. I knew Tyler well, and I knew that one mispoken word would send him chasing off in the wrong direction. Not that I cared a whole bunch. Unless that direction happened to be toward Eve. Until I knew what he was up to and why he was there, I had to play my cards close to my chest.

   Easy to say. Not so easy to do when I found Tyler watching me closely. OK, I knew he couldn't read my mind. But Tyler's got those cold, neon blue eyes. That square, chipped-from-granite chin. That etched-in-stone expression that never wavers, the one that just about screams,
If you think you can get away with anything,
you're crazy.

   I've got Eve, I reminded myself, and Eve is the best friend in the world. She's the kindest, gentlest soul I know, and yes, she can get a little operatic now and again, but unless someone did something to hurt Doc—or me—there's no way she'd ever resort to violence. Not even where a Weasel was concerned.

   I knew this as certainly as I knew my own name, and I told myself not to forget it, pulled back my shoulders, and walked out of the kitchen at Jim's side. He might be the one in charge, but the way I saw things, I had the most at stake here (namely, one best friend). I was also the one with the insatiable curiosity, not to mention something of a background in this sort of thing. Before Jim could say a word, and before Tyler could take over and manuever the conversation where I didn't want it to go, I slid onto a barstool and got down to business.

   "What happened?" I asked Tyler.

   "I'm the one who's supposed to ask the questions."

   Didn't it figure. If I expected that Tyler would ever cooperate, I was kidding myself. He looked down his Roman nose at me. "I'm following a lead, chasing down some details. I can't say it's a big surprise that they led me here."

   No big surprise, huh? As in, Yo
u, Annie Capshaw, are

involved in murder far too often
? Or as in,
I know Eve had
it in for Brad
?

   Tyler sent a laser look around the restaurant. "No Miss DeCateur tonight?"

   It was a good thing Jim answered, because at this mention of Eve's name, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. "We're closed on Mondays," he said. "So naturally Eve is off. She doesn't help with our cooking classes. If you like, I can tell her you sent your best."

   Big points for Jim. When it came to Eve and Tyler, he knew what was what. He also knew that Tyler wasn't going to bite. At least not until hell froze over.

   Just as I expected, Tyler ignored the offer. "When did this cooking class start?" he asked, and though I think the question was meant for Jim, I stepped up with the answer.

   "This is the third class. Out of eight."

   "And Brad Peterson?"

   I shrugged. "He's not a very good cook. And he hates doing the flower arrangements."

   "Which isn't what I meant." Tyler took a small, leatherbound notebook from his pocket, flipped it open, and reached for a pen. "Did you ever meet him before?"

   Jim and I exchanged looks. "Not until he walked in here the first night," Jim said.

   Tyler's gaze swiveled to me. "And you?"

   "Never set eyes on him before."

   True, even though it was technically not the whole truth and nothing but. Tyler never asked if I'd heard about Brad, so I didn't have to say that Eve had once worked for him. He didn't ask if I'd seen Brad between classes, so I never had to tell him about the day Brad was out on the street arguing with Valerie. At least until I understood more about what had happened and why Tyler was here, he was on a need-to-know basis. This, he definitely didn't need to know.

   "How about the other members of the class?" Tyler asked. "Think anyone will be able to give me any information?"

   Again, I was home free in the truth department. Since Tyler had specifically asked about members of the class and neither Eve nor Valerie was in the class, it was easy to dodge this particular bullet. "A group of us went out for drinks after class last week, including Brad and Kegan," I told him. Knowing Tyler, he was going to find out eventually, anyway, and it was better if he heard it from me. "Kegan is Kegan O'Rouke, the tall, skinny kid who's in charge of drinks tonight. If you ask him, I'm sure he'll say the same thing about the experience that I do. Brad was loud and pushy and rude to our waitress. He didn't talk about anything but himself. He practically put me to sleep babbling about the years he lived in Colorado. It was boring, and I was uncomfortable. I could tell Kegan was, too. We had one drink and hightailed it out of there. Last I saw him, Brad was trying to pick up the waitress, and he wasn't having any luck."

   "And you haven't seen him since?"

   "I haven't. But Marc told me that Brad stopped in last Saturday. He came by to get the list of ingredients for tonight's class. I guess you were busy." I turned to Jim, because as far as I knew, he wasn't aware of Brad's visit. "Marc says Brad copied the list and left."

   "And you can be sure I'll confirm that with this Marc guy." Tyler made a note of it. He flipped his notebook closed.

   I should have breathed a sigh of relief and left well enough alone; Tyler wasn't going to ask about Eve or WOW or Valerie Conover. But remember what I said about insatiable curiosity? I couldn't help myself: the whole situation was peculiar, and I had to know more.

   "I don't get it," I admitted. "How did you even know that Brad was a student here?"

   If not for the memory of those murder investigations I'd conducted—cases Tyler never would have closed if not for my help—I think he would have brushed off my question. Instead, he gave me a begrudging look. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you that the police know everything, would you?"

   "Of course not." I slipped into private investigator mode even before I realized it and stepped through what must have been Tyler's thinking process. "If you found that list of drink ingredients in his apartment, it wouldn't tell you a thing except that he was making Bloody Marys. And Brad couldn't have been killed anywhere near here, because we're in Alexandria, and you're on the Arlington force. That means you're not just checking with the locals up and down the street to see if anyone can help. He was killed in Arlington which, the way I remember it from his class application, was were he lived. So what was it . . . one of our newsletters left in his kitchen? Or maybe a receipt?" I saw the momentary flash in Tyler's eyes, and I knew I hit on the right answer. "You found a receipt for the class. In his apartment, right?"