brownies and tried to remember how many were still left in the kitchen. Maybe she could take some home. "Nothing in the last week."
"Are you taking this seriously? I mean, why in God's name would somebody want to hurt you?"
Audie groaned in frustration. "I have no idea. But it's not going away on its own, so I have to deal with it."
"What exactly do the letters say?" Drew's eyebrows arched over the rim of the tumbler while he waited for her response.
She shrugged. "At first it was just snide insults. Now he says he's going to kill me, and apparently he's got a schedule to keep, because he selected September twenty-second to do me in." She ran a nervous hand through her hair. "You might want to keep that day open in case you have to identify my body—next of kin and all."
"Don't be morbid, Audie. Jesus." Drew abruptly got up from the chair and made himself another drink at the long, polished cherry bar. He suddenly turned.
"That's rather clever, actually," he said, grabbing a handful of ice and tossing it in the tumbler.
"What is?"
"The twenty-second of September is the first day of autumn this year—get it? Autumn? Autumn Adams?"
She stared at him blankly.
"How refreshing—a psychopath with a dry wit." Drew relaxed back into the chair, chuckling, and raised his glass to that.
"That is pretty weird." Audie shivered slightly and hugged herself across the chest. "I wonder if I should tell the detectives."
"Why not? It could even be a clue—like in Murder She Wrote!" Drew cocked his head and blinked at his sister. "So what brings you up here? Not that I don't enjoy our visits."
Audie braced herself. The family's 1905 Herreshoff Yacht was the only reason she ever came to the house and they both knew it.
Helen was aware that Audie loved the Take a Hint with all her heart and had worked with her father day and night to refurbish the vintage boat just before he died. Helen also knew that Audie would have traded the apartment, the car, the column—everything—for the forty-three-foot cutter. Yet Helen had left it to Drew.
Audie often wondered why. She still couldn't decide if it was simply her mother's final cruelty or Helen's roundabout way of ensuring her children would have a reason to speak after she was gone.
Audie looked up, preparing herself for Drew's list of questions. "I'd like to take the boat out sometime next week. Would that be OK with you?"
He looked at her with casual interest. "Overnight? For a few days? Mackinac Island or something?"
"Oh, no. Just a day sail. I was thinking of inviting a friend along. Will Saturday be all right?"
"Sure." Drew moved his wrist in a lazy circle, watching the ice cubes swirl around inside the glass. "I'll leave the boathouse unlocked. Be sure to wipe down the deck when you're done. Who's the lucky fellow?"
Audie forced herself to remain relaxed. Drew would see them anyway, since he was nearly always at home. It was either now or later.
"The macho Irish cop. If he'll accept my invitation."
Drew's hand flopped down onto the armrest and thin threads of mixed drink splashed onto the slipcover.
"Dear God, Audie! You've run quite the gamut with men lately. What the hell was wrong with Russell Ketchum? I've always thought he was a decent man and a damn good lawyer."
Audie sighed. "Actually, Russell is a—"
"But Jesus, a cop? This would be your first cop, right? I know it's not your first Irishman. What was that slimy Mick politician's name again?" Drew chuckled softly. "At least it's not another Jamaican."
Audie was already off the sofa and headed for the foyer.
"Oh, come on, Audie. Don't be such a cold bitch. Get a sense of humor."
She spun around and stared at him. He looked like a king on his slip-covered throne, his thinning hair a crown, his gin and tonic his scepter.
Maybe he was nasty enough to be sending those letters, after all.
"Do you need money, Drew?" Her voice was soft and polite.
"What?" His entire body stiffened.
"I asked you if you need
"Are you taking this seriously? I mean, why in God's name would somebody want to hurt you?"
Audie groaned in frustration. "I have no idea. But it's not going away on its own, so I have to deal with it."
"What exactly do the letters say?" Drew's eyebrows arched over the rim of the tumbler while he waited for her response.
She shrugged. "At first it was just snide insults. Now he says he's going to kill me, and apparently he's got a schedule to keep, because he selected September twenty-second to do me in." She ran a nervous hand through her hair. "You might want to keep that day open in case you have to identify my body—next of kin and all."
"Don't be morbid, Audie. Jesus." Drew abruptly got up from the chair and made himself another drink at the long, polished cherry bar. He suddenly turned.
"That's rather clever, actually," he said, grabbing a handful of ice and tossing it in the tumbler.
"What is?"
"The twenty-second of September is the first day of autumn this year—get it? Autumn? Autumn Adams?"
She stared at him blankly.
"How refreshing—a psychopath with a dry wit." Drew relaxed back into the chair, chuckling, and raised his glass to that.
"That is pretty weird." Audie shivered slightly and hugged herself across the chest. "I wonder if I should tell the detectives."
"Why not? It could even be a clue—like in Murder She Wrote!" Drew cocked his head and blinked at his sister. "So what brings you up here? Not that I don't enjoy our visits."
Audie braced herself. The family's 1905 Herreshoff Yacht was the only reason she ever came to the house and they both knew it.
Helen was aware that Audie loved the Take a Hint with all her heart and had worked with her father day and night to refurbish the vintage boat just before he died. Helen also knew that Audie would have traded the apartment, the car, the column—everything—for the forty-three-foot cutter. Yet Helen had left it to Drew.
Audie often wondered why. She still couldn't decide if it was simply her mother's final cruelty or Helen's roundabout way of ensuring her children would have a reason to speak after she was gone.
Audie looked up, preparing herself for Drew's list of questions. "I'd like to take the boat out sometime next week. Would that be OK with you?"
He looked at her with casual interest. "Overnight? For a few days? Mackinac Island or something?"
"Oh, no. Just a day sail. I was thinking of inviting a friend along. Will Saturday be all right?"
"Sure." Drew moved his wrist in a lazy circle, watching the ice cubes swirl around inside the glass. "I'll leave the boathouse unlocked. Be sure to wipe down the deck when you're done. Who's the lucky fellow?"
Audie forced herself to remain relaxed. Drew would see them anyway, since he was nearly always at home. It was either now or later.
"The macho Irish cop. If he'll accept my invitation."
Drew's hand flopped down onto the armrest and thin threads of mixed drink splashed onto the slipcover.
"Dear God, Audie! You've run quite the gamut with men lately. What the hell was wrong with Russell Ketchum? I've always thought he was a decent man and a damn good lawyer."
Audie sighed. "Actually, Russell is a—"
"But Jesus, a cop? This would be your first cop, right? I know it's not your first Irishman. What was that slimy Mick politician's name again?" Drew chuckled softly. "At least it's not another Jamaican."
Audie was already off the sofa and headed for the foyer.
"Oh, come on, Audie. Don't be such a cold bitch. Get a sense of humor."
She spun around and stared at him. He looked like a king on his slip-covered throne, his thinning hair a crown, his gin and tonic his scepter.
Maybe he was nasty enough to be sending those letters, after all.
"Do you need money, Drew?" Her voice was soft and polite.
"What?" His entire body stiffened.
"I asked you if you need
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