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Sixteen points, according to Collins Scrabble Words. However, Ellery’s friends were going by the internet site Word Unscrambler, and granted him a whopping twenty-two points. He graciously took the extra points, putting him well in the lead.

“This is why no one wants to play with you,” Chelsea said from the growing distance of second place. “You always win.”

“Ouch,” Ellery grinned. He did not always win of course—except with this lot. The Monday Night Scrabblers were a lot tougher competition. His old college pals? Not so much. Back in the day, they’d all preferred Clue and Trivial Pursuit.

Flip said, “I don’t care that he always wins. I don’t want to play because I hate Scrabble.”

“Hey, hey, hey. We don’t permit that kind of talk in this house.” Ellery rose from the sofa. “Who needs another drink?”

Everyone needed a drink. Especially, as Chelsea tactfully put it,if they were going to have to play games all night.

“Do you need a hand?” Freddie, like Flip, was not a huge fan of Scrabble. He had been sitting on the sidelines, advising Chelsea.

“Sure,” Ellery said.

“I did a quickie interview with your friend at the newspaper,” Freddie said as they walked into the kitchen.

“Oh. I don’t know if she’s actually a friend—or that you need the publicity—but I’m sure you made Sue’s day. If not her week.”

Freddie smiled in acknowledgement. “I wish I’d had a chance to talk more with Jack. How long did he work in Homicide?”

“I don’t know how long he was a detective. He was a cop in L.A. for about ten years.”

“I bet he has great stories.”

“Probably. He doesn’t talk a lot about when he was LAPD.” Ellery opened the bottle of light rum. He was making rum runners that evening, which had been one of their summer favorites, back in the day.

“Has he ever killed anyone?”

Ellery stared at Freddie. Freddie’s expression was serious.

“Shoot. In the line of duty,” Freddie prompted.

“I don’t know. I...” Ellery started to answer,I don’t think so, but realized he reallydidn’tknow. He suspected that wasn’t something Jack would choose to share without good reason. The subject had never come up.

He answered instead, “I hope not. I think that would be really difficult.”

“Probably. Although you have to pass a psych test to be a cop. That would be part of what they’d evaluate you for, I guess.”

“I guess.” Ellery automatically reached for the dark rum. There wasa lotof booze in a rum runner.

Freddie said very casually, “Are Tosh and Oscar together now?”

Ellery put down the dark rum and measured out the Giffard Creme de Mure with the attention usually reserved for defusing a bomb. He replied carefully, “I think they might have...connected this weekend.”

“Yeah.” Freddie’s laugh was a little bitter. “Turns out Oscar’s a fast worker.”

Ellery glanced at him in surprise. “Uh, I don’t think you could really claim he’s a fast worker at this point. We’ve all know each other for how many years?”

Freddie opened his mouth, but two things happened.

The lights went out, plunging the entire house into darkness—and someone let out a bloodcurdling scream from the library.

Freddie gasped, “Is that Tosh?” and ran for the door.

It sounded like he crashed full force into the kitchen table—and that the entire table went over, table, chairs, and Freddie all hitting the floor.

Arf! Arf! Arf! Whether it was the commotion in the kitchen or the screams in the library, Watson had clearly had enough. He could be heard frantically barking.