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Tough for Leo, too. Tough for all the TPS founders.

We of the TPS.

Jesus. How the hell could this have happened? And to John of all people? It was unfathomable.

As Judith moved away, Priscilla joined them. She was very pale and, unlike Judith, she had clearly been crying. “I still can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered.

Leo put his arm around her shoulders, gave her a hard hug.

Archie said, “I know. I’m sorry. I know how close the three of you were.”

“We grew up together,” Leo said. “I can’t imagine a world without John in it.”

Same. But Archie didn’t say it. He was still coming to terms with it.

Priscilla gripped Leo’s arm, comfortingly. Leo had never married, and Archie remembered John saying once that Leo had always been in love with Priscilla, but Priscilla had never seen Leo or John as anything but pals. She glanced at Archie, did a doubletake, and said, “Are you okay, kiddo? You really don’t look…well.”

He didn’t feel well. He hadn’t felt well before all this happened, and he’d been running on nothing but will-power for the last couple of hours. But there was nothing that could be done about it.

He asked, “Can you think of anyone who’d want to harm John? Had he had any run-ins with someone lately?”

Priscilla looked taken-aback. She turned automatically to Leo.

“No, of course not,” Leo said. “You don’t think one of-of John’s guests did this?”

What he meant was, one of us?

But, yes, of course, that was exactly what Archie meant. That was by far the most likely scenario. And you didn’t have to be an FBI agent to recognize it.

Instead of answering, Archie asked, “Is Professor Azizi here? I didn’t see him earlier.”

Priscilla and Leo exchanged looks. Priscilla said carefully, “No. John and the professor had a falling out a few months back.”

“What about?”

Once again, that curious exchange of looks.

The doors to the drawing room opened unexpectedly, cutting off further conversation.

Two cops walked in wearing jeans and black duty jackets with Twinkleton PD insignia. One was the officer who’d escorted Archie from the crime scene. Young, blond, snub-nosed—the cute nose did a lot to diffuse his determined air of baby storm trooper. The other cop was Beau Langham.

Archie had been braced for it, but even so, he experienced an almost physical reaction to seeing Beau up close and personal again.

Or, more likely, post-concussion syndrome was making itself felt. He was supposed to be avoiding exertion, stress, and almost certainly—though not specifically cited—homicide, and yet here he was, being subjected to all of the above.

Seven years later, Beau had changed. He looked older, thinner, harder. Still preposterously handsome in the cartoony style of the original Disney princes: wavy dark hair, guileless blue eyes, the kind of bone structure that typically comes from generations of fashion model inbreeding. Which didn’t change the fact that he looked and moved like a seasoned cop. His gaze was cool and appraising as he studied the room.

“Sorry to spoil the evening, folks,” the blond cop said. “I’m sure most of you know Chief Langham. I’m Detective Swenson.” He proceeded to explain that while it would be up to the medical examiner to determine the exact cause of John’s death, the evidence indicated he had been the victim of a homicide, and it would be necessary to detain everyone a bit longer in order to conduct some preliminary interviews.

That went over about as well as one would expect.

Beau ignored the questions and protests. His blue gaze swept the room and lit on Archie.

For a moment they stared impassively at each other.

Beau said something in an aside to Swenson and Swenson turned his attention to Archie. “Mr. Crane? You reported finding the body?”

“That’s correct,” Archie said.