Murder Can Cool Off Your Affair by Selma Eichler

your uncle’s estate.”
    Scott paused in the act of spreading some pâté on a toast round to respond. “Only a very minor one—unless something should happen to John before Uncle Victor dies. That’s why you’re here, correct? You want me to tell you where I was the night somebody attempted to do in your client.”
    “Uh, yes. I’d appreciate it.”
    “I was right where I am now. I had a cold for a good part of last week, thanks to a terribly inconsiderate lady friend who was far too demonstrative when you take into account how infectious she was. At any rate, I was staying in as much as I could to rest it up. I even worked out of the apartment for a couple of days—which, given that I’m an architect, presented no problem.”
    “Did you happen to see or hear from anyone who can confirm you were at home that evening?”
    “Earlier, yes. But not at eleven-thirty, which is the hour in question, as I understand it. Listen, Desiree, I don’t want to tell you how to conduct your business. But if I were you, I would give serious thought to the possibility that the culprit was some teenage hoodlum out to amuse himself by taking potshots at decent, taxpaying citizens. That sort of outrage occurs all too frequently these days.”
    “Your sister had pretty much the same thing to sayabout the incident, and I’m certainly keeping that possibility in mind.”
    “Good.”
    “Still, with Edward’s having been murdered just two weeks before that, well, it does seem a bit of a coincidence.”
    “However, coincidences do occur. That’s why they invented a word for it.”
    I grinned. “I’ve never heard the premise defended like that.”
    Scott grinned back at me. “I’ll deem that a compliment, if I may. Now, as for the night Cousin Edward was murdered, I had prepared dinner for my sister that Tuesday, and we were together the entire evening. She arrived at six-thirty, and she didn’t leave for home until ten, perhaps a few minutes earlier. But I would assume Shawna’s already told you this.”
    “Yes, and by the way, she said the meal was absolutely delicious. I’m trying to remember exactly what you served, though.”
    “You’re checking to see if we have our stories straight, isn’t that it?” Scott challenged, looking smug. “But all right, I’ll help you out. We started with clams oreganato . . .” He went on to confirm the menu Shawna had laid out for me on Saturday, even supplying the name of the dish that had eluded her: Veal Prince Orloff. “Satisfied?” he inquired, after concluding with the crème brûlée.
    “Satisfied. I have another question for you though. Where were you at around twelve-thirty yesterday afternoon?”
    “I was at home, preparing another of my matchless feasts; I had dinner guests last night.”
    “Would there, by any chance, be anyone who could confirm that you were in the apartment then?”
    “Not a soul. I received a couple of phone calls, but it was when I was in the midst of preparing the pâte à choux for my croquembouche, and I could not be disturbed—timing is crucial. Therefore I let the machine pick up.” He was looking at me eagerly now. “Why do you ask?”
    Well, I had no intention of revealing that John had had another narrow escape, so I mumbled, “I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss that.” And then so that the refusal might be slightly more acceptable to my pouting host, I added, “Not just yet, anyhow.”
    Scott made a sound that was very much like a harrumph, and I quickly moved on. “Would you mind answering something else for me?”
    He shrugged before responding. “Go on.”
    “What was your opinion of your cousin Edward?”
    “He was all right, I suppose. But both Edward and John are quite a lot older than we are—Shawna and I. So we’ve never had much of a relationship with either of them.”
    “Would you have any idea who might have wanted to harm Edward?”
    “Not the slightest.”
    “Umm, how about John? How do you feel about