Some Like It Lethal by Nancy Martin Page B

needed to be even-keeled at all times. If he let his emotions roam up and down the scale, he'd be unable to prevent himself from flying off into the stratosphere in the wrong circumstances.
    But watching him listen to the nurse, I suddenly remembered a day long ago when his wife had been driving the three of us around to various antique shops in New Hope. Rain pelted the windshield, and Caroline missed a stop sign. A teenager in a Porsche rammed us broadside. The impact wasn't hard—both cars had been traveling barely ten miles an hour—but we were all shaken up. The teenager got out of his car laughing. He was frightened, I know, but his reaction was giddy shock.
    Tim had been furious. He leaped out of the car and slammed the kid up against the Porsche to shout at him. I forced myself between them before fists flew.
    Now, standing in the hospital corridor, I realized Caroline had probably been newly pregnant at the time. Tim had been protecting her.
    The nurse stopped talking, and Tim began to write an order on the clipboard she held. She seemed respectful yet comfortable with Tim, and I thought he'd probably been nominated for Chief of Pediatrics because he was good at his profession and well-liked by the staff. He finished writing, then noticed me standing there and came over.
    I noticed he needed a haircut. More accurately, he needed a wife to tell him he needed a haircut.
    I said, "Thank you for looking after Emma this morning."
    "I'm glad I was there." He put his pen into the breast pocket of his white lab coat. "I think she's going to be fine. I can't see her officially, but I have a friend in the emergency room and I put a bug in his ear. He's going to try to keep Emma here in the hospital as long as he can."
    "Thank you, Tim. I appreciate your help."
    "No problem." He hesitated. "Emma's been great to Merrie, you know, helping her with her jumping and . . . letting her talk." Slowly, he said, "Until now I've had a hard time connecting with Merrie. Emma's made it happen somehow. I'll do what I can to keep Emma here."
    And out of jail. He didn't need to say the words, but he blanched just the same. I reached up and gave him a grateful kiss on the cheek. If I wasn't mistaken, he blushed.
    I found Reed in the parking lot, holding Spike's leash while the puppy attacked a discarded fast-food cup as if it were a rabid wolverine. He was a black, brown and white snarling blur on the asphalt, and the paper cup was already shredded. When he spotted me, Spike dropped the cup and joyously launched himself into the air. I caught him in my arms, and he lapped puppy kisses all over my face.
    Reed's lock on cool was badly shaken. "Mrs. Kintswell was just here."
    "Sorry, Reed. Did she hurt you?"
    "No." Stung by my smile, he straightened. "She told me to tell you she was on her way home with her new friend."
    "What friend?"
    Reed shrugged. "A guy with a beard, wearing an earring and a stethoscope."
    I sighed. "Did he look single?"
    "What?"
    "Never mind. Reed, can you take me to Boathouse Row?"
    By way of an answer, he opened the car door and took my arm. I knew he was feeling sorry for me when he helped me into the backseat.
    Rubbing Spike's tummy, I thought about who could have killed Rush Strawcutter. I couldn't imagine Rush having marital or family problems. He really had been an unthreatening, cheerful guy who made people smile when he turned up with his circus act of little dogs. Everybody seemed to like him. But another item on Michael's motives for murder was financial difficulty, and the best person to help me learn about the Strawcutter money situation was my friend Lexie Paine.
    Richer than most of her megabuck clients, Lexie lived in the only privately owned boathouse on Philadelphia's famous Boathouse Row.  The picturesque Victorian houses stood on a magical curve of the Schuykill River and served as clubhouses for enthusiasts of various water sports, primarily rowing. Through her old family connections, a truckload of