At last she heard Rizzoli and Frost come into the house, heard them murmuring in the foyer to a third person, a voice Maura didn’t recognize. Secrets, she thought. Why is everyone keeping secrets from me? What don’t they want me to know?

She looked up as the two detectives walked into the living room. With them was a man who introduced himself as Brookline Detective Eckert, a name she’d probably forget within five minutes. Her attention was completely focused on Rizzoli, with whom she had worked before. A woman she both liked and respected.

The detectives all settled into chairs, Rizzoli and Frost facing Maura across the coffee table. She felt outnumbered, four to one, everyone’s gazes on her. Frost pulled out his notepad and pen. Why was he taking notes? Why did this feel like the start of an interrogation?

“How are you doing, Doc?” Rizzoli asked, her voice soft with concern.

Maura laughed at the trite question. “I’d be doing a lot better if I knew what was going on.”

“Can I ask you where you’ve been tonight?”

“I just got home from the airport.”

“Why were you at the airport?”

“I flew in from Paris. From Charles de Gaulle. It was a long flight, and I’m not in the mood for twenty questions.”

“How long were you in Paris?”

“A week. I flew there last Wednesday.” Maura thought she detected a note of accusation in Rizzoli’s brusque questions, and her irritation was now building toward anger. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask my secretary, Louise. She’s the one who booked the flight for me. I was there for a meeting-”

“The International Conference of Forensic Pathology. Is that correct?”

Maura was taken aback. “You already know?”

“Louise told us.”

They’ve been asking questions about me. Even before I got home, they were talking to my secretary.

“She told us your plane was supposed to land at five P.M. at Logan,” said Rizzoli. “It’s now nearly ten o’clock. Where’ve you been?”