Reunion in Death

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There are some meannesses which are too mean even for man woman, lovely woman alone, can venture to commit them.

—W. M. Thackeray , A Shabby Genteel Story

The surest poison is time.

—Emerson

Murder was work. Death was a serious chore for the killer, the victim, for the survivors. And for those who stood for the dead. Some went about the job devotedly, others carelessly.

And for some, murder was a labor of love.

When he left his Park Avenue condo for his regular morning stroll, Walter C. Pettibone was blissfully unaware he was in his last hours of life. He was a robust sixty and a canny businessman who'd increased his family's already considerable fortune through flowers and sentiment.

He was wealthy, healthy, and just over a year before had acquired a young, blonde wife who had the sexual appetite of a Doberman in heat and the brains of a cabbage.

His world, in Walter C. Pettibone's opinion, was just exactly so.

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