"You don't commit murder just to keep someone from buying a house," Phillis protested. "At that rate, there would soon be more houses on the market than people to buy them. Was the caller really serious?"

"I think he was." Pat Montgomary pushed aside his plate and looked across the breakfast table at her. "Franklin told me the person who called him said there would be an accident, that one of the buyers would never live to enjoy that house. Sounds like a threat of murder to me."

"What should we do about it?" She studied his face, the deep tan, the crows feet, the very first hint of gray at the temples in his otherwise jet black hair, his deep brown, almost black, eyes.

"Who said anything about us? Franklin called me this morning and asked for my help." He couldn't resist the temptation to tease. So early in the day her smile lit up the dining room in his house in Philadelphia's Society Hill. Her light brown, almost auburn, hair reflected the morning sunlight. Her eyes, which he swore were plum color, stared back at him.

"If you think you're going to keep me out of it, boy are you wrong." In little more than a whisper, as she sipped her coffee, her elbows resting on the table, she added, "Just try leaving me home."

"I know. Only it might not be a picnic. Franklin sounded both serious and a little bit frightened, and believe me, Franklin doesn't frighten easily."

"Go over once more what the caller said."

"Franklin told me he was awakened very early this morning by a telephone call. As I told you, someone--husband and wife, I gather--want to buy one of the houses in Maris Cove. Well, the caller told Franklin that if they did, they'd never get to enjoy that house, that one of them would meet with an accident. Evidently, it was that simple and that brief."

"And you told Franklin we'd help?"

He nodded. "Thought you'd approve. After the way you solved that last bit of ... er ... mischief...? this ought to be right up your alley, provided...."

"Provided?"

"Provided, Phil, you promise me you'll be careful. Murder is not a game and people who make threats of murder sometimes carry them out."

She put her napkin to one side. "From everything you've told me, Franklin is possibly the closest, dearest friend you have, right?"

Pat nodded.

"And he's frightened, right?"

Again he nodded.

"He could use our help, right?"

"Yes, but--"

"There's no but." She got up from the table and called to him over her shoulder as she left the room, "Let's go, brother dearest. This time we have a murder to prevent, instead of solve."