September 19, 2:02 pm: I saw Ginevra again. I was at the club, polishing my clubs and inspecting my balls, when she strode right out in front of me. For a second, I thought she had seen me. But then she walked on. As usual, I followed.

September 20, 9:31 am: Ginevra steps out of her gleaming, chrome shower. The windows are all fogged up, of course, but my top-of-the-line hidden camera sees all. How beautiful she looks, in her cashmere robe and Prada slippers.

September 21, 1:15 pm: So she’s out to lunch again—with Wellington. How droll. And eating some beef wellington…Freud would have a field day with that one. It’s not like he can even take her to that nice a place. I mean, the depth of their wine cellar does not make up for its poor vintages! The lighting is dim, but when Ginevra entered, the room just lit up. Strange that the other patrons didn’t even seem to notice.

September 22, 3:07 pm: Tennis at the club. How I love watching her run and sweat.

September 23, 10:00 pm: She has settled in for a nice evening of sherry and Haydn. I can see her through the small window of her study. No camera needed this time. How I love her.

September 23, 10:08 pm: That harlot! Wellington has come over, and she kissed him so saucily in greeting. What would her finishing school headmistress think? Oh, I see the suitor has brought some red wine. What an ignoramus—how could he not know that Ginevra loves white?

September 23, 10:12 pm: She’s mine, you cur, she’s mine! Our love is like the smooth aftertaste of 1968 Zinfandel—not that your palette would appreciate it. All your palette can seem to focus on is the sweet taste of my Ginevra’s lips! You are acting like a dog, Wellington! You think no one can see, but I see all!

September 23, 10:14 pm: Well, that ought to teach him! I placed a call to the main house, informing him that his yacht had come unmoored. Yes, that’s right. Oh, your chauffer was just unexpectedly called away? How unfortunate. Run, plebe, run.

September 23, 10:17 pm: The plan has backfired. Stranded, Wellington returned inside, where, I’m afraid, the evening is progressing. He has prioritized Ginevra over his boat…he must mean business. This is most unwanted. He must be stopped.

September 23, 10:25 pm: After eight minutes of brainstorming, I’m still out of ideas. Unless…no I shan’t.

September 23, 10:26 pm: Well, that could’ve gone better. Alas, I am not as good a shot as I once was. Ah, those must be sirens. I am off! Where’s a chauffer when you need one?

September 26, 12:13 pm: Minerva looked so fetching at today’s funeral. Black is really her color. And now, with her best friend and “lover” murdered in some freak accident, surely she needs new companionship… beef wellington, my love?

—S. Stern