This morning I got an email in my inbox that said this:

"I know what you're doing with the lawyers. You're changing Leta's name from Leta Elise Armstrong to Leta Elise Armstrong-Pitt."

This is my favorite guess yet.

Yesterday afternoon the lawyer asked where he could send documents that need to be signed, and before giving him our home address Jon leaned back in his chair and let out a heavy sigh.

"Just so you know," he said, "we don't go around broadcasting the home address. Can we ask you to keep that private?"

The lawyer looked at him and blinked several times incredulously. I've watched enough "Law and Order" to successfully defend a serial killer so I said to Jon, "Everything we say here is confidential. We could tell him where we hid the body and he is bound by law to keep it a secret."

"She's right," the lawyer said. "The only thing that doesn't fall under attorney-client privilege is you telling me that you're about to go kill someone."

Jon and I grinned madly at each other. It was like we had stepped into a confessional and wanted to be cleansed of our sins. "We have the severed head of a sushi hostess in the trunk of our car," I said.

The lawyer laughed under his breath as if he had heard that one before and then said, "I won't tell anyone, but that won't help you if you go and write about it on your website."