Finally, up ahead, she spotted Elinor and Yolanda. CJ looked quickly but didn't see any men in black on their pulp fiction tails.

"The note," CJ said once Elinor had climbed into the front seat and Yolanda was settled in the back and they were headed north on the Hutchinson Parkway. "Do you still have it?"

"It's home."

"In the safe?"

"Hardly. After Jonas found it in my purse, I stashed it in an old evening bag. A Judith Leiber frog. In my closet."

Yolanda supposed this was not a good time to suggest selling the bag on eBay. She'd done a lot of that lately, selling various baubles, mostly things Vincent had bought her. It was expensive to be a woman alone, trying to eke out a living in Westchester County.

She looked out the window and reminded herself that one day it would be worth it. Belita would grow up in a town filled with opportunities. She would not know the struggles of her mother or her mother's parents before her. She would never know life on an island.

For some silly reason, small tears rose in her eyes.

"Manny wants to see the note," CJ continued. "We'll take E home first, and she can give it to us. Then we can take it to Manny. He called out sick today. He's with Belita and Poppy at Poppy's mother's. They stayed there last night."

Yolanda did not have to ask what Manny had been doing with Poppy all night. After all, she had seen that kiss.

Forty.

CJ and Yolanda followed Elinor into the house. They waited in the foyer while Elinor went upstairs.

"Have they lived here long?" Yolanda asked as her gaze skirted the lovely paintings, the marble tiles, the movie-set staircase.

"A while," CJ replied. She'd forgotten that Yolanda was usually at Elinor's in the role of hired help and didn't ask questions that might be construed to be personal.

"Except when we're stuck down in Washington," Malcolm said as he walked in from the doorway that led to the kitchen.

CJ felt her blood pressure rise a point, maybe ten. "Malcolm," she said. "We brought Elinor home from the station." She stammered a bit, couldn't very well add that E was upstairs retrieving the blackmailer's note. "Do you know our friend, Yolanda?" Good grief, she couldn't remember Yolanda's last name. She had only known her by one name, like Cher or Madonna or the artist formerly known as Prince, who, she thought she'd heard, was called that again.

Malcolm and Yolanda shook hands as Elinor appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Well, there's my long-lost wife now."

"h.e.l.lo, Malcolm." She descended the stairs, carrying the Judith Leiber as if it were a rose. "Sorry I was delayed. I thought as long I was in Phillie, I'd have the girl start my gown for the wedding." The words slid off her tongue like Baileys Irish Cream. At the bottom of the stairs, she handed CJ the purse. "This will match your dress perfectly," she said without missing a lying beat. Then she turned back to Mac. "Do I have time for a bath before we leave for Washington?"

"That all depends," Mac replied as he reached into his back pocket and withdrew a phone handset. "You see, the oddest thing happened while you were away. All the phones were missing from their chargers. Except for the one I keep under my bed. Which is a good thing, because if I hadn't finally figured that out and retrieved this, I never would have received the call from a man who asked if I had the money."

The interesting thing about CJ's sister was that she could manage to rise to an occasion such as this without turning pale or breaking into a sweat, both of which CJ was sure she was doing.

"What money?" Elinor asked.

Malcolm shrugged. "I have no idea. But before he hung up, he said my wife would know what he meant."

Elinor laughed. "So. Was it the paperboy or someone like that?"

"I can't imagine. Any more than I can imagine why the other phones are missing."

"Because I'm having the phone system replaced! We're going digital-didn't I tell you?"

His reply was a cool, curious stare. Then Malcolm went back through the foyer the way he had come.

CJ looked at Elinor, and Yolanda looked at Elinor, and Elinor looked at them both and whispered, "I'm dead."

Forty-one.

Poppy would have been happy if they'd slept together, had s.e.x. But Manny had said that as much as he'd like to, he respected her too much.

She hoped he wasn't afraid she'd nail him with pruning shears, too.

She'd slept until noon, then resumed making lists, while Manny perused Momma's greenhouse and gardens with Belita.

By afternoon, Momma felt up to taking high tea in the solarium, where she could see her orchids in bloom. Besides, she'd heard gleeful delights from Belita and wanted to see the little girl.

"Let's all be like children," Momma said, and so there they sat, Poppy and Manny and Momma and Belita on Manny's knee, and they ate tea party sandwiches with the crusts neatly trimmed and sipped lemonade out of dainty porcelain cups. It didn't matter to Momma that Belita wasn't even two and didn't know, or probably care, what was going on.

Poppy quietly thanked Manny for his patience and promised him that Fiona would make him a big sandwich later. "Roast beef and Brie," she whispered, "grilled on thick slices of focaccia." He smiled.

Over dainty scoops of pink peppermint ice cream, Manny gently asked Momma if she remembered the night the gardener died.

Momma set her spoon into her small tulip dish, looked at Manny, and asked, "What gardener?"

Poppy sighed. "You know, Momma. Sam Yates. I told Manny I'm the one who really killed him, not you. I told him it's high time I cleansed myself of my sins before the good Lord takes us both." If Momma wondered where or why Poppy had so suddenly got religion, she didn't say.

"Momma," Poppy repeated. "This is serious. Manny knows the truth. Tell him."

"Poppy is only trying to set the record straight, Mrs. Landry. From what she says, it was self-defense. And she was only fifteen. Chances are, she won't go to jail. But we'll need your testimony because there's no evidence."

Poppy figured he'd added in the part about her not going to jail because he thought that would be the only way to get Momma's corroboration-if that was the right Law & Order word.

Momma picked up the tiny silver hand bell Poppy had bought-actually bought-from a vendedor on a street in the south of Spain. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I killed that man and I paid for my crime." She shook the bell and Fiona appeared and Momma said she needed help to get to her bedroom, that she felt another spell coming on.

After Momma was gone, Poppy cried, "What about me? I need to purge my soul! And what about Elinor? If Duane thinks he's still hanging this over my head, he'll get away with blackmailing her."

Belita cried, too.

Then the doorbell chimed.

A few seconds later, Bern escorted CJ and Yolanda into the solarium, and Yolanda picked up Belita, who instantly stopped crying, and CJ sat down in the chair where Momma had been. For some reason, she carried a Judith Leiber frog handbag, a stretch even for CJ, with her artistic leaning.

"I have the note," CJ said. She unsnapped the frog and took out a paper that had been folded into four large squares. Manny and Poppy got up and stood behind CJ with Yolanda and Belita, and they all scrunched forward to examine the goods.

CJ unfolded the paper and carefully smoothed it.

The letters were big and colorful, some bold, some swishy, but most were mismatched.

"These words came from women's magazines," Poppy suddenly said.

All eyes turned to her.

"Do either of you think a woman did this?" Manny asked.

The funny feeling that always found its way to Poppy's stomach whenever she was anxious or scared found its way there now. "I didn't say that. But look. The word panties is all one word, not cut out from letters."

"It could have been printed from something online. A Web site that would give the blackmailer the exact things he needed."

Poppy shook her head. "No," she said quietly. "The words are from magazines."

"It doesn't look like the letters have printing on the back," Manny said. "The lab can determine that, though. We don't want to mess with it ourselves."

Poppy was still shaking her head. "You don't understand. I know these are from women's magazines. Maybe the blackmailer copied them on one of those fancy printers so there's no printing on the back. But I know what I'm talking about. I read these magazines all the time. Momma taught me it helps pa.s.s the time and keeps my mind off my troubles." She sighed. "Anyway, I keep a stack of them in my bedroom, right next to my chaise."

They all seemed to know that the next thing they'd do was travel to Poppy's house en ma.s.se, head up to her bedroom, and see if Duane had dismembered any of her prized magazines.

Poppy supposed that after that, Manny would search the rest of her house. And she'd be humiliated, once and for all.

Alice sat in the theater watching thirty-six boys and girls sing a rock version of "G.o.d Bless America," the theme song for USA Sings. The performance opened the show because the producers knew that that was when the contestants would be in top form-which was another way of saying they didn't want the long faces of losers to taint the program.

And there would be losers. Twelve would be cut in Orlando, another dozen in Philadelphia. The final-final twelve, as they were called, would win the trip to Hollywood and national television.

Kiley Kate looked stunning in the requisite outfit-red-and-white-striped glittering pants and cropped blue jacket-for which Alice had had to pay an additional four hundred dollars. But the outfit could be used again in Philadelphia and then in Hollywood if Kiley Kate made it that far.

As for Alice's attire, that morning she'd picked up a soft beige sheath in the Grand Cypress Gift Shop. The dress was too short for Mount Kasteel, but what the h.e.l.l, her legs were still good. And Bud might enjoy looking at them during dinner.

Bud.

She guessed she should smile. But the truth was, she felt a little bit seedy, and she missed Neal.

"They're wonderful, aren't they?"

She did not know the voice, but she recognized the face of the mother of Taylor LeDuc, one of Kiley Kate's rivals. Like her daughter, the woman had mousey brown hair and lips that were too large to be natural. She wore a gaudy print top that made her look pregnant.

"Yes," Alice replied. She had no interest in conversation.

"Kiley Kate is your daughter? She looks like you."

In spite of the nuisance, Alice replied, "Granddaughter." She smoothed the hemline of the beige dress.

"I'm Lorna LeDuc. My daughter is Taylor. She says Kiley Kate's really nice."

Alice didn't reply.

"I always have a little party for the girls after the show. So they can become friends, you know? We invite Kiley Kate, but she's never come; how about tonight?"

Kiley Kate had never mentioned a party. "I'd have to leave that up to her."

"She told my daughter you're usually busy after the show, that it's a tradition for just the two of you to go out. But I think it's nice for the girls to be friends. They're so young, you know?"

Alice hadn't known that Kiley Kate lied. She was a kid, and most kids probably did, but why had she lied about that? Because she hadn't wanted to mention her grandmother's "nightcaps"? And what about mixing compet.i.tion with friendship? Didn't that matter to kids?

"So we'll be going tonight," Lorna continued. "After the show. If you and Kiley Kate want to come."

On stage, the group launched into the last chorus, and Lorna LeDuc moved away.

Alice watched the kids, wondering what to do, just as her cell phone vibrated.

Bud?

She sprinted for the vestibule. Without her gla.s.ses, she couldn't read the caller ID. But surely it was him....

"h.e.l.lo?" she breathed as the door thumped behind her. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Oh, G.o.d, Alice. Thank G.o.d you're there."

It was Elinor.

"Mac knows something's up," Elinor spewed. "And the Secret Service is following me. Poppy still thinks it's Duane, but I'm scared to death, Alice. I wish you were home."

It was the first time Elinor had hinted that Alice might be important to her, someone she needed for something more than childlike pranks or silly escapades.

"Elinor, slow down. What's going on now?"

Elinor told her about the call Mac had received. "I can't blame CJ. She thought she'd done the right thing. When she walked off with the handsets."

Elinor was oddly beginning to sound as scattered as Poppy. "But what does the Secret Service have to do with you?"

From inside the auditorium, a few final notes resounded, followed by applause.

"My lover is Remy," Alice thought she heard Elinor say. "You know. The vice president."

"What?"