"Hi. We were driving by and saw your sign. We've been house hunting

for weeks. We've got an appointment to see another place in about an

hour, but we just couldn't resist this. It isn't sold yet, is it?"

The woman, fortyish, dressed in countrywear of Ba.s.s loafers and Calvin

KJeins, took a long, cautious look. She took in Michael's work shirt,

worn Levi's, and scuffed high tops. But she was also sharp enough to

note Emma's discreetly expensive pumps and the casual Ralph Lauren skirt

and blouse. As well as the Mercedes convertible parked in the drive.

She smiled. The house had been on the market for five months without a

firm offer.

"Well, actually we do have a prospective buyer, but the contract won't

be signed until Monday." Her gaze swooped down to the small but elegant

diamond and sapphire ring on Emma's hand. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt

to show you through."

She opened the door further, lifting a brow as Emma hesitated before

stepping inside. "I'm Gloria Steinbrenner."

"Nice to meet you." Michael extended a hand and took hers. "Michael

Kesselring. This is Emma."

Ms. Steinbrenner gave them both a dazzling smile. The h.e.l.l with the

real estate broker, she thought. She'd opened the door to her own hot

prospect, and intended to make the most of it.

"The place is in beautiful condition. I adore it." She detested every

board and brick. "It's breaking my heart to sell, but-to be frank-my

husband and I are divorcing, so we're liquidating."

"Oh." Michael put what he hoped was an appropriately sympathetic, but

interested, look on his face. "I'm sorry."

"No need." She waved a hand. "Are you from the area?"

"No, actually, we're ... from the Valley," he said, inspired.

"We're just dying to get out, crowds, smog. Isn't that right, Emma?"

"Yes." She forced a smile. "It's a beautiful house."

"Thank you. The living area, as you can see, is magnificent. High

ceilings, genuine oak beams, lots of gla.s.s and open s.p.a.ce. It's a

working fireplace, of course."

Of course, Emma thought. Hadn't she sat in front of it? The furniture

was new, and she hated it on sight. Pretentious modern sculptures and

glossy enameled tables. Where were all the cushions, the funny baskets

filled with b.a.l.l.s of yarn and ribbon that Bev had arranged?

"The dining area's through here, but this spot in front of the terrace

windows is just perfect for cozy little suppers."

No, that wasn't right, she thought as she mechanically followed. Bev

had put plants in front of those windows. A jungle of plants in old

pottery bowls and urns. Stevie and Johnno had brought her a tree once,

grunting and panting as they'd hauled it in. They'd done it as a joke,

but Bev had left it there, and bought a silly plaster robin to sit on

one of the branches.

"Emma?"

"What?" She jolted, dragging herself back. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, that's quite all right." The woman was delighted that Emma seemed

to be mesmerized. "I was just asking if you cooked?"

"No, not very well."