been in all the papers, and still cropped up from time to time, perhaps

because the police had never solved the case.

His father's case, Michael recalled.

That had been the year Michael had been named MVP on his Little League

team. And his father had missed most of the games. And a lot of

dinners.

It had been a long time ago, Michael mused, but he wondered if his

father ever thought about Brian McAvoy and his dead son. Or the little

girl who had taken the picture. Some people said that she'd seen what

had happened to her brother and had gone crazy. But she hadn't looked

crazy when Michael had met her. He remembered her only vaguely as a

slight girl with pale hair and big sad eyes. And a soft, prettily

accented voice, he recalled now. A voice a lot like her father's.

Poor kid, he thought as he placed the ta.s.sel over the snapshot. He

wondered what had ever happened to her.

EMmA COULDN'T BELIEVE her time was almost up. In less than a week she

would head back to New York and Saint Catherine's. true, she missed

Marianne. It would take weeks for them to talk through all the things

that had happened over the summer. The best summer of her life, even

though they'd only spent two weeks of it in New York.

They'd flown to London to film part of a recording session for a new

doc.u.mentary, and had had tea at the Ritz just as she and Bev had so many

years before. She'd been able to spend time with Johnno and Stevie and

P.M., listening to them play, eating fish and chips in the kitchen while

they discussed their next alb.u.m.

She'd taken rolls of pictures and could hardly wait to store them in her

photo alb.u.m where she could look at them over and over and relive the

memories.

Her father had treated her to her first grown-up salon session as an

early birthday gift. Now her shoulder-length hair was permed in

corkscrew curls that made her feel very grown-up.

And she was starting to develop.

Emma took a quick, surrept.i.tious look down at her bikini top. They

weren't much as b.r.e.a.s.t.s went, but at least she wouldn't be as easily

mistaken for a boy. And she was tanned. Emma hadn't been too certain

she would enjoy spending her last weeks in California, but the tan made

it worthwhile.

And there was the surfing. She'd had to launch a major campaign before

Brian had agreed to let her try her hand at shooting the waves. Emma

knew she had Johnno to thank for the bright red board. If he hadn't

joked and teased Brian into it, she would still be whiling away her

hours on the beach watching everyone else skim the water.

Maybe she couldn't do much more than paddle out and fall in, but at

least the process took her farther away from the bodyguards who sweated

under nearby beach umbrellas. It was ridiculous, she thought as she

carried her board toward the water. No one even knew who she was.

Each year she was sure her father would let them go, and each year they

remained with their solemn faces and big shoulders. At least they

couldn't follow her out here, she thought as she stretched out on her

board and began to paddle through the cool water. Though she knew they