At the end of the day, Alette had sold every one of her paintings. She gathered the money that people had paid her, put it in an envelope and handed it to Pastor Frank Selvaggio.

He took it and said, "Thank you, Alette. You have a great gift, bringing so much beauty into people's lives."

Did you hear that, Mother?

When Alette was in San Francisco, she spent hours visiting the Museum of Modern Art, and she haunted the De Young Museum to study their collection of American art.

Several young artists were copying some of the paintings on the museum's walls. One young man in particular caught Alette's eye. He was in his late twenties, slim and blond, with a strong, intelligent face. He was copying Georgia O'Keeffe's Petunias, Petunias, and his work was remarkably good. The artist noticed Alette watching him. "Hi." and his work was remarkably good. The artist noticed Alette watching him. "Hi."

His voice was a warm yellow.

"h.e.l.lo," Alette said shyly.

The artist nodded toward the painting he was working on. "What do you think?"

"Bellissimo. I think it's wonderful." And she waited for her inner voice to say, I think it's wonderful." And she waited for her inner voice to say, For a stupid amateur. For a stupid amateur. But it didn't happen. She was surprised. "It's really wonderful." But it didn't happen. She was surprised. "It's really wonderful."

He smiled. "Thank you. My name is Richard, Richard Melton."

"Alette Peters."

"Do you come here often?" Richard asked.

"S. As often as I can. I don't live in San Francisco." As often as I can. I don't live in San Francisco."

"Where do you live?"

"In Cupertino." Not Not-"It's none of your d.a.m.n business" or "Wouldn't you like to know?" but-"In Cupertino." What is happening to me?

"That's a nice little town."

"I like it." Not Not-"What the h.e.l.l makes you think it's a nice little town?" or "What do you know about nice little towns?" but-"I like it."

He was finished with the painting. "I'm hungry. Can I buy you lunch? Cafe De Young has pretty good food."

Alette hesitated only a moment. "Va bene. "Va bene. I'd like that." I'd like that." Not Not-"You look stupid" or "I don't have lunch with strangers," but-"I'd like that." It was a new, exhilarating experience for Alette. It was a new, exhilarating experience for Alette.

The lunch was extremely enjoyable and not once did negative thoughts come into Alette's mind. They talked about some of the great artists, and Alette told Richard about growing up in Rome.

"I've never been to Rome," he said. "Maybe one day."

And Alette thought, It would be fun to go to Rome with you. It would be fun to go to Rome with you.

As they were finishing their lunch, Richard saw his roommate across the room and called him over to the table. "Gary, I didn't know you were going to be here. I'd like you to meet someone. This is Alette Peters. Gary King."

Gary was in his late twenties, with bright blue eyes and hair down to his shoulders.

"It's nice to meet you, Gary."

"Gary's been my best friend since high school, Alette."

"Yeah. I have ten years of dirt on Richard, so if you're looking for any good stories-"

"Gary, don't you have somewhere to go?"

"Right." He turned to Alette. "But don't forget my offer. I'll see you two around."

They watched Gary leave. Richard said, "Alette..."

"Yes?"

"May I see you again?"

"I would like that." Very much. Very much.

Monday morning, Alette told Toni about her experience. "Don't get involved with an artist," Toni warned. "You'll be living on the fruit he paints. Are you going to see him again?"

Alette smiled. "Yes. I think he likes me. And I like him. I really like him."

It started as a small disagreement and ended up as a ferocious argument. Pastor Frank was retiring after forty years of service. He had been a very good and caring pastor, and the congregation was sorry to see him leave. There were secret meetings held to decide what to give him as a going-away present. A watch . .. money...a vacation...a painting...He loved art.

"Why don't we have someone do a portrait of him, with the church in the background?" They turned to Alette. "Will you do it?"

"Of course," she said happily.

Walter Manning was one of the senior members of the church and one of its biggest contributors. He was a very successful businessman, but he seemed to resent everyone else's success. He said, "My daughter is a fine painter. Perhaps she should do it."

Someone suggested, "Why not have them both do it, and we'll vote on which one to give Pastor Frank?"

Alette went to work. The painting took her five days, and it was a masterpiece, glowing with the compa.s.sion and goodness of her subject. The following Sunday, the group met to look at the paintings. There were exclamations of appreciation over Alette's painting.

"It's so real, he could almost walk off the canvas..."

"Oh, he's going to love that..."

"That should be in a museum, Alette..."

Walter Manning unwrapped the canvas painted by his daughter. It was a competent painting, but it lacked the fire of Alette's portrait.

"That's very nice," one of the members of the congregation said tactfully, "but I think Alette's is-"

I agree.. ..

"Alette's portrait is the one..."

Walter Manning spoke up. "This has to be a unanimous decision. My daughter's a professional artist"-he looked at Alette-"not a dilettante. She did this as a favor. We can't turn her down."

"But, Walter-"

"No, sir. This has to be unanimous. We're either giving him my daughter's painting or we don't give him anything at all."

Alette said, "I like her painting very much. Let's give it to the pastor."

Walter Manning smiled smugly and said, "He's going to be very pleased with this."

On his way home that evening, Walter Manning was killed by a hit-and-run driver.

When Alette heard the news, she was stunned.

Chapter Four.

ASHLEY Patterson was taking a hurried shower, late for work, when she heard the sound. A door opening? Closing? She turned off the shower, listening, her heart pounding. Silence. Silence. She stood there a moment, her body glistening with drops of water, then hurriedly dried herself and cautiously stepped into the bedroom. Everything appeared to be normal. She stood there a moment, her body glistening with drops of water, then hurriedly dried herself and cautiously stepped into the bedroom. Everything appeared to be normal. It's my stupid imagination again. I've got to get dressed. It's my stupid imagination again. I've got to get dressed. She walked over to her lingerie drawer, opened it and stared down at it, unbelievingly. Someone had gone through her undergarments. Her bras and pantyhose were all piled together. She always kept them neatly separated. She walked over to her lingerie drawer, opened it and stared down at it, unbelievingly. Someone had gone through her undergarments. Her bras and pantyhose were all piled together. She always kept them neatly separated.

Ashley suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Had he unzipped his pants, picked up her pantyhose and rubbed them against himself? Had he fantasized about raping her? Raping her and murdering her? She was finding it difficult to breathe. I should go to the police, but they would laugh at me. I should go to the police, but they would laugh at me.

You want us to investigate this because you think someone got into your lingerie drawer?

Someone has been following me.

Have you seen who it is?

No.

Has anyone threatened you?

No.

Do you know why anyone would want to harm you?

No.

It's no use, Ashley thought despairingly. Ashley thought despairingly. I can't go to the police. Those are the questions they would ask me, and I would look like a fool. I can't go to the police. Those are the questions they would ask me, and I would look like a fool.

She dressed as quickly as she could, suddenly eager to escape from the apartment. I'll have to move. I'll go somewhere where he can't find me. I'll have to move. I'll go somewhere where he can't find me.

But even as she thought it, she had the feeling that it was going to be impossible. He knows where I live, he knows where I work. And what do I know about him? Nothing. He knows where I live, he knows where I work. And what do I know about him? Nothing.

She refused to keep a gun in the apartment because she hated violence. But I need some protection now, But I need some protection now, Ashley thought. She went into the kitchen, picked up a steak knife, carried it to her bedroom and put it in the dresser drawer next to her bed. Ashley thought. She went into the kitchen, picked up a steak knife, carried it to her bedroom and put it in the dresser drawer next to her bed.

It's possible that I mixed my lingerie up myself. That's probably what happened. Or is it wishful thinking?

There was an envelope in her mailbox in the downstairs entrance hall. The return address read "Bedford Area High School, Bedford, Pennsylvania."

Ashley read the invitation twice.

Ten-Year Cla.s.s Reunion!

Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief. Have you often wondered how your cla.s.smates have fared during the last ten years? Here's your chance to find out. The weekend of June 15th we're going to have a spectacular get-together. Food, drinks, a great orchestra and dancing. Join the fun.Just mail the enclosed acceptance card so we'll know you're coming. Everyone looks forward to seeing you.

Driving to work, Ashley thought about the invitation. "Everyone looks forward to seeing you." Everyone except Jim Cleary, "Everyone looks forward to seeing you." Everyone except Jim Cleary, she thought bitterly. she thought bitterly.

"I want to marry you. My uncle offered me a really good job in Chicago with his advertising agency... There's a train leaving for Chicago at seven A.M. Will you come with me?"

And she remembered the pain of desperately waiting at the station for Jim, believing in him, trusting him. He had changed his mind, and he had not been man enough to come and tell her. Instead, he had left her sitting in a train station, alone. Forget the invitation. I'm not going. Forget the invitation. I'm not going.

Ashley had lunch with Shane Miller at TGI Friday's. They sat in a booth, eating in silence.

"You seem preoccupied," Shane said.

"Sorry." Ashley hesitated a moment. She was tempted to tell him about the lingerie, but it would sound stupid. Someone got into your drawers? Someone got into your drawers? Instead, she said, "I got an invitation to my ten-year high school reunion." Instead, she said, "I got an invitation to my ten-year high school reunion."

"Are you going?"

"Certainly not." It came out stronger than Ashley had intended.

Shane Miller looked at her curiously. "Why not? Those things can be fun."

Would Jim Cleary be there? Would he have a wife and children? What would he say to her? "Sorry I wasn't able to meet you at the train station. Sorry I lied to you about marrying you?"

"I'm not going."

But Ashley was unable to get the invitation out of her mind. It would be nice to see some of my old cla.s.smates, It would be nice to see some of my old cla.s.smates, she thought. There were a few she had been close to. One in particular was Florence Schiffer. she thought. There were a few she had been close to. One in particular was Florence Schiffer. I wonder what's become of her? I wonder what's become of her? And she wondered whether the town of Bedford had changed. And she wondered whether the town of Bedford had changed.

Ashley Patterson had grown up in Bedford, Pennsylvania, a small town two hours east of Pittsburgh, deep in the Allegheny Mountains. Her father had been head of the Memorial Hospital of Bedford County, one of the top one hundred hospitals in the country.

Bedford had been a wonderful town to grow up in. There were parks for picnics, rivers to fish in and social events that went on all year. Ashley enjoyed visiting Big Valley, where there was an Amish colony. It was a common sight to see horses pulling Amish buggies with different colored tops, colors that depended on the degree of orthodoxy of the owners.

There were Mystery Village evenings and live theater and the Great Pumpkin Festival. Ashley smiled at the thought of the good times she had had there. Maybe I will go back, Maybe I will go back, she thought. she thought. Jim Cleary won't have the nerve to show up. Jim Cleary won't have the nerve to show up.

Ashley told Shane Miller of her decision. "It's a week from Friday," she said. "I'll be back Sunday night."

"Great. Let me know what time you're getting back. I'll pick you up at the airport."

"Thank you, Shane."

When Ashley returned from lunch, she walked into her work cubicle and turned her computer on. To her surprise, a sudden hail of pixels began rolling down the screen, creating an image. She stared at it, bewildered. The dots were forming a picture of her. As Ashley watched, horrified, a hand holding a butcher knife appeared at the top of the screen. The hand was racing toward her image, ready to plunge the knife into her chest.

Ashley screamed, "No!"

She snapped off the monitor and jumped to her feet.

Shane Miller had hurried to her side. "Ashley! What is it?"