“What? You look like you’re about to burst.”

  “Sophie, I’m going to cook for you.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got it all set up. A buddy of mine has an apartment a few blocks from here. There’s so much I want you to taste. I spent part of the afternoon just picking out the wines. This meal will have a heavy Italian influence. That’s my personal preference. But there’s so much else —”

  “Nathan, we have to talk.”

  “I know. God, I know.”

  “No, you don’t know. It’s not about us or about food.”

  He took her by the arm and led her over to the floral arrangement near the front door. The Maxfield always kept fresh flowers on display in the lobby to greet the guests as they entered the hotel. Yesterday the florist had arrived with an inspired spring creation: yellow daffodils, pink daisies, and white tulips.

  “I wanted to get you some flowers,” said Nathan, walking her around behind the arrangement, “but I thought it might create problems for you with your husband. I mean, you’d have to explain it somehow.”

  She was grateful that he’d shown some sense.

  “If I’d had my way, I would have filled your office with lilacs. I know how much you love them.”

  “Nathan, you mustn’t —”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “Just give me a second, okay? See, I had to bring you some piece of beauty. A reminder of what happened between us yesterday. But I knew I had to be sneaky about it.” He nodded to a single red rose hiding amid a spray of white tulips. “Every time you look at it, remember how much I love you.”

  She couldn’t help herself. She was touched.

  “It’s a special rose, too. I went to seven florists this afternoon before I found just the right one. It’s not only beautiful, it has the most heavenly fragrance. Go ahead,” he prodded. “Smell it.”

  “Nathan, I can’t —”

  “Please? For me? The scent reminds me of all the summer nights we spent walking through the rose gardens, just relaxing, holding hands, talking about our lives, what we wanted to accomplish, how we’d always be together. This flower has the perfume of memory in it, Sophie. It’s a magic rose.”

  “Nathan, that’s very sweet of you, but I’m not the same person I was twenty-five years ago. And I don’t believe in magic.”

  “Sure you do. You have to. Otherwise you’d be swallowed up by the mundane, like the rest of the world. You’re not like that, Soph. I know you. Come on. Just put your nose right up next to it. Good. Now close your eyes. I want you to stand there like that for one minute. I’ll tell you when the time is up. See if you can feel the memories in the flower, Soph. I’m not kidding, it’s really all there.”

  Feeling as if she had no other choice, she closed her eyes and breathed in the fragrance. It was lovely. Fresh, sweet, just a hint of spice. She remembered those nights as vividly as he did. The light fading over the lake in the distance. The sounds of dogs barking and children playing. A soft breeze blowing through the trees. Her hand would slip into his back pocket as they walked along. She couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful than being close to him.

  “Taking time to smell the roses?” asked another familiar voice.

  When Sophie looked up, she saw Bram standing next to her. She turned around, but Nathan was gone. He must have seen Bram coming out of the bar and taken off. “Yes, I guess… I am,” she stammered. She plastered on a smile.

  “How can you look guilty for taking a moment to sniff a flower? Have those lousy Puritans over at that right-wing rag been beating on you all afternoon?”

  “No, I’m still me.”

  “Good.” He kissed the top of her head. “Because I sort of like you.”

  She continued to smile.

  “Well, are you ready for our night of romance?”

  She hadn’t even made it upstairs to change, but she supposed she could get by with what she was wearing. “All set.”

  He reached around her and plucked the rose, threading the stem through his buttonhole. “There. That’s a proper finishing touch.” He sniffed it. “Kind of cloying, but then roses are like that.”

  She nodded, the same stiff smile plastered on her face.

  “Is something wrong, sweetheart? You look funny.”

  “No, everything’s just fine.” If she had to sit and stare at the rose for the rest of the night, she was going to throw up.

  He offered her his arm. “I hope you have your dancing shoes on.”

  She was exhausted by the world in general and he wanted to dance. This day had turned into a ghastly marathon. She had to have a long talk with Nathan first thing in the morning. She couldn’t put it off any longer.

  Journal Note

  Wednesday, noon

  Busy morning. Rafferty and I walked two and a half blocks to an old brick warehouse that had been turned into artists’ lofts about five years ago. Normally, I would have gone by myself, but I can’t take any chances for the duration of my stay here in Minnesota. I met with Phillip Rapson, the Buckridges’ onetime handyman-gardener. He has a loft on the sixth floor. It wasn’t a terribly long interview, but I learned some interesting details that may prove to be important.

  It was immediately clear to me that Mr. Rapson took a rather Pollyanna-ish view of Constance Buckridge. They were friends, so he saw none of the red flags I did. Thankfully, I’m good at reading between the lines. If what I’m thinking now turns out to be true, Nathan Buckridge may have had a hand in the death of Pepper. Perhaps he was entirely responsible, though I lean toward the idea that it was a joint effort between mother and son. Somehow, I’ve got to get my hands on the hospital records. I need to know the official cause of death. I assume there was no autopsy performed, but some document must exist with the information I need. Since I have a couple of field researchers on the payroll at the moment — both in Wisconsin looking into the Jadek family history — I think I may have to put another researcher on this angle. But more on that later.

  No more E-mails from Pluto. All along I’ve been suspicious about his real motivation for starting me down this road. After my conversation with Phillip Rapson, I’m now wondering if he might not be using me to see how much information can actually be unearthed about Pepper Buckridge s death. Perhaps he’s already employed several P.I.’s to see what was out there but had no luck. By dangling an extraordinarily appealing carrot in front of my nose, and knowing it would be backed up by a sizable advance from a well-known publisher as well as by my own desire to uncover a nearly forty-year-old mystery that would turn a simple biography into a national bestseller, he assured himself that this time, if there was evidence to be found, I’d uncover it.

  Whoever Pluto turns out to be, someone in the Buckridge household clearly wants me to stop my search and someone else wants me to continue it, and that makes me feel as if I’m walking on a tightrope. At one end is Pluto. At the other, Constance. Neither is my friend. And both are willing to push, perhaps violently, to get what they want.

  I keep asking myself, Is any book worth this kind of risk? Why don’t I just take the money Kenneth Merlin offered me and run? The fact is, I’m exactly the kind of person Pluto wants for his investigator. It seems I always get to a point in my research where I become obsessed to one degree or another by my subject. That’s my reputation, and it’s accurate. If I flew back to New York now, resumed my everyday life, I’d be a basket case inside a month. I’d go to bed at night thinking about Constance Buckridge, Wayne, Pepper, Arthur, Nathan, Paul, Emily. I’d drive myself crazy with all the unanswered questions. My personality is my cross, I guess, and I’m stuck with it. I have to go on.

  So, to Phillip Rapson. Mr. Rapson was originally hired by Pepper Buckridge in 1961 and lived in a small apartment above the garage until he quit in 1974, a few months after Wayne’s death. When he started as their handyman-gardener, he was in his early twenties, approximately the same age as Constance. The job allowed him a reasonable income, a place to live, and time to paint — both his hobby and passion.

  Today Mr. Rapson is an internationally known artist, although he prefers to live simply. He explained that he has a small house in Bayport, Minnesota, but that he drives in every day to work at his loft. He’s in his midsixties, stocky, bearded, and balding, although he assured me that when he was younger, he had a full head of thick red hair. He’s never been married, a fact that he put down to luck and an inability to allow hope to triumph over experience. He was more than willing to talk about his days with the Buckridges, most of which he remembers quite fondly.

  INTERVIEW: PHILLIP RAPSON, ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA WEDNESDAY, MAY 12

  M: When did you first meet Constance Buckridge?

  Rapson: In 1961. Wayne and Pepper Buckridge had just moved into the house on Lake Minnetonka and were hiring staff. I wanted a job that would allow me time to paint. Infelt their position would be perfect for my needs, and was delighted when I was hired. Mrs. Buckridge —

  M: You mean Pepper?

  Rapson: Yes, Pepper. We hit it off right away. She was a funny, intelligent, lively woman. I thought Wayne Buckridge was a very lucky man. I believe their son, Paul, was two at the time. Connie was hired a few months after me to be one of the maids. She was shy, very pretty in a girl-next-door way, and she also had a son, Nathan. Seems to me he was about seven. A real nice, well-behaved kid. The kind you didn’t know was in the room until you tripped over him. Connie said his dad had taken off before he was born, so I felt sorry for him. Actually, Nathan and Connie and I became good friends. We went on picnics together. Took in an occasional movie.

  M: Did you date Connie?

  Rapson: I suppose you could call it that. She was a very level- headed sort of young woman. Not intellectual in any sense of the word, but she had practical smarts, if you know what I mean. She’d had a rough life and didn’t like to talk about the past. I respected her privacy and didn’t pry.

  M: If you don’t want to answer the next question, just say so. Were you and Connie lovers?

  Rapson: No, but it wasn’t for lack of trying on my part. She just wasn’t interested. She was totally centered on getting ahead in the world. You might even call her an early feminist. Nathan’s father was a deadbeat and a jerk, so she had to come up with a way to put food on the table and a roof over their heads. She said she was never going to make the same mistake again.

  M: What mistake was that?

  Rapson: Thinking that a man was going to take care of her. She was in charge now. Nathan was going to have the best of everything because she was going to get it for him. She just hadn’t figured out how to do it yet. But if it meant she had to sacrifice for their future by cleaning toilets and scrubbing floors, she was willing to do it. I had every faith that she’d make a real success of her life in the end, and she proved me right. Connie had a lot of spunk, and I admired her for it. She was going after what she wanted, and in a way it gave me the courage to do the same.

  M: Sounds like she had awfully big ideas for someone taking a job as a maid.

  Rapson: Maybe she did, but you gotta start somewhere. Why not think big?

  M: Are you still in contact with her?

  Rapson: No. Last time I saw Connie was in 1974.

  M: What were the living arrangements like for the staff?

  Rapson: Well, like I said, I lived above the garage. The two maids and the cook had rooms on the third floor. Nothing very fancy.

  M: Did Nathan have his own room?

  Rapson: No, there were no provisions for that. There were only three bedrooms up on third, and one bath. It was pretty tight quarters, but I think Connie was grateful to have a place to live. She got room and board and a salary. Compared to what she’d been doing before —

  M: What was that?

  Rapson: She’d been sharing a tiny apartment with her best friend, her best friend’s husband, and their little girl. It wasn’t a good situation. Connie had done just about everything you could think of to make money. She worked as a maid in a hotel, a waitress at a cafe on Lyndale. She took care of other people’s kids. Worked at a dry cleaner s, a drugstore. She was even a receptionist at a beauty shop for a while. Most of the positions ended because of child-care problems. She didn’t have any relatives in the city, and when her friend couldn’t baby-sit, she’d have to stay at home with Nathan. When that happened too often, she’d get canned.

  M: What was the bestfriend s name?

  Rapson: Let me think. (Scratches his beard) Beverly. Beverly and Tom … Custerson. I remember because I dated Peggy Custerson shortly before I met Connie. Turns out, Peggy and Tom were cousins.

  M: Are you still in touch with this Peggy?

  Rapson: As a matter of fact, I am.

  M: Would you mind asking her where her cousin and his wife are living now? I’d like to talk to Beverly if at all possible.

  Rapson: Sure, no problem. Peggy’s a real family person. If anyone would know, she would.

  M: Back to Nathan. Did he find it hard living in one bedroom with his mother?

  Rapson: I suppose so. He never said anything, though. He wasn’t the kind of kid who complained.

  M: Did the Buckridges allow him the run of the house?

  Rapson: Well, he was in school most of the day. Summers were the biggest problem. Things started out okay. He and Paul even played together. But Nathan was bigger, older. Paul would get pushed over or knocked down and he’d start to cry. Eventually Pepper laid down the law and said she didn’t want them playing together any longer. Like I said, Iliked Pepper, but I will say she was kind of a snob. She thought of Connie and Nathan as low class, uneducated and basically dumb. I’m sure she viewed all the help that way. That kind of thinking has always seemed silly to me. On the other hand, anyone who says we don’t have a class system in this country isn’t living in the real world. Anyway, I was able to ignore it, but it hurt Connie. And I know it upset Nathan terribly. All of a sudden, one day he was no longer allowed in the pool or the gazebo or on the swing set or the beach. And the dock, where he loved to feed the sunfish, was off limits, too. There was a park about three blocks away and that s where he was supposed to play when he wanted to be outdoors. Indoors, he was pretty much confined to the bedroom.

  M: That seems rather draconian.

  Rapson: It was.

  M: Did he have a TV to watch?

  Rapson: Connie couldn’t afford one. I think she had a radio. He listened to that a lot. And he read. I’ve never seen a kid read as much as he did. When hefirst came, he was a lot more happy-go-lucky. As time went on, he withdrew. But then when Pepper started having all those physical problems —

  M: When was that?

  Rapson: The summer of ‘63,1 think. Yes, I remember because Connie had just taken over as the new cook The old one got another job or something. I don’t really know all the details of what was wrong with Pepper, Ijust know she started seeing a lot of doctors. I used to drive her into the city when she didn’t feel up to driving herself. By fall, she rarely ever drove herself anymore.

  M: Do you think she was feigning illness just to get her husband’s attention?

  Rapson: (Looks puzzled) That never occurred to me. He did work long hours, but no, I think the woman was ill. Not that the doctors were much help.

  M: You were about to make a comment about Nathan.

  Rapson: Yes, well, when Pepper wasn’t around to keep an eagle eye on the house, Nathan did use the pool a few times. I even found him sitting in the family room one afternoon watching TV. Pepper was having one of her spells that day and was in bed upstairs. After it became apparent that she couldn’t take care of Paul, she hired a series of nannies, but none of them lasted more than a month. That meant his daily care fell to the staff. Connie took the most interest in him. He’d sit in the kitchen and play while she prepared the meals. I think she really liked the little guy. Since Pepper was in bed upstairs most of the day, Nathan began to play with Paul again — mainly, I think, as a way to entertain him and get him out of the staff s hair so that they could do their jobs. A nd that meant, of course, that Nathan once again had the run of the house.

  M: I get the impression that Wayne didn’t have much to say about the home situation.

  Rapson: No, he left that up to Pepper. And as Pepper had more bad days, Connie sort of took over as head of the household. It wasn’t official or anything, but someone had to make the decisions. Actually, I remember a couple of occasions when I came back from town in the evening and saw Connie and Wayne sitting in the living room together having a glass of wine. Everyone else was in bed.

  M: Are you suggesting that she and her employer had something other than a business relationship?

  Rapson: No, because I don’t know it for a fact. Then again I couldn’t exactly ignore the way Wayne looked at her. I mean, I knew what was in his mind. But you can’t fault a guy for looking. Wayne was really at loose ends right around that time. He didn’t have much of a marriage because Pepper was always sick in bed. A man has needs, you know.

  M: And Connie was only too willing to supply those needs.

  Rapson: You’ve got the wrong idea about Connie, Ms. Damontraville. She wasn’t after Wayne Buckridge. She wasn’t after any guy, especially one who was old enough to be her father.

  M: But she might have been after his money.

  Rapson: (Shakes his head) I don’t believe it. She wasn’t that kind ofwoman. I grant you, she did marry him eventually.

  M: Fairly soon after Pepper s death.

  Rapson: It was almost a year, but you’ve made your point. Perhaps their friendship had turned into something more, though I don’t fault either of them for it. It probably just happened. It s just. .. I never once had the sense that Connie was in love with Wayne.

  M: Not even when they were about to be married?

  Rapson: (Hesitates) I’m getting in way over my head here.

  M: The question is still on the table.

  Rapson: No, I don’t think she loved him. But I also don’t think she married him for his money.