“They took a hard look at people who lived their entire lives on low-fat low-cholesterol, controlled-intake diets. The researchers concluded that these people succeeded in extending their lives by only a few weeks.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “Now, of course, that’s only one study. And it doesn’t mean that I disagree about the importance of regular exercise. We should all try to lead healthy lives. But good health doesn’t always conform to high fashion or culturally defined ideas of beauty. Lavinia knew there was already an overabundance of information on exercise and nutrition out there. We hardly need to provide more. What our organization does provide is a place where women can meet and socialize, and not obsess about how they look. It’s amazing how often women lose weight when they focus on what they’re really hungry for.”

  Sophie could tell she was on a soapbox, but she could also see her point. “Did you say any of that to Lavinia?”

  “Why would I need to? How on earth could she not get the point?” She removed a pack of cigarettes from her blazer pocket and slipped one out.

  “You can’t smoke in here,” said Sophie, reminding her gently.

  “I know,” she said gruffly. “I just need to hold one in my hand. It helps me think.” Tapping it on the table, she continued, “I always knew Lavinia was philosophically shallow, but this video borders on the philosophically obscene.”

  “Why do you think she did it?”

  “It was Peter’s idea. It had to be. From what I can tell, he set the whole thing up. He stands to make a lot of money from the video, if it sells. And since both Lavinia’s name and the D.O.S.S. are associated with it, it will.”

  “Do you dislike Peter?”

  “I don’t like fortune hunters,” she said flatly.

  “You think that’s what he is?”

  “Why else would he marry her?”

  Sophie saw this comment as a bit of a double standard. “You mean Lavinia was older and less attractive than he was.”

  “Old and fat. How could a man like Peter be attracted to that?”

  “But, Bunny, aren’t you defeating your own principles with that kind of statement? Maybe he saw past the superficial and truly came to appreciate Lavinia for who she really was. Her humor, her playfulness, her energy.”

  “Right. And I’m Madonna.”

  The waiter appeared once again, this time carrying two smallish tea plates and a round, three-tiered silver tray. Setting it all down, he said, “The bottom tier contains the savories. Today we have an assortment of pinwheel sandwiches. The fillings are lobster salad, cucumber and cream cheese, smoked cod roe, and chopped egg and watercress. The top two tiers are the sweets. Dundee bread. Hot buttered scones, clotted cream, and strawberry jam. Peach tartlets. And of course, the Maxfield’s famous homemade brandy cake. Enjoy, ladies.” He bowed slightly and then moved on to another table.

  “This is a feast,” said Bunny, her eyes glowing as she examined the contents of the tray. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  ‘Try a sandwich,” said Sophie, selecting one herself. Her favorite — a Bengal spread made with butter, anchovy paste, chopped egg, curry powder, lemon, and cayenne pepper — wasn’t on the menu today.

  Bunny took several.

  “So,” continued Sophie, taking a sip of tea, “you and Lavinia never actually connected?”

  “I was hoping to talk to her on Sunday morning, before the last day of the convention got under way. But I couldn’t find her.”

  “You know, Bun, I haven’t mentioned this before, but I saw you standing outside her door on Sunday morning. It was around eleven.”

  She stopped chewing. “You did?”

  “Lavinia and I had made a date for brunch. When she didn’t show up, I thought I’d see what the problem was. So I took the service elevator up to the fourteenth floor.”

  “That’s right,” said Bunny. “I knocked and knocked, but she never answered. I guess … she was already dead.”

  “I suppose so. Did I tell you I talked to Peter this morning? I asked him if Lavinia had ever mentioned the diary to him.”

  “And?” she said, pausing mid-chew.

  “She had. He even gave me the name of the person Lavinia suspected of murdering Ginger.”

  Bunny’s eyes opened wide. It was either surprise or alarm, thought Sophie. She couldn’t tell which.

  “Who?” demanded Bunny.

  “Isaac Knox.”

  She sat back in her chair and looked away, digesting this for some moments in silence. Then, bursting into laughter, she said, “Ginger wasn’t in love with Isaac Knox.”

  It wasn’t a response Sophie had anticipated. “It seems strange to me, too. On the other hand, without actually seeing the diary, it’s hard to assess what Lavinia was getting at. Was Ginger in love with someone and Isaac found out about it? Made some move to put a stop to it and ended up by doing more damage than he’d intended. Or was she in love with him?”

  “It’s all nonsense,” said Bunny with a dismissive wave. “I’ll believe it when I see the proof, which, I should point out, no one has seen so far. When Lavinia brought up the subject of the diary at that bar the other night, she really had me going. I know this sounds crazy, but I thought she was suggesting the diary implicated me as Ginger’s lover. Can you picture it? I was so deep in the closet back then, I couldn’t have been found with six floodlights and a bloodhound. To think Ginger and I were in love —” She picked up her cigarette and began tapping it on the table once again. “Ridiculous.”

  Sophie picked up the pot and offered Bunny more tea.

  Dragging the cup and saucer in front of her, Bunny took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself down. “I’m sorry,” she said, running a hand through her short brown hair, “but these past few days have been terribly frustrating for me. I didn’t like being mad at Lavinia, but sometimes she acted like such an ass. Even now, I find it hard to let my anger go.”

  “I understand,” said Sophie. And she did.

  “After her death became public knowledge on Sunday evening, what was left of the D.O.S.S. leadership — those who hadn’t already left for the airport — called a crisis meeting. They asked me to attend. The upshot is, I was offered the presidency of the organization.”

  It was Sophie’s turn to be surprised. “Did you accept?”

  “Of course. How could I turn it down? Especially with the direction — or I should say, the lack of direction — of the past few years. Lavinia was turning the organization into her own private industry. She’d made millions off her cookbook, but that wasn’t enough. Sure, she gave generously of her time and money to the organization, but the copyrights — and the title of the organization — remained hers. This new scheme — the video — would have netted many more millions. I intend to put a stop to it. We’ll sue her estate for the sole right to use the name Daughters of Sisyphus Society. And we’ll win.”

  By the determined look in her friend’s eye, Sophie had no trouble believing it.

  “Lavinia was misusing her power,” continued Bunny. “Destroying something that took years to build. You talked about loving your child. Well, this was my child. And it was in trouble. There was no oversight committee, financial or philosophical. Nobody really knew what local chapters were doing or not doing. Lavinia’s style was way too loose, too shoot-from-the-hip. I simply couldn’t stand by and watch the chaos any longer.”

  Sophie found it an odd statement. “So what did you do about it?”

  “Do?” she repeated, raising the cigarette to her lips, and then, realizing it wasn’t lit, tossing it on the table. “I … took the head job when it was offered to me. What did you think I meant?”

  Bunny sounded unusually defensive. “I don’t know,” said Sophie.

  “Well, rest assured, I’m not going to allow these sloppy management practices to continue. Since most of the board members are staying in town for Lavinia’s memorial service on Thursday, I called another meeting for tomorrow afternoon. It’s funny,” she added. “Cindy is the only one who isn’t in sync on this. If you ask me, she’s been acting strangely all weekend.”

  “In what way?” asked Sophie.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She picked at a piece of cake. “She seems … too quiet one minute, and too talkative the next. It’s like … she’s on stage and she’s got a bad case of stage fright. She’s more self-conscious than I’ve ever seen her. You know how she always likes to act confident, like she’s in charge. As far as I can tell, she hasn’t changed, but there’s an edge to it now.” She took a sip of tea and then pushed the cup and saucer away. “She can’t exactly get out of this meeting, can she? She’s the national treasurer.”

  “So I understand.”

  “She was supposed to present her financial report at last Saturday morning’s breakfast meeting, but you know what kind of circus that turned into.” She shivered with distaste.

  “I assume that means you didn’t buy one of the exercise tapes.”

  Bunny gave her a fish-eyed stare. “I left my wallet at home.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  “The video was the last straw, Sophie. Something inside me snapped when I saw it.”

  “Did it?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “But it’s history now. A new day is dawning for the Daughters of Sisyphus Society. And I’m proud to be the one leading the way.”

  27

  The doors opened and Hugh Purdis stepped onto the empty elevator. He needed to get out of the suite for a little while and take a walk, breathe some fresh air and work off some of his growing tension. There were no services this afternoon, only another Bible study tonight, and thankfully, he wasn’t presiding. He was scheduled to lead the study tomorrow evening, and thinking about it now, he knew what he wanted to talk about.

  The topic of predestination had always intrigued him, ever since he was a child. Did God have a plan for every human being’s life? Was it all mapped out for you in advance, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself you were the master of your own fate?

  Hugh knew well his father’s teaching on the subject. To be able to make moral decisions, humans must be allowed to exercise free will. The whole point of existence was to build godly character so that one day a person could join God as a member of His family.

  “Yet, was that really true? Was a man in charge of his own destiny? Hugh wasn’t so sure anymore. As much as he wanted to believe the message he’d been taught — the message he’d taught others for over thirty years — his faith was faltering.

  Time after time, the decisions he’d made in his life had been sabotaged, undermined, and ultimately — against his will — wrested from his control. Was an unseen hand at work? And if so, was it useless to fight against it?

  As the small compartment sped downward Hugh moved next to the control panel, gazing up at the descending numbers above the door. On the sixth floor, the doors opened. Isaac Knox stood facing him.

  “Is this going down?” asked Isaac, his voice cold.

  Hugh nodded.

  He stepped on.

  After the doors closed, Isaac eased back against the opposite-side wall and stared directly at Hugh. He waited several seconds and then said, “I suppose your father told you I already have seven evangelists in my camp.”

  Hugh cleared his throat. “Yeah. Something to that effect.”

  Clasping his hands in front of him, Isaac allowed himself a small smile. “Remember, Hugh Abraham. I need your decision by tomorrow morning. The earlier the better.”

  “Don’t call me that,” he said gruffly. “You know I loathe my middle name.”

  “No? The father of nations? Your dad must have liked it He probably thought it was your calling. Your destiny.”

  “Right,” said Hugh under his breath. Something twisted inside him. Looking up at Isaac, he realized for the first time that what he was feeling was pure hate.

  “Just remember. You’ve got nothing if you stay with your dad. Come with us, Hugh. This new church will be a fulfillment of the brightness of His promise. We’ll all work together. We’ll build something strong and decent. Not with domination and demands, but with love and brotherhood. Let no man take thy crown, Hugh. Not even your father.”

  Words, thought Hugh. Just words. Clenching his hands into fists behind his back, he replied, “You’ll have your answer by tonight, Isaac.”

  “Really? That’s wonderful.” He seemed not only surprised, but delighted. “I’ll be at dinner until close to nine. After that, you can reach me in my room.”

  “Fine.”

  28

  Rudy stuck his head inside Sophie’s office door. “I thought I might find you in here.”

  “Hi!” She smiled, delighted to see him. She was sitting at the desk, gazing up at a computer terminal. Since she didn’t have to be home few another hour, she’d decided to use the time to familiarize herself with her father’s personal filing system.

  Rudy was wearing his chef’s uniform. By the looks of it, he’d been attacked by something large and red. “I dropped a can of tomato sauce,” he said, looking somewhat embarrassed. He stood in the center of the room, sniffing the air. “Something’s missing.”

  “Like what?”

  He thought for a minute and then snapped his fingers. “The cigar. It seems so weird to be in here and not choke to death on secondhand smoke.”

  “Actually, I found a couple of Havana specials in the desk,” said Sophie, giving him a mischievous wink. “Maybe I’ll take it up — just so that you’d feel at home.”

  “No thanks.” He crouched down next to her. “Have you found Grampa’s computer solitaire game yet?”

  “I haven’t seen any games.”

  “That’s because you don’t know where to look.”

  She got up and allowed him to sit down in her place.

  “See? It’s under Stress Management” He clicked on an icon and a solitaire game popped up on the screen. “And lode at this,” he said, clicking to another screen. “Here’s a record of his wins and losses. He told me he’s been playing on the computer for three years, but before that, he played die old-fashioned way. It’s all here. Every detail. How many games per day. His longest winning streak, and his longest losing streak He’s even got his old deck of cards in die bottom drawer of the desk”

  Sophie could still see her father sitting at die kitchen table in her childhood home on Dupont Avenue in south Minneapolis, playing his card games after dinner. He always played for exactly half an hour — no more, no less. When he was done, they’d go for a walk, or sit down to watch something on TV. Henry Tahtinen was a disciplined man. He liked his routine. Before he became the owner of die Maxfield Plaza, he’d been a salesman — and a very successful one at that Sophie lowered herself into the chair on the other side of the desk watching her son scroll through several more screens. It had taken her years to become comfortable with computers, but Rudy, like most young people, had grown up with them. “I’m stopping at the Ho Min on the way home to pick up some Chinese food. You want to join us for dinner?”

  He clicked a few more keys and then sat back, a serious look forming on his handsome face. “Mom, I wanted to talk to you about something. It’s kind of important.”

  She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. “What is it?” she said, keeping her voice even.

  “Well… actually, I was thinking of moving.”

  For a moment she was too startled to speak. “Moving? Why? Aren’t you happy living with Bram and me?”

  “Of course I am. You two have been great — more than generous. But … I just thought —” He rolled the chair directly in front of the desk and began again. “For the last few months things have gotten pretty serious between John and me. We’ve been dating for almost two years now. I just think that moving in together should be … you know. The next step in our relationship.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means … we’re planning a commitment ceremony. Sometime before Christmas.”

  Sophie wasn’t sure how to respond. Sure, she knew they’d been dating — seriously dating. But Rudy was only twenty. Much too young. “Are you sure you’ve thought this all through?”

  He gave her a slow smile. “If I’d been dating a young woman for two years, would you object to my marrying her?”

  She hesitated. “Yes. I’d probably try to talk you out of it. It’s too soon to settle down. You have your whole life ahead of you. Why rush it?”

  “But you got married when you were my age. Could anyone have talked you out of it?”

  “No,” she said, conceding his point. “But we’re not really talking about marriage here. You’d just be moving in together.”

  His smile faded. “Listen to me for a minute, Mom, and try to understand.” Folding his hands patiently on the desktop, he continued, “I’m in love with John. Society thinks all gay men are promiscuous, that we can’t commit. All we’re interested in is one thing. Sex. We move from partner to partner as the mood strikes us. On the other hand, that same society refuses to allow us to marry — to commit legally. It’s crap, Mom. We can’t win. I know I’m young, but both John and I want to build a life together. Don’t you think I know that there aren’t any guarantees in my life — for anybody? But we’re going to try as hard as we can to make this relationship work, with or without society’s sanction. I hope we don’t have to do it without yours.”

  “But … what about your degree?” She was grasping at straws, and felt foolish the moment she’d said it.

  “I’ve only got a year or so left. Then I’ll have a choice to make. I love working here. I think I’d make a pretty good chef, if I got some real training. And then, of course, there’s acting. That will always be an interest. But lately, I’ve been thinking about something else.”

  She was almost afraid to ask. “What?”

  “Entering the seminary.”

  Her expression froze. “You want to be a minister?” She knew her son was still quite religious. Though his upbringing had been in the Church of the Firstborn, he’d pretty much rejected most of that. But a seminary — this was something new. Something completely unanticipated.