“Sophie, hi.” Earl Sullivan’s voice boomed. “What can I do for you?”

  Sophie was jolted back to the moment. Picking up a pencil, she pulled a notepad in front of her. “I need to know if you’ve taken a look at the house yet? We want to get an idea of the market value as soon as possible.”

  “Of course. Yes, I did drive by yesterday. Even got out and walked around the property. Most everything looks like it’s in good shape — at least as far as I could tell. We’ll have to hire someone to do the Truth in Housing inspection, of course, but that shouldn’t take long to set up. I saw only one real problem.”

  “And that was?” said Sophie, steeling herself for the bad news.

  “Well, it looks to me like you’ve got a hole in your facia board near the top of the gable on the south side. There’s a tree branch covering it, so I suppose that’s why you haven’t noticed it. I’d say if you don’t already have a nest of squirrels up there, you soon wid.”

  “Squirrels!”

  “Have you seen any evidence of them in your attic?”

  “Absolutely not.” She was appalled. If Ethel went upstairs and came face-to-face with a squirrel, the poor thing would have a stroke. Come to think of it, so would she. Hearing a knock on the door, she put her hand over the mouthpiece and said, “Come in.”

  Hildegard O’Malley hurried into the room. “You’ve got to come right away,” she whispered. “We’ve got … a situation.”

  Sophie wondered what constituted a situation, but wanted to finish her conversation with the agent first. “I’ll talk to my husband about it tonight.”

  “Good. The sooner you take care of it, the less damage the little critters can cause. Let me know when someone’s going to be home, and I’ll come by for the interior appraisal. After that, we’ll find ourselves an inspector, sign some papers, and we’ll be off and running.”

  “Thanks,” said Sophie. “I’ll talk to you soon.” As she dropped the phone back on the hook, she could tell Hildegard was about to burst. “What is it?”

  “It’s that friend of yours — I didn’t know what to do. We sent two security guards up there, but she threatened to jump if they didn’t leave.”

  “Slow down. Which friend? Up where?” Then, realizing the significance of Hildegard’s words, Sophie added, “What do you mean jump?”

  “Cindy, is that her name? You know the one I mean. She looks a lot like Lavinia Fiore.”

  Sophie shot out of her chair.

  “She’s on the roof,” continued Hildegard as they rushed toward the elevators. “One of our workmen was up there fixing something when he saw a head peak out the security door. Before he knew what was happening she was standing near the edge. He tried to explain that nobody but maintenance was allowed on the roof, but she wouldn’t listen. I think she scared him pretty badly, so he called security. Two of our men tried to reason with her, but she said if they didn’t leave her alone, she’d jump.”

  Several minutes later, after consulting briefly with the security guards, Sophie stepped onto the roof herself. She had no idea what she was going to do or say, she just knew she had to act. Cindy might not want to spill her troubles to a stranger, but perhaps she’d talk to a friend Their connection was no longer strong, yet that might just work to her advantage.

  It was a sunny, cloudless, windy morning. Cindy was standing next to a roof vent several yards in from the edge, her yellow skirt billowing in the breeze, her eyes fixed on the Mississippi River eighteen stories below.

  Glancing at Hildegard and the two security men, Sophie stepped slowly away from the door. She’d never liked heights, and didn’t much care for the gusts of wind flattening her clothes hard against her body. Stopping fair distance away, she called, “Cindy?”

  Cindy turned, her eyes struggling to focus. After a long moment she said, “What do you want?” Her voice held nothing but coldness.

  Walking a few paces closer, Sophie replied, ‘To talk.”

  “Just go away. This … isn’t what it looks like. I just needed a quiet place to think.”

  “Why don’t you come down to my office, then. You can think down there much more comfortably. We can talk, or I’d leave you alone. Whatever you like. I’d even have someone bring you a breakfast tray. You’ll feel much better after you’ve had a good meal.” She knew it was a pathetic attempt, but she didn’t know what else to say.

  Cindy held Sophie’s eyes for a moment, then looked back down at the river. “Just go away. This is no concern of yours.”

  “Maybe not,” said Sophie, inching closer to the edge. “But I know this isn’t the answer.”

  “I told you.” Her voice grew insistent. “I just need some time to think things through. I’d be down in a few minutes.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Cindy’s head whipped around. “Look, we don’t know each other anymore, Sophie. If this past week has taught me anything, it’s that. Adelle is the only one I’ve stayed close to, even though I’ve always thought our friendship was kind of odd. She has that entire church at her feet and yet who does she confide in?” She answered her own question. “Me.”

  “She confides in you?” said Sophie cautiously. She waited a moment and then continued, “Did she ever confide in you what really happened to Ginger back at college?”

  “You mean the abortion?” She shook her head. “We never talked about that. I was as surprised by what she said yesterday as you were.”

  Very softly, Sophie replied, “I’m not convinced she told us the truth.”

  This time, Cindy turned completely around. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you remember what Ginger said the night she died?”

  “I wasn’t there, Sophie. Remember? Ginger and I hadn’t spoken to each other in weeks.”

  “Oh … right.” How could she have forgotten?

  “Besides, I’m bored with the subject of Ginger Pomejay. Whether or not Isaac was responsible for her death has very little meaning to me now. I’ve got” — her eyes moved away —”problems of my own.”

  Sophie recalled Bunny’s words the other day at tea. She’d insisted Cindy had been acting strangely all week. Sophie had seen it, too. Behind her outward calm, Sophie had sensed a nagging fatigue. “But, Cindy, this isn’t the way to solve your problems. There’s got to be something you can do short of jumping off a roof.” She knew what she lacked in tact, she made up for in sincerity. And anyway, there was no point beating around the bush. They both knew why Cindy was standing five feet from the edge of a precipice.

  Cindy gazed at Sophie, lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Then, touching her fingers lightly to her forehead, she said, “Do you remember what they told us in college? The first sin, the oldest sin, was eating? It was a joke, of course, but in a strange way, I always knew there was a nugget of truth in it Anybody who couldn’t control their weight — any fat woman — was Eve’s sinful daughter. Remember how the ministers used to revile her? If it hadn’t been for Eve and her pathetic lack of self-control, we’d all still be in Eden. She ruined everything for man. Sometimes I wonder if that isn’t the basis for all the woman-hating I see around me.”

  Sophie wondered what this had to do with Cindy’s present predicament. “What are you trying to say?” she asked cautiously.

  “Just that it wasn’t eating that was the sin, Sophie, it was appetite. Female appetite. Eve wanted knowledge. The serpent offered it to her. When she indulged her appetite and ate the apple, her eyes were opened. She finally got the point.”

  “What point?” asked Sophie.

  “That women weren’t supposed to have appetites. That’s man’s sphere. Women have no business wanting to control the world, to make their mark, to feed and expand, to grow heavy with power, knowledge, and authority. Instead, they’re supposed to stay home, be small, soft, quiet, obedient. The only problem is, we all bear the mark of Eve in our souls. We’re torn. We want to be good little girls, please our daddies, our husbands, our moral leaders. Yet we want more than we’re supposed to have. We try to convince ourselves we’re happy with the status men and the God they created in their own image have allotted us, but in our hearts we know we’re still Eve’s daughters. And it’s not enough.”

  “That’s quite an interpretation. And I don’t disagree,” said Sophie, feeling a gust of wind knock her slightly off balance. “But what’s it got to do with jumping off a roof?”

  “Just that I overstepped my bounds … again.”

  “Meaning?”

  Wiping a hand across her mouth, she said, “You want to lend me a hundred thousand dollars?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ll take that response as a no.”

  “Cindy, you’re going to have to explain —”

  Cutting her off, Cindy continued, “Do you remember the fight Ginger and I had in college?”

  “Sure. Vividly.”

  “Do you remember what it was about? I wanted to push the boundaries. Do something no woman had ever done before.”

  “You were always … ambitious,” said Sophie, choosing her words carefully. She didn’t know where Cindy was headed and didn’t want to upset her any more than she already was.

  “Ambitious. Good word. You always were a diplomat, Sophie. I remember that now.” Resting a hand against the vent, she looked off in the distance. “I’ve worked most of my adult life as a secretary. Since I graduated from Purdis Bible College, I had — as one of God’s elite — a lot of biblical expertise, but I didn’t know how to make a living. I see that as a rather glaring omission in their program, don’t you? Anyway, for one reason or another, I never married. Never had any kids. No life, really, when you think of it. Just my nine-to-five jobs. Then, five years ago, when my dad got sick and needed someone to step in for him at his trucking company for a few months, he called and asked if I was interested. I don’t know why he called. Maybe he figured he could control me better than the guys he had working for him. Whatever the case, I got the nod. While I was there something happened that neither of us ever anticipated. I realized I was good at the job. As his cancer got worse I took over more and more of his responsibilities. He died last year. When it came time to read the will, I discovered to my immense surprise that the old man had left me the business.”

  “You told us about it at the reunion.”

  “But what I didn’t tell you was that the longer I was there, the more I realized how deep the financial troubles were. Mainly, we needed some new rigs. The ones we had were breaking down all the time. That lost us both time and money. So, the year I was appointed treasurer of the Daughters of Sisyphus Society, I decided to do a little creative accounting.”

  “You mean —”

  “I took money from the organization. I figured the coffers were full. Nobody would miss it and I’d be able to put it back before anyone got wise. I had confidence in my ability to make Shipman Trucking the best in the Southwest. That’s our slogan.”

  Sophie felt a but coming on.

  “But,” said Cindy, “it didn’t happen the way I planned. Just like what happened at college, my … ambition, as you call it, got me nowhere. The economy slowed. We took a couple of bad financial hits because of it. Then some of the men started to quit on me. They didn’t like working for a woman. One thing led to another until last month, I had to file for Chapter Eleven.”

  “Bankruptcy?”

  “Afraid so. I came to this conference hoping I could talk to Lavinia about it. Get her to see why I’d done what I’d done. I knew I could make her understand. She’s taken a lot of risks in her own life. But … it just seemed like every time I tried to talk to her, she was either too busy, or I’d get cold feet. I even went to her room the night she died.”

  “You did?” said Sophie. This was the first she’d heard of it. “Do you remember what time?”

  She shrugged, leaning her shoulder against the vent. “Eleven-thirty, maybe. I got back to the hotel a little after eleven, but I knew I couldn’t sleep until I’d had it out with her. It took me a good half hour and several shots of vodka before I screwed up enough courage to go up to her room.”

  “Was she there?”

  “Sure. But it was just my luck that she wasn’t alone. I listened at the door before I knocked and heard her laughing. That laugh of hers could shatter glass.”

  “Do you know who she was talking to?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t stick around long enough to find out.”

  “She may have been talking to the person who murdered her.”

  Another shrug. “I guess I figured it was her husband and I had no business interrupting.”

  “So, what did you do then?” Sophie knew instinctively that if she could keep her talking, there was a chance this might end in something other than tragedy.

  “Well, as soon as I saw there was no chance of connecting with her that night, I went back to my room and got quietly drunk. I didn’t know what else to do.” She turned back toward the river. “Bunny’s completely different from Lavinia, you know.” Her voice was now muffled by the wind. “She’ll never understand. She wants order. Clarity. Rules. Unlike Lavinia, she’s going to whip the D.O.S.S. into shape. And she will, too. She’s a tough old broad. Unfortunately, in the process, what I’ve done will be discovered and I’ll be sent up the river.” Inching closer to the edge, she looked down into the watery abyss and added, “I figured it might be easier if I saved everyone the middleman.”

  Sophie heard a noise behind her. She turned just in time to see Bunny step out of the door onto the roof.

  “Cindy!” called Bunny, her voice echoing off the metal vents.

  Cindy dropped her head but didn’t turn around. “Oh, God. What are you doing here?”

  “I heard most of what you said.” She walked up next to Sophie and stood, hands in the pockets of her jeans, her light cotton jacket dapping in the breeze. “You may think I don’t understand, but I do. And I want to help. We can work something out, Cindy. I’m sure of it. I can’t tell you exactly what, but I give you my word — I swear to you on the friendship we once had — we will work it out.”

  Sophie and Bunny exchanged quick glances.

  “You mean that?” said Cindy, resting a tentative hand on the roof vent as she turned around.

  Bunny nodded. “I don’t give my word lightly.”

  “Because, you know, I’d be willing to do almost anything. Who knows, maybe I can even beat the odds. Turn my company around.”

  “Come away from the edge, Cindy, and we’d talk about it.”

  “I just can’t go to jail.” As she stood staring at them her lower lip began to tremble. “The idea of being locked up in some tiny room — some horrible dank place with bugs and rats. Open toilets. No privacy. Nothing to look forward to but a day just like the last. It terrifies me! And my family. They’d think I ran Dad’s company into the ground because I didn’t know what I was doing. I was just another stupid, useless woman who was in over her head. I’d rather die than have them think that.”

  Bunny held out her hand. “You don’t have to die, Cindy. But you do have to come away from there. It makes my knees weak to see you standing so close to the edge.”

  Cindy moved hesitantly toward them. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” said Bunny. She gave her an encouraging smile.

  Cindy seemed beaten, weary, and yet immensely glad that someone had cared enough not to leave her alone in her pain.

  Sophie and Bunny each took one of Cindy’s arms and slowly, carefully, they walked her back inside.

  36

  On Thursday evening, the memorial chapel at Lakewood Cemetery was packed with mourners, women mostly, paying their last respects to Lavinia Fiore. In the last two decades of the twentieth century, Lavinia had touched a deep chord in women’s lives with her message of physical acceptance and personal courage. She would not be soon forgotten.

  Sophie and Bram arrived early and sat near the back, watching people quietly file down the center aisle. Normally, the cemetery was closed at this time of night, but Peter’s parents had pulled some influential strings. Lavinia had been a national figure, and on this one special night, rules were made to be broken.

  Bunny and Cindy arrived together, nodding a subdued greeting to Sophie and Bram as they took seats on the other side of the aisle. It was a good sign that they were together, thought Sophie. She didn’t know how Cindy’s legal problems would be resolved, but the look on her face told Sophie that, at least for now, all was wed.

  Hugh and Adelle Purdis came through the front door shortly before the service was to begin. Both looked exceedingly tired, as if they hadn’t slept wed in days. Much to Sophie’s surprise, Howell Purdis, dressed in a dapper navy blue suit, red silk tie, and matching scarf, accompanied them.

  “Look who’s here,” said Sophie, elbowing Bram in the ribs.

  He turned to see. “Hey, the wolf arrives.”

  “Adelle probably insisted, although I can’t imagine why.”

  Bram leaned close and whispered, “It makes him look innocent. Not too many murderers come to pay their last respects.”

  And, thought Sophie, Adelle played right along because she had her own vested interests.

  Since the only seats left were in the last row, that’s where they sat. Hugh wedged himself in between Howell and Adelle — a stalwart book between two hostile bookends. Sophie felt a moment of cosmic depression settle into her bones as she realized Lavinia and Isaac’s murderer was about to get off scot-free. The gall it took for the Purdis family to show up at this memorial was nothing short of monumental.

  Sophie knew that Howell Purdis loathed anything that smacked of traditional Christianity. Indeed, in his view, any religious edifice was part of Babylon the Great — the name he reserved for all things Protestant or Catholic. This particular chapel, one which most everyone found incredibly lovely, was probably giving Howell a bad case of spiritual indigestion. He undoubtedly felt that the delicate, brightly colored mosaics took the depiction of angels from the sub lime to the ridiculous. Sophie watched him examine the chapel’s interior, silently condemning everything he saw.