Dearest Lavinia,

  I don’t like being stood up. I also didn’t like seeing the police posted outside the hotel last night, waiting for me to call. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with you just yet, but, of course, I’ll have to do something. What have I ever done to you to cause you to treat me this way? I’m just a simple fan, someone who adores you from afar and wanted to get to know you better. Now I see that’s impossible. Nevertheless, you will be hearing from me.

  Till then, Lavinia.

  Morton “Oh, my God,” she whispered. In all of last night’s excitement, she’d completely forgotten about him. She’d filed her report with both hotel security and the police yesterday afternoon, and then she’d gone on about her business. The uniformed officer she’d talked to assured her the police would take care of everything. A squad car would be assigned to intercept him when he arrived at the hotel to pick her up. She’d have to come down to the station to file charges, but that would be the end of it. From then on, her lawyers could handle everything. She’d given the authorities a detailed description of what he looked like. The hotel representative and the police all sounded so confident, she’d walked out of that small conference room and hadn’t given it another thought.

  Until now. This minute. She felt as if someone had slapped her across the face. How had he gotten in? Surely hotel security was keeping an eye out for him. Since he didn’t look like he belonged at the Maxfield, he’d be simple enough to spot So what had happened? If he could get to her door to leave a message, what else could he do without being caught?

  Feeling more frightened than she cared to admit, she got up and moved unsteadily over to the phone. She had to alert security right away. Closing her eyes, she tried a few deep breaths first That always helped center her. Move her to a more rational place. She’d be damned if she’d allow some screwball to scare her into a state of inertia. She still had too much to do. Too many clues to follow and people to interview.

  She’d simply have to be extra careful. Peter was staying at his parents’ home tonight. Since her new in-laws didn’t know about their marriage, she was remaining here. Tomorrow, after the last convention panel was finished, she’d join him in Edina to break the news. But until then, she was on her own. Which was just the way she’d planned it And Lavinia had no intention of changing her plans. Not even for Morton.

  11

  Sophie carried two mugs of coffee into the living room, glad that the new day had dawned mild and sunny. Her parents were leaving this afternoon for the first leg of their round-the-world tour. Since they both had a certain anxiety about flying — an anxiety Sophie shared — she didn’t want them to take off in bad weather.

  Sophie set her mug down on an end table and then paused for a moment to watch her husband. He was standing next to the fireplace, his expression faintly wistful as he gazed out the window at a row of mums in the back garden. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was having second thoughts about moving to the Maxfield All morning he’d been unusually quiet To be honest, Sophie was having some second thoughts about the move herself. They’d lived in this house for almost seven years, picked it out together before their marriage, and closed on it two weeks after they returned from their honeymoon. Bram’s daughter, Margie, had lived with them until she’d left to attend college in St Cloud, two years ago.

  Walking up behind her husband, Sophie slipped her arm through his and handed him the mug.

  “I haven’t changed my mind,” he said, drawing her close. Kissing the top of her head, he added, “I just have to spend some time saying goodbye. I’ve loved living here. And you know me. I don’t like endings.”

  She leaned her head against his chest and understood. “We don’t have to move.”

  “No. It’s not that. I want to.”

  “The space we’d be moving into is much smaller than what we have here.”

  “That’s good. It will force me to get rid of some of the stuff I’ve collected over the past seven years.”

  Not a bad idea, thought Sophie. Bram collected “stuff” faster than dust collected on her favorite cloisonné eggs. His study had become dangerously packed with all the “valuable” junk he couldn’t bring himself to throw away.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked, ruffling her short reddish-gold hair.

  “I’m wondering how big a Dumpster we need to order.”

  “Very funny.”

  The clock on the mantel chimed the hour. “Hey,” she said, pulling away. “We’ve got to be over to the Maxfield by ten.”

  “We?” he repeated, looking confused. “I thought your parents didn’t need to leave for the airport until noon.”

  ‘True. But Lavinia’s planning a big surprise for the D.O.S.S. breakfast meeting this morning.”

  “So?”

  “We’re both invited.”

  He took a sip of coffee and inspected the invitation for hidden meanings. “Why does she want both of us there?”

  “She’s probably just being nice.”

  “If you ask me, that woman’s a little too full of surprises for her own good.” He ticked them off on the fingers of his right hand. “First, a new husband. A complete secret to everyone, I might add. And thirteen years younger.”

  “A woman can’t marry someone younger?”

  “You don’t think thirteen years is a little much?”

  She shrugged. “Men do it all the time.”

  “Second,” he said dryly, ignoring the amused gleam in her eye, “during the reunion last night she casually lets it drop that an old friend of yours was murdered. Will she elaborate? Of course not. That would make life too simple. Not to put too fine a point on this, Sophie, but did it ever occur to you that your friend is a drama queen?”

  “It takes one to know one.”

  “Hey!”

  “Look, she simply didn’t want to elaborate until she has all the facts.”

  “Sophie, think. Someone doesn’t just let something like that slip. She did it on purpose. And she had a reason.”

  Sophie held the coffee mug to her lips, thinking it over. “Like what?”

  “How should I know? They’re your friends. Anyway, third.” He continued counting. “Lavinia has planned another surprise for this morning’s breakfast meeting.”

  “I’m sure the Zephyr Club will serve us something fabulous to eat. When the meeting’s over, we’ll both take Mom and Dad to the airport.”

  “My day off is looking better all the time.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport. The meeting could be interesting.”

  “With Lavinia in charge, I have no doubt you’re right.”

  Ethel chose that moment to peek her head around the doorway. A tennis ball rolled out of her mouth as she gave a deep yawn.

  “Poor thing,” said Bram, watching her slump into the room and ease her old bones down on the rug next to him. He bent down to give her a pat. “She spent a good half hour outside this morning, watching the ants crawl across the cement. Exhausting work.”

  Ethel smacked her lips. It was just another day in paradise.

  “She won’t have any ants to watch when we move to the Maxfield,” said Sophie, frowning thoughtfully.

  “She’ll survive.”

  Ethel’s sad eyes rose to Sophie’s. The loose folds of skin around her forehead made her look perpetually worried. Today, however, Ethel had chosen to add a slight baring of the front teeth to her image.

  “Look, sweetheart,” said Sophie excitedly. “She’s smiling at me. I just love it when she does that.”

  In silent dignity, Ethel sniffed Bram’s socks. Sometimes life threw you a curveball. If you were lucky, it was green and bounced. If you weren’t, well… you could always pretend an expensive leather wingtip was a chew toy.

  Life had its compensations.

  “Everyone, please. If I could have your attention, I’d like to call this meeting to order.” Lavinia stood behind the head table, tapping her fork against her water glass. “Perhaps we should give the wait staff another minute or two to clear away some of our dishes before we begin.”

  Sophie and Bram watched from their own table as they finished breakfast. Bunny had joined them as soon as they’d walked in the door, introducing herself to Bram with characteristic gusto and announcing that Cindy would be along any minute. They’d grabbed a spot in the back and waited, but for some reason, Cindy never appeared. All during the meal, both Bunny and Sophie kept glancing at the door, but still no Cindy.

  The rest of the room was packed with at least ninety excited, boisterous conventioneers. From what Bunny had said, this business meeting was a command performance for all the D.O.S.S. officers. As national treasurer, Cindy was required to attend.

  Lavinia looked remarkably elegant today in a red-and-black linen suit. Peter was with her. He seemed terribly solicitous of her needs, pouring water and coffee and generally making sure she had anything and everything she needed. Sophie was so curious about their interactions, she found her eyes sliding in their direction more often than good taste would allow.

  Before Lavinia called the meeting to order, Peter had left the room briefly. He’d returned a few minutes later carrying a small plastic box. Sophie saw some people whispering about it, even pointing, though no one seemed to know what it was.

  “What’s she got up her sleeve now?” said Bunny, stabbing at her last bite of eggs Benedict. “She’s giving me an ulcer.”

  Bram nodded his sympathy. “You have no idea what this morning’s surprise is all about?”

  “None. Except that it has something to do with the convention. After last night I shudder to think what she’s done now.” Bunny pushed her plate away and folded her arms over her chest in a gesture of uneasy resignation.

  “Shouldn’t she consult you on business matters?” asked Sophie. “After all, you’ve always been one of the driving forces behind the organization.”

  Bunny gave her a sour look. “Tell her that.”

  It was only now that Sophie noticed the hint of acrimony in her friend’s voice. She wondered what it had been like, living in Lavinia’s shadow all these years.

  “Could you believe what Lavinia said about Ginger last night?” continued Bunny, watching the waiters pour a last round of coffee. “What the hell was she thinking?”

  “You know,” said Sophie cautiously, “I’ve really been remiss about keeping in touch with all of you. Just my usual card or letter at Christmas. But you two are still so close. It seems odd to me that Lavinia would keep something as important as this to herself.” As soon as she said the words, she regretted them. By the wounded look on Bunny’s face, Sophie could tell Lavinia’s lack of openness had hurt her deeply.

  “If I could have your attention now,” called Lavinia again, tapping the fork against her glass several more times. “We need to start, otherwise some of you will be late to your panels.” She waited for complete silence.

  Bram caught Sophie’s eye and whispered, “Show time.”

  “Before we begin the business meeting,” continued Lavinia, her eyes sweeping over the crowded room, “I’d like to introduce all of you to my new husband. Peter, will you stand up, please?”

  Looking self-conscious, Peter rose from his chair and grinned boyishly at the assembled group.

  The surprised murmurs began almost instantly.

  “After a whirlwind romance, Peter Trahern and I were married two months ago in a private ceremony. I must tell you, these last few months have been the happiest of my life.” She grinned at him. “You’ll all have a chance to talk to him a little later. Thanks, honey.” As he sat down she motioned to a young woman standing in the back. A moment later the same young woman pushed a large-screen TV set and attached VCR into the room. As she plugged in the power cord Lavinia continued, “I have something I want to show all of you. It’s a video Peter and I produced together, arid needless to say, I’m not only very excited about it, but also very proud of what we’ve done. Before we start, let me tell you that this will be on sale at the D.O.S.S. information booth, right along with the newest edition of my cookbook.”

  As Lavinia switched off the overhead lights the screen came alive with music and sound. At first it seemed the video might be a tour of Lavinia’s new house in California. It was a beautiful interior, open and airy, with high ceilings and expensive modern furniture. Also, it appeared to be right on the beach. The voice-over — Peter’s voice — talked about California living. Health. Sun. And, interestingly enough, fitness. As the camera moved upstairs to a small room off the master suite, Lavinia suddenly appeared, huffing and puffing as she jumped rope to the sound of the Beach Boys. She was dressed in fashionable exercise clothing, a sweatband around her head.

  “Oh, my God,” whispered Bunny, her mouth dropping open. “What the … she couldn’t —”

  The music ended as Lavinia began to explain the importance of the warm-up.

  “It’s an exercise video?” said Bram, looking confused.

  “It’s grotesque,” said Bunny, not even trying to keep her voice down. No one would ever accuse Bunny Huffington of beating around the bush, especially when it came to expressing an opinion. Several of the women at a nearby table turned around to glare.

  The music swelled again as Lavinia began a series of aerobic dances.

  “Don’t you see?” said Bunny, leaning close to Sophie and whispering with an urgency that bordered on rage. “This is completely against what our organization stands for. For years we’ve been trying to get women to stop dwelling on their bodies, on how they look. This just buys into the same cultural narcissism we’ve tried so hard to fight against.”

  Sophie did see her point. Then again, it wasn’t wrong to be physically fit.

  “Shhh,” said one of the women at another table. She gave Bunny a nasty look and then returned her attention to the front.

  “Can she do this?” asked Bram. “Without anyone else’s knowledge or approval?”

  Sophie gave him a helpless shrug. She had no idea.

  “Someone’s got to stop her,” said Bunny.

  For one frightening moment Sophie had the distinct impression Bunny was about to do something violent. From the limited contact she’d had with her over the years, Sophie knew that she felt passionately about the philosophy behind the organization. And why shouldn’t she? She’d formulated most of it.

  Bunny watched for a few more seconds in smoldering silence and then abruptly threw down her napkin, pushed back from the table, and got up. Without so much as a backward glance, she grabbed her briefcase and stomped out of the room.

  “Boy,” said Bram, touching his fingers to his tie. “I’d sure like to be a fly on the wall when those two finally talk.”

  Sophie gave him a sickly smile and then pressed her fingers against the side of her forehead. This reunion weekend was starting to give her a splitting headache.

  12

  Adelle gazed listlessly around the crowded Lindbergh Room, her eyes rising to the fresh flower arrangement she’d ordered for the stage. Sabbath services were about to begin. Folding metal chairs had been set up by the hotel staff to accommodate the church members now filing quietly into the room. As hotels went, she supposed, this one wasn’t bad. The Maxfield had a certain gangster charm. But a hotel was a hotel. As far as she was concerned, she’d spent too much of her life living out of suitcases. This year, if she’d had her way, she and Hugh would have celebrated Tabernacles Week at home.

  Oh, well, she thought to herself with an ennui born of far too many Sabbaths spent away from her friends and family, it would be over soon. Besides, this decision to spend the week in St. Paul might just turn out to be downright fortuitous.

  As befitting his status, Hugh had chosen seats for them in the front row. He was sitting next to her now, intently reading through the general announcements he’d make right after the opening songs. Adelle couldn’t help but wonder what sort of special announcement Howell Purdis had on the agenda. From what Hugh had disclosed to her last night, Isaac Knox would no longer be in charge of the morning service, nor would he be giving the first sermon of Tabernacles Week — or any other week.

  Hugh and Isaac had been friends since childhood. They’d both been raised in the church, both attended the same high school in Altadena, although Hugh was seven years older. Adelle knew that, ever since Isaac’s late teens when his parents had died in a car crash, Hugh had taken him under his wing, thought of him as a younger brother. As a young man, Isaac had been passionately committed to the teachings of Howell Purdis. That commitment, it would seem, had now ended. Isaac couldn’t blame anyone but himself for the position he was in. To be on the safe side, however, Adelle wanted to point that out to him one more time.

  Right after breakfast, while Hugh was in the bedroom praying, she’d called down to Isaac’s room hoping to find him in. She was surprised when he answered on the first ring, and then disappointed as he explained that he couldn’t speak to her right then. He was in die middle of an important meeting. By his abrupt manner and the general strain in his voice, Adelle assumed Howell Purdis had finally caught up with him. Since it was imperative that they talk, she insisted that he meet her in his hotel room at noon. Reluctantly, he’d agreed.

  As Adelle touched the back of her red hair, she turned and noted that Roger Laybourn and his wife had taken seats on the other side of the aisle. Roger was in his early thirties, the pastor of the Milwaukee church. Leaning over to her husband, she whispered, “Is Roger replacing Isaac this morning?”

  Hugh nodded, continuing to flip through his notes. “Father told me to arrange it.”

  “I thought he fired you yesterday.”

  Hugh peered over his bifocals, giving her a pained look. “Apparently I’ve been rehired.”

  As she was about to make another choice comment on her esteemed father-in-law’s general mental disintegration, she saw Howell emerge from the rear of the stage, followed closely by Isaac Knox. Howell’s jowly face looked unusually puffy and flushed.