Video Kill

Epilogue


One Year Later





Allison’s high heels sank into the grass as she walked across the rolling green lawn toward the entrance to Pine Ridge. One year had passed since she had narrowly escaped becoming the Video Killer’s sixth victim.

It had been a year filled with grief and pain. Erik had been flown to a veteran’s hospital in the East, a place that specialized in the care he needed. He was recovering, but it would be months before he was on his feet again. The Video Killer’s knife had caused massive damage, and he’d undergone several bouts of reconstructive surgery.

From the very first, Katy Brannigan had taken charge, letting Allison stay in her old apartment until she felt well enough to face the world again. Allison had gone back to the expensive house in Studio City only once, to pack her belongings. She’d known that she needed time away from Tony.

Allison had visited her mother every morning, managing somehow to hold down the job that Katy had gotten her. She was just beginning to get back to normal, to feel the nightmare receding, when her mother had died. Then there were more months of grief and work, work and grief, refusing to answer the calls she received from Tony and hiding from the world in the cramped little apartment she’d rented.

She hadn’t asked, but Katy had told her that Tony had finished the movie and sold the house. He was living in Northern California now, somewhere in the foothills above Sacramento on a ranch he’d bought with his share of the movie money. No one seemed to know his exact whereabouts, not even Ginger Watson.

Ginger had arrived on Allison’s doorstep yesterday, and Allison had recognized the redhead from Donny’s immediately, even though she hadn’t seen her in almost a year, as the woman who’d been with Tony that afternoon at the Traveler Motel, Tony’s mistress. Allison’s first impulse had been to shut the door in her face, but something had stopped her.

Ginger had told her everything. That was the reason she had driven to Pine Ridge today. She had to visit Jamie, to see if she could help. Then she had to find Tony to tell him that she’d made a dreadful mistake.

As Allison reached the front entrance, she straightened her shoulders and pulled open the door. The reception area had a homey touch with braided rugs and a fireplace. A gray-haired, motherly woman sat behind a desk by the window.

“I’d like to see Jamie Nielsen. My name is Allison Greene.”

“Jamie?” The older woman smiled. “He’s lucky today. Two visitors.”

“Shall I wait until his other visitor has left?”

“Oh, no. I’m sure Jamie will be delighted to see you. They’re out by the pool, enjoying the sun. I’ll call for an aide to show you the way.”

A moment later Allison was back outside again, following a smiling man down a flagstone path to the pool area.

“Are you a member of Jamie’s family?”

“No.” Allison couldn’t help but respond to the man’s friendly smile. “I’m a friend of his father’s.”

“A terrible tragedy.” The man’s face grew sober. “Jamie had a rough few months, but having his father’s cat helped a lot and he’s making wonderful progress now. He’s done so well, we hope to release him in six months or so.”

“Where will he go? Erik’s still in the hospital.”

“It seems Mr. Nielsen has some very generous friends. There’s a man who’s been paying all the bills for Jamie’s care, and he’s going to look after him until his father comes home. There they are, over there, under the blue awning.”

Allison’s breath caught in her throat as she saw a smiling blond boy sitting at a table. He looked so much like Erik. He was talking to a man whose back was turned toward Allison, and their body postures indicated that they were fast friends.

“But Jamie looks almost . . .” Allison stopped, suddenly ashamed of her expectations.

“Normal? Yes, he’s come a long way, and most of it’s due to the man you see with him. He’s been here every weekend. Last year, at this time, Jamie was just beginning to speak. Now he’s up to grade level on all his subjects except math. We think he’ll be ready for a regular public school very soon.”

“The math part may run in the family. Erik always claimed he’d flunked algebra three times. That man, is he the one who’s going to take care of Jamie?”

“Yes. I’ll have Jamie introduce you. They’ve just come back from a fishing trip. Two weeks in a cabin by a stream in Oregon.”

The aide crossed the last few yards and tapped Jamie on the shoulder.

“Jamie? You have another visitor. This is Miss Greene. She’s a friend of your father’s.”

“Hi, Jamie.” Allison smiled as the boy stood up to shake her hand. His eyes were the same shade of blue as Erik’s.

“I’m glad to meet you, Miss Greene. And this is my best friend. He’s going to be my stand-in dad.”

“That’s wonderful, Jamie.” Allison turned with a smile on her face. Then she froze and time seemed to stop. It was Tony.

“Allison?”

Tony stood up, and Allison saw her uncertainty mirrored on his face. Although the actual distance was only inches, there was a wide gulf that separated them. It was filled with grief and guilt and misunderstanding. Could she cross it?

Allison swayed slightly on her feet. She still loved Tony. She had never stopped loving him. And she could see very plainly that he loved her, too.

Tony moved then. It was just a simple gesture, but it broke her awful inertia. He held out his hand.

And Allison took one step forward to find that she’d hurtled over the immense gulf. She was safe at last, in Tony’s arms.

Dimly she heard Jamie’s voice. “Hey, Tony, is that Allison?”

And Tony’s answer.

“Yes, Jamie. And I think you just got yourself a stand-in mom.”





A SMALL TOWN . . .

The moment Marian Larsen sees the patrol car

stop outside her house, she feels a shiver of

foreboding. The news is even worse than she

fears. Marian’s husband and young daughter

have been in a snowmobile crash.

Dan is paralyzed and Laura is dead,

her body broken on the icy ground





. . . WITH A CHILLING SECRET

Friends and colleagues in Marian’s Minnesota

town rally around to try and ease her grief.

But soon there are more horrible accidents. Then

the rumors start—that these are no coincidences

at all, that someone is picking off victims one

by one. And as winter deepens, the search

for answers will reveal a killer whose blood

runs colder than the blinding snow . . .





Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of Joanne Fluke’s

WINTER CHILL

coming in August 2013!




Prologue

Her cheeks were red from the cold and she grinned up at him as he turned on the seat. “Come on, daddy . . . just once more. Please?”

“Better make it quick.” Ronnie Powell snapped his visor down and glanced at his watch. “It’s coming down pretty heavy and you two are novices. Five minutes more and we start for home.”

“You heard the boss,” Dan put his machine in gear as Laura clasped her hands around his waist. “Hang on tight, honey. Here we go!”

They left Jenny and her dad in a cloud of white snow. The wind rushed past her stinging cheeks and she laughed out loud. Jenny was right. Riding on a snowmobile was almost like flying. The cold took her breath away and she narrowed her eyes to slits, squinting into the frozen brightness. They were rounding the far corner of the trail now, between the tall pines, and she didn’t want ever to go home. If only she had wings and could fly through the snow forever!

She gave a delighted squeal as the machine made a sharp turn to the right, cutting across uncharged snow between the trails. They were taking a shortcut directly through the center of a deserted field. She could barely see now, the snow was swirling so fiercely. The wind tugged at her blue and white stocking cap and threatened to blow it off her head.

“Oh!” Laura let go for an instant, pulling at her knitted hat with both hands. It was an early Christmas present from her mom and she didn’t want to lose it.

“Hang on, Laura!” Dan turned for only an instant but that was enough. The heavy Snow-Cat crashed headlong into an innocent mound of snow covering an abandoned harrowing machine.

“Daddy!” He sensed rather than heard her cry. Somehow he managed to hang on to the snowmobile with one hand, but she was gone, tipped out in a tumbling arc, propelled forward by the force of the crash. There was a sickening lurch as the machine toppled, and he heard a snap like a firecracker as pain exploded in his head. His last sight was of his small daughter’s body caught fast, impaled on the old farm implement’s sharp, rusty prongs. It seemed to take forever for the darkness to come, rolling over him in deep compassionate waves.



The wind picked up around two thirty and blew the snow in rattling gusts past the kitchen window. Soon ice crystals were pinging against the glass and Marian peered out into the blinding swirls, listening for the car in the driveway. They should be on their way home by now. It was rotten weather for snowmobiling. She put on the coffee and poured milk into a saucepan for hot chocolate. Dan and Laura would be cold when they came in.

An hour passed as she paced between the stove and the window. Perhaps they had stopped on the way. It was just like Ronnie Powell to convince Dan that they needed a hot brandy. Laura and Jenny were probably munching hamburgers at the truck stop right now while their fathers sat in the bar. There was really nothing to worry about.

Why didn’t he call? At four o’clock Marian began to worry in earnest. She tried dialing Sally to see if she’d heard from Ronnie, but the lines were down. The phone was dead, except for a faint mechanical crackling. It was turning bitter cold now and the wind chill factor was rising. Marian wished that she’d given in and let Laura wear her new blue coat. It was warmer than the old parka. What if they were stuck out there in the middle of the frozen snow?

Marian forced herself to calm down. Of course they were fine. She was just borrowing trouble. But the heavy curtain of snow outside the glass was an impenetrable barrier and she couldn’t help feeling that somewhere in that wall of icy white, her husband and daughter were in trouble.

Her worst fears were realized when the patrol car drove up outside. They were hesitant about getting out of the car, Sheriff Bates first and then Sally. There was something they didn’t want to tell her, something awful about Dan and Laura. Marian threw open the door and stood waiting, alone and fearful in the numbing cold.




1

Lord we commit unto Thee this body . . . ashes to ashes, dust to dust . . . Marian shuddered, turning her face away from the small white coffin. Freshly falling snow left her face wet with the tears she could not shed. She leaned against Sally Powell’s supporting arm and shut her eyes tightly. This wasn’t real. It was only a dream and she would wake soon to put on the coffee and call Laura and Dan for school.

Last night she had driven home from the hospital after hours of watching Dan in his merciful coma. As she turned past the small cemetery, she saw with horror that one section was in flames. The men at the fire department were kind. They explained haltingly, embarrassed at her ignorance. The ground was frozen; it had to be thawed before a new grave could be excavated.

In the darkness of her living room she had peered through the windowpane, watching the banked fire cast a flickering red glow on the fresh snow. She had hugged herself there in the empty house, pretending that Laura was upstairs sleeping in her yellow-curtained room, that it was all a terrible mistake. But when she looked again, the fire was still there thawing the ground for her baby’s grave.

“Hang on, Marian . . . It’s almost over.” Sally’s arm tightened around her shoulders. Tears were running down her friend’s face and Marian felt a stab of resentment. She should be the one to cry, not Sally. She had lost her baby and Jenny was still alive. But it wasn’t right to resent Sally. Her grief was real. Sally had loved Laura too.

It popped into her mind with sudden clarity, her high school’s production of Our Town. She had played the part of Rebecca, Emily’s sister-in-law. The night of the performance was a revelation. These were the same friends she had shared sandwiches and class notes with. Then, in costumes and stage makeup, they were total strangers.

It was the same feeling she had now, the same sense of unreality as she faced her neighbors and co-workers. She was playing the part of a grief-stricken mother, delivering the correct lines, making the proper gestures to an audience of nameless strangers. She was incapable of honest emotion. This was merely a performance. It was not real. She was not real.



He had been aware of the voice for some time now, but he was too tired to care.

Vital signs are normal, Doctor. Are there any further instructions?

Continue with the IV and turn him once an hour. The funeral’s this afternoon. Marian’s coming in later. Run the blood work again and call me immediately if there’s any change.

He tried to open his eyes, but there was something heavy on his eyelids. All he could do was listen, barely breathing, as footsteps receded. There was a stabbing pain in his arm and realization that the voices had been talking about him!

This time it worked. He opened his eyes and stared at the white-clad figure leaning over him.

“It’s Joyce Meiers.” The nurse leaned closer. “Just relax, Mr. Larsen. You’re doing fine. I’ll get the doctor.”

He was in a hospital. It was clear now, the small room with white furnishings. He was in a room at the Nisswa Clinic, on the far edge of town. But what was he doing here?

“Well, well . . . you finally decided to join us!” Dr. Hinkley’s face swam into focus. “One more little pinprick and we’ll talk . . . All right?”

There was another stab in his arm and Dan flinched. “What am I doing here? What happened?”

As he asked the questions, he knew. The snowmobile. The sudden storm. The accident. And Laura. What had happened to Laura!

“She’s dead, isn’t she.” His voice was slow and thick as the shot took effect. Tranquilizer. “You said something about a . . . a funeral. Laura’s dead.”

“I’m afraid so, Dan.” Dr. Hinkley reached for his hand, practiced fingers taking his pulse. “Would you like something to put you back to sleep?”

“No.” Even though his voice was weak, the word was definite. “I’ve slept enough. How long?”

“You’ve been in a coma for three days.” The doctor’s voice was kind. “You had a nasty blow to the head, Dan. Now that you’re awake, we’ll do some tests.”

Laura was dead. His baby was dead. Dan tried to think, but his mind was fuzzy. “Marian?” he asked. “Where’s Marian?”

“She’ll be here in a few hours.” Dr. Hinkley released his wrist and wrote something on the chart at the foot of his bed. “Don’t try to think about anything now, Dan. Just concentrate on getting well.”

Was he dying? His body was numb. His legs felt like lead. He tried tentatively to move but nothing happened.

“My legs!” Dan’s eyes widened. “They’re gone!”

“No . . . It’s all right, Dan,” Dr. Hinkley said soothingly. “Your legs are fine . . . nothing wrong at all. You’re just experiencing some difficulty in moving, that’s all. It’s probably a simple blockage caused by the accident. Nothing to worry about. Now relax and let us take care of you.”

Just as panic started to set in, there was another prick in his arm and a wave of soft grayness settled down over his mind. Another shot. Don’t think. It was all a bad dream.





The sun reflecting against the highly polished desk top hurt her eyes and Marian shut them for a moment. She wished the sun weren’t shining. Something should be changed, in honor of her grief. The scene outside the plate-glass hospital window was straight out of a Currier & Ives Christmas card, but her baby was dead. How could this afternoon be so beautiful when Laura was lying in the frozen ground?

“Marian?” Dr. Hinkley pushed a box of Kleenex across the desk top and Marian realized that tears were running down her cheeks. Why now? And not at the funeral?

“Do you want a tranquilizer for tonight? It helps sometimes, just to get a good night’s sleep.”

“No, thank you.” She had the insane urge to giggle. He sounded as if he were offering her a pastel mint at a party. Would you like a mint, Marian? No? Then perhaps you’d care for an after-funeral pill.

Marian realized with a start that she wasn’t paying attention. Dr. Hinkley was trying to tell her something.

“. . . We think it might be conversion hysteria, Marian.” She tried her best to concentrate. “That’s a term for acute anxiety converted to dysfunction of parts of the body. In Dan’s case the problem is his legs. He regained consciousness briefly this morning and we immediately ran tests. There’s no sensation in the lower extremities. Even though the paralysis is only in his mind, it has the same effect as a break in the spinal column.”

“Wait a minute.” Marian tried hard to understand. “Are you saying Dan can’t walk?”

Dr. Hinkley nodded slowly. “I’m afraid so, Marian.”

It was just too much to take. Laura was dead now and Dan was paralyzed. The bright room was closing in on her. There was a sound growing around her, a thin high-pitched wail. She was shocked to find it was coming from her own throat. And then the afternoon sun began to darken alarmingly and she was pitching forward, falling into Dr. Hinkley’s arms.





There was a metallic taste in her mouth as Marian struggled to open her eyes. She must have made some sort of sound, because suddenly a nurse was there beside her.

“Good morning, Mrs. Larsen. We had a wonderful night’s sleep.”

The nurse was holding a glass of water to her lips. Marian gulped thirstily. Her lips were stiff. The words formed slowly in her mind.

“Dr. Hinkley? I need to see him.”

“He’ll be here in a few minutes.” The nurse smiled. “You can doze off again, if you want. Dr. Hinkley said to give you the royal treatment.”

She must have responded somehow, for the nurse left and she was alone again. Marian made herself sit up straighter. She knew she had to play a part again, the part of an alert, competent woman. Then the doctor would let her go home. It was important that she didn’t let anyone guess how helpless and frightened she was inside.

Things were better when she had applied the light makeup she carried in her purse. The hospital coffee was weak, but it helped. She was ready when Dr. Hinkley came. This time she would not faint.

“The X rays show no spinal damage, Marian.” Dr. Hinkley was sitting in the chair by the bed and Marian nodded alertly. “In Dan’s case, the paralysis is definitely a form of hysterical neurosis. Only his lower extremities are affected. That means he can use a wheelchair, Marian. And he can go home tomorrow, if you think you’re up to it.”

“Yes . . . Of course I am.” Marian drew a deep breath. “But when will he recover? You said it wasn’t physical. When will Dan be able to walk again?”

“No one knows, Marian.” Dr. Hinkley reached out to pat her hand. “Dan’s body is punishing him for the accident. He blames himself for Laura’s death. In some cases of Dan’s type spontaneous remission has occurred almost overnight. But, Marian . . . Dan may remain paralyzed for the rest of his life.”

“I have to help him.” Marian straightened her shoulders. “What can I do, Dr. Hinkley?”

“Good girl!” Dr. Hinkley nodded. “You’re a fighter, Marian, and that’s precisely what Dan needs. Take him home with you tomorrow. There’s no reason why he can’t go back to work in a week or so. He has a commitment to that hockey team of his and that might just pull him out of this. I talked to Jim Sorensen at the Conoco station and he says he can rig your van for a wheelchair. You drive it down there this afternoon, if you feel up to it, and Jim’ll work on it tonight. And don’t stay alone in that house of yours. I’ve had calls from half the women in town offering to stay with you until Dan gets home. You take somebody up on that, Marian. Or I can move an extra bed into Dan’s room, if you’d rather stay here.”

“I’ll stay here with Dan.” Marian’s voice was strong. “He’ll need me if he wakes up. And thank you, Dr. Hinkley. Thank you for being so kind.”





She sat in the chair by the window, looking out at the gathering darkness and hearing the deep, even sound of Dan’s breathing. He opened his eyes once and saw her sitting there. It seemed to satisfy him, for he had gone straight back to sleep without a word. Marian turned to study her husband’s sleeping face. He was a handsome man, rugged and muscular. They’d called him “The Viking” when he’d played for the Northstars in college. But Dan had never wanted to be a professional hockey player. He’d wanted to teach history and coach hockey on the side. He took the job in Nisswa because of Harvey Woodruff’s persuasion.

Harvey was a principal in danger of losing his school. There was talk of dissolving the Nisswa district and busing the students to Brainerd or Pequot Lakes. Dan’s job was to add prestige to the school and make the community proud to have a winning hockey team. There was no way Harvey wanted the local kids bused away. The Nisswa School was his life. He’d built it into a fine academic institution and Dan could help him save it.

Dan had been coaching for two years when she had joined the Nisswa staff. The hockey team was winning and Dan was the town hero. There was no more talk of busing. Nisswa was proud of its school and even prouder of Dan. It had been exciting to date the most eligible bachelor on the faculty.

Marian hadn’t dated much in college. Her particular combination of femininity and brains had served to scare off most of the college men. And she had to admit that she wasn’t all that interested in beer parties in student apartments. Marian was convinced she was destined for something more worthwhile than becoming a simple wife and mother. She had dreams of an academic career, perhaps a place on a college faculty, the respect of her colleagues, the publication of her innovative teaching methods.

Then he’d asked her for a date, Marian Walters, newly graduated, her head filled with theories of education, her heart dedicated to bringing enlightenment to the children of America. And Marian realized what she had been missing by pouring every waking hour into her lesson plans and her research. Dan Larsen was fun!

She remembered telling Dan her dreams, how disappointed she was in not landing a job in a warmer climate, how she longed for a break from the endless snows of Minnesota winters. But jobs in better climates were at a premium and elementary school teachers were a dime a dozen. She was lucky to get the position in Nisswa. After two years she thought she would try to move on, perhaps to California where the days were sunny and warm, even in the winter, but there was Dan, and then there was love, and marriage . . . and Laura. Painful tears squeezed out behind Marian’s swollen eyelids. Her baby was dead and Dan was paralyzed. It was too much.

“Would you like some coffee, Mrs. Larsen?” A white-uniformed nurse came into the room on silent feet.

“I’ll sit with Mr. Larsen if you want a little break.”

“Thank you, yes.” Marian rose to her feet stiffly. She had been sitting in the chair for hours now, just thinking.

“There’s coffee at the nurses’ station at the end of the hall and there’s a sandwich machine there too. I’m Joyce Meiers, Mrs. Larsen. I had Mr. Larsen for history when I was a senior.”

“Thank you, Joyce.” Marian forced a pleasant smile. She remembered Joyce now. Dan would be pleased to see her if he woke up, she thought as she began to walk down the hall.





In a way, he was glad she was gone. He loved her so much and he didn’t know what to say. He had opened his eyes in the early evening to see her sitting there, head bowed slightly, eyes vacant and weary. Somehow it was wrong to interrupt her solitude. They had always been so close, but now what could he say?

I’m sorry I killed your daughter, Marian.

Oh, that’s all right. It was an accident.

It was better to say nothing at all. They would talk later, heal the breach, start over. But not now. Now he was too heartsick to try. And his grief was too new. It was best to pretend to go back to sleep until the pretense became a reality.





She felt better after the coffee and sandwich. There was a candy machine at the end of the hall and Marian reached into her purse for a quarter. She should take Laura a Nut Goodie. It was her favorite candy bar.

Marian stopped suddenly, the quarter balanced against the coin slot. A hard, racking sob shook her slender body. She leaned her forehead against the cool impersonal glass case and held it there until her legs stopped trembling. She couldn’t break down now. She had to be strong for Dan. He needed her. It wasn’t fair. Life would go on and time would pass, whether she wanted it to or not.





And don’t miss Joanne Fluke’s

latest Hannah Swensen mystery





RED VELVET CUPCAKE MURDER





now on sale at bookstores everywhere!




1

“You’re staring at me again!” Hannah Swensen emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around her unruly red curls. She grabbed her favorite robe, shrugged into it quickly, and turned to face the only other occupant of her bedroom. “It’s not polite to stare at me when I’m not wearing anything and you’re sitting there in your fur coat.”

When there was no response to her comment, Hannah sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the package of panty hose she’d purchased on her way home from The Cookie Jar, her coffee shop and bakery. She wasn’t looking forward to putting on her best formal clothing on the hottest, muggiest evening ever recorded in Lake Eden, Minnesota’s history. Actually, if she was completely honest, she never enjoyed donning formal clothing, even when the weather cooperated. She was much more comfortable in jeans and a billboard T-shirt, or, as a concession to her family, a comfortable pantsuit. She wasn’t looking forward to tonight’s party either. She’d much rather spend the evening on her living room couch, sipping cold lemonade and watching a movie on television with one of her boyfriends, either Norman Rhodes or Mike Kingston. Unfortunately, her presence tonight was mandatory since The Cookie Jar was catering dessert.

“It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity,” she told her roommate, who was watching her intently. “At least that’s what Great-Grandma Elsa always used to say. But she also used to say that nobody in Minnesota needed air-conditioning, that a fan blowing over a block of ice was enough.”

This comment was met with widened eyes and what she interpreted as an incredulous look.

“I know,” she reassured him. “Great-Grandma Elsa was wrong. Or maybe it was cooler back in her time. I’ll turn the air-conditioner on high on just as soon as I’m through getting dressed.”

Even though the sun would be setting while she was gone, Hannah knew that air-conditioning would be necessary. In some areas of the country, the nights cooled off considerably, but not in central Minnesota. Perhaps the temperature would drop a few degrees as night approached, but that wouldn’t provide much relief. The outside walls of her condo had been baking in the sun all day and they would still be warm to the touch long after midnight.

It was hot in her bedroom. She’d opened the window to let in some outside air, but the curtains hung limp and lifeless. There was no breeze and the humidity was still sky high. Hannah could testify to that fact because even though she’d dried off thoroughly after her shower, her skin felt moist and hot again.

“It’s not even summer yet,” she told him, sighing a bit. “The Summer Solstice isn’t until June twentieth this year and today is only the ninth. Technically, it’s still spring and this afternoon it was hot enough to fry an egg outside.”

It was difficult to tell, but Hannah thought he looked impressed at this news. Earlier in the afternoon, when the mercury had reached its highest peak in the thermometer that hung outside the window in the coffee shop, her customers had decided that it was hot enough to cook an egg on the hood of a car. Hannah’s partner, Lisa Herman Beeseman, had volunteered her old black Ford for the test and the egg was duly cracked on the hood. After twelve minutes in the blazing sun, the yolk was still a bit runny, but the white was definitely cooked. Since no one wanted to stand around in the heat any longer to wait for the yolk to solidify, the dozen or so customers who’d trooped out to the parking lot to watch had declared the experiment a success.

Hannah rolled up one leg of the panty hose and glanced over at him again. It seemed to her that he was smiling. “Watch it,” she warned. “I don’t know if you can laugh or not, but if you even look amused, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” She paused to choose the most effective threat. “I’ll put you on a diet!”

“Rrrowwww!” The twenty-three pound orange and white tomcat , who was perched on top of her dresser, let out a howl.

“That’s right. A diet. And that means no more salmon-flavored, fish-shaped kitty treats. So if I were you, I’d be very careful!”

Hannah gave a little nod of satisfaction as Moishe turned his head away. She wasn’t sure if he’d understood her words, or simply reacted to the tone in her voice, but the desired effect was the same. As she looked down at the rolled sock in her hand, she thought about how much she hated to put on panty hose. The way she saw it, she had two choices. She could stretch out on the bed on her back, raise the panty hose up in the air, and try to thrust both feet into the sock parts at the same time. That required coordination she wasn’t sure she possessed. The second method was to sit on the edge of the bed, lean over and place one foot in the sock part, pull the panty hose up part way, and then try to get her other foot in. Either way required perfect balance and the skill of a contortionist.

“Gotta do it,” she said, deciding to try the second method. But just as she began to thrust her right foot into the toe of the sock, the doorbell chimed.

There was a ripping noise that sounded very loud to Hannah’s ears, and she let out an exasperated expletive that she would never have used around her two nieces. Her toe had poked completely through the sock part and there was no way she could wear these pantyhose now. It was a good thing she’d bought an extra pair.

Hannah reached for her slippers and glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was only six-fifteen and her sister wasn’t due to pick her up until seven. Barring some kind of family emergency or national disaster, there was no way Andrea would be forty-five minutes early.

The doorbell pealed again and Hannah stood up. Salesmen weren’t allowed in her condo complex, but sometimes one slipped past the guard at the kiosk. It could also be a neighbor with a problem and now that she was a member of the homeowner’s association board, she had a duty to listen. As she hurried down the carpeted hallway with Moishe at her heels, she thought about how interruptions always seemed to come at precisely the wrong time. But was there a right time for interruptions? She really wasn’t sure.

Hannah glanced down at her cat as they arrived at the door. She was hoping that Moishe would give her some sort of clue to the identity of the person standing outside the door. “Who is it?” she asked him in a whisper.

If ever a cat could shrug, Moishe did. But there were other signs that told Hannah something about their visitor. His ears weren’t back against his head, and he didn’t seem agitated in any other way. That meant it couldn’t possibly be her mother. Delores Swensen was not Moishe’s favorite person and she had several pairs of snagged silk stockings to prove it.

“Okay, it’s not Mother,” she whispered. “And it can’t be Norman. He’s my date for the party, but he’s working late at the dental clinic and he said he’d meet me there.”

Moishe moved closer to the door and the end of his tail began to flick in excitement. It was definitely someone he knew. Hannah was about to unlock the door to see for herself, when she remembered that she should check the peephole.

One glance and Hannah’s mouth dropped open. It was Andrea! She unlocked the door in a rush and pulled it open. “What’s wrong?” she asked the second she saw her sister’s worried expression.

“Everything!” Andrea exclaimed, stepping in.

“Bethie’s okay, isn’t she? And Bill? Tracey?”

“They’re all fine. Mother called and told me to get right over here.” Andrea shut the door behind her. “I didn’t even have time to finish my French braid.”

“You can do it in the guest bathroom. The light’s good and there’s a vanity in there.” Hannah stopped speaking as a dire possibility occurred to her. “Mother’s all right, isn’t she?”

“Mother’s fine. She’s worried about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. She wanted me to get right over here and give you the news in person before anyone else told you about it.”

“What news?”

“Bad news.”

“Is anyone sick? Or injured? Or . . . or dead?” Hannah felt her heart rate soar at the possibility.

“No. Nothing like that. You’d better sit down, Hannah. It’s shocking.”

“What’s shocking?”

“The bad news.”

Hannah sat down on the couch. Andrea was so agitated, she wasn’t making much sense, but if she sat down it might have a calming effect. “Okay, I’m sitting. Now tell me.”

“You’ve got to promise not to get too upset.”

“Why should I get upset? I don’t even know what you’re talking about yet.”

“All right then.” Andrea took a deep breath. “She’s back!”

“Who’s back?”

“Her! Mother and I just don’t know what to do! We never thought we’d see her again, but she’s back and she’s staying out at the Lake Eden Inn with Roger Dalworth. Sally called to tell Mother. But that’s not the worst part of it. Sally told Mother that she’s coming to the grand opening with Roger tonight!”

“Sally’s coming to the opening with Roger?”

“No! She’s coming to the opening with Roger. And that’s why I had to get right over here to warn you.”

“Thanks, but I still don’t know who you’re talking about.” Hannah grabbed her sister’s arm and pulled her down on the couch. “Take a deep breath and calm down.”

“I can’t! Tonight is going to be a nightmare. If I didn’t have to go, I wouldn’t, but I have to go because I’m selling the condos for Roger. And it’ll be even worse for you. I just don’t know how we’re going to get through it with her there!”

“Who’s her?” Hannah asked, doing her best not to sound exasperated at Andrea’s overuse of pronouns.

“Doctor Bev! She’s back in town! And Sally thinks she’s dead set on revenge!”