Preston snapped her fingers. "Your cheeks."

"What about them?" I asked as they heated.

"They have color."

"That's it," the woman said. "You look ... healthy. Yesterday you looked a little pale, if you don't mind me saying."

"Sickly," Preston added.

"Gee, thanks." I hadn't looked that bad. Now this morning ... I'd looked-and felt-like death warmed up, spit out. Until those tingles in Orlinda Batista's office. There was no explaining that, so I said, "What are you doing here?"

Preston plopped her bag on the counter. "Remember how I went to see Eva Denham-Foster yesterday about the Lone Ranger's hat and she sent me to see her son Matthias? Well, Matthias said he gave most of the things to his son, Craig, who didn't want them and gave them to his pastor for the church bazaar."

"You were busy yesterday," I said.

Madeline nodded in agreement.

"Not as busy as you." Preston crossed her arms. "I heard about the break-in and Tristan's arrest. Why didn't you call me?"

"When? In between finding Tristan in my bedroom, Sean's heart attack, or the FBI questioning?"

"Oh my," Madeline said.

The color drained from Preston's face. "Sean had an attack? Oh my God. I didn't know."

She rushed forward and threw her arms around me in a bear hug I found oddly comforting.

"Are you okay? Is he? Is he in the hospital? What happened? Did you freak out?"

"Preston, breathe!"

She gulped air.

"That," Madeline said, pointing at Preston, "is how you looked yesterday. Well, without the hyperventilating and the ... are those hives?"

Preston scratched. "I get them when I'm upset."

"I looked that bad yesterday?" I asked.

Madeline nodded.

"Hey!" Preston cried, scratching her neck.

This time I hugged her. "Everything's fine. Sean's fine." Kind of. For now. "And you'll be your pretty self again as soon as the splotches go away."

Looking up at me, she said, "You think I'm pretty?"

"Yes." Smiling, I added, "What happened with the hat, Preston?"

She pulled it from the bag. The hives were already fading. "I went and talked to the church pastor, and he actually remembered the hat. When it was donated, he recognized the Medford Millinery tag and knew it would do better at a consignment shop than at the bazaar. He brought it here."

Madeline had picked up the hat. "It was right after Thanksgiving. I remember it well because it's not often we get custom-made hats in stock and I was thinking, ha ha, that I was thankful it would bring in a big profit."

"Do you recall who purchased it?" Preston asked.

Madeline looked at me, and chills slid down my spine. I knew what she was going to say before the words came out of her mouth.

"It was Mac Gladstone."

I found a parking spot on Beacon, not far from the office. I took this to be an omen that the rest of my day would be trouble free for a change. I fed the meter and crossed the street to walk the sidewalk along the Common perimeter.

Squirrels bustled about, mostly chasing after unsuspecting tourists with food in their hands. There were dozens of people roaming around, a good majority of them homeless. I paused along the iron fence and searched the crowd for anyone who looked like Mac.

Surreptitiously I looked over my shoulder. A car with dark windows had parked a block away. I'd picked up the tail as soon as I hit the highway. Agents Thomas and St. John weren't being very careful about following me, and I had to wonder what they wanted. Tristan was already behind bars. Unless he was now Houdini, he wouldn't be bothering me anymore.

As the wind whipped my hair into a frenzy, I drew the collar of my coat up and walked slowly along, wishing I suddenly heard the squeals of an excited crowd, saw twenty-dollar bills rustling along the ground like dried-out leaves.

Mac was the Lone Ranger.

It had been hard to believe at first. I thought I was going to have to take Preston to the hospital when she made the connection. Then, when I told her about my reading with Orlinda, Preston had broken out in hives again.

But the more I thought about it, I kept coming back to why not Mac? He was rich, dying, and living his final days the way he wanted-by giving his money away. When Rick Hayes found out what Mac had been doing, he was going to go, as Preston would say, apeshit. I was rather looking forward to that.

The hives had lasted until she received a phone call from the South Shore Beacon that sent her running for her car.

There had been a federal raid at A Clean Start this morning. SWAT teams, tear gas, the whole shebang. When no stolen goods were found, the FBI still closed the Laundromat until further notice. Preston was on her way to cover the protests that had broken out in Roxbury, where thousands of people had taken to the streets to support A Clean Start and its attempts to revitalize the neighborhood when no one else seemed to care. The mayor had already held a news conference about working with the people to get the situation resolved as soon as possible, mentioning that A Clean Start had broken some zoning laws and lacked proper permits, which only fueled the crowd's fire. Preston couldn't wait to jump into the thick of things.

As I walked along, I pictured little Nessie's face and my heart hurt. What would the neighborhood do without A Clean Start helping them out? I held on to a tiny thread of hope that the protests would bring the kind of publicity the neighborhood needed. More people would want to help, to step up in Tristan's stead. I hoped via legitimate means.

I took one more look around. I didn't see Mac, and the homeless man who liked to rhyme wasn't around, either.

Tucking my head against the cold, I headed to the office. Suz was at the window, binoculars in hand. "I've been watching all day. No sign of the Lone Ranger. Teddy and I talked about it, and we're going to start saving the money I catch for a down payment on a house. We're tired of renting."

"How much do you need?" Would Mac even make another appearance as the Lone Ranger now that he had Rufus? I imagined the rambunctious retriever chasing the pigeons in the park and smiled. He'd have a blast. But there was no disguising the coppery dog as a horse named Silver.

"About ten thousand."

I sat on the sofa. "That's a lot of twenties."

"I know, so don't expect me to give any more of it away to panhandlers."

"He wasn't panhandling. He was observing."

She set the binoculars down and turned. Her prepare-for-a-lecture scowl quickly faded when she took a good look at me. "Wow," she said. "You look great. Did you just get a facial?"

"No."

"Did you get lucky last night?"

"Suz!"

"Well, if not, then you must just be relieved that Tristan Rourke is in jail."

At first I was, but now ... I wasn't as relieved as I should have been. Mostly for one reason only. Sean. Now that I knew why he took Meaghan's case, I wanted a happy ending for Tristan Rourke. Which was impossible. One way or another, he was staying in jail for a long, long time.

"I can't believe Meaghan Archibald is offering to post his bail," Suz said.

"She's what?" I couldn't have heard her right.

Suz grabbed the binoculars for a quick check of the Common and then turned back to me. "Well, you know how Andrew and I take our coffee breaks together?"

I nodded.

"According to him, Meaghan was waiting for Sean this morning when he opened the office. She'd heard Tristan had been arrested and demanded to know if Sean had proved him innocent yet. When Sean admitted he couldn't find any evidence to clear Tristan, she was on the phone in an instant, securing one of the best defense attorneys in the city to represent Tristan. Then she set off for the jail to see if she could visit him."

So much for my effort to keep them apart, protect her. "How did Andrew know all this?"

"Overheard it. The walls are apparently pretty thin up there."

I blushed. I'd have to remember that. "There's no way Tristan will get bail. Not with his history."

"I agree," Suz said, "but Meaghan is a determined woman. Plus, she has the money to back her up."

"She does?" I asked.

"Her adopted father is Martin Archibald. He's a doctor, but his family owns Archibald Industries, who, as you know, could give the Wal-Mart Waltons a run for their money."

I let that sink in. Meaghan had never said a word. "How did you know?"

"Andrew."

"He's just a font of information."

"Cute, too, with that little lock of hair that falls onto his forehead. Anyway, he was a business major at BU-he recognized the name and had a hunch. He Googled Meaghan, and sure enough there she was. She's an heiress worth billions."

The phone rang and Suz jumped up from her perch on the windowsill to answer it.

As I listened to her make an appointment for a new client, I thought about Meaghan and felt a deep sadness settle over me like a heavy blanket. In her case, love wouldn't conquer all. Life's little twists of fate were sometimes so cruel. If not for Meaghan's suicide attempt, she never would have met Martin Archibald and would not be one of the richest young women in America. If not for Anthony Spero lying to Tristan about Meaghan's "death," he never would have lashed out, which had earned him a stint in a maximum-security prison and fueled a career as a lifetime criminal.

One was adopted into a loving, wealthy family.

One became a criminal mastermind who robbed the rich to help the poor.

Love wasn't enough to bring them back together.

Maybe Preston was right-Tristan and Meaghan's story was more like Romeo and Juliet than I wanted to believe.

Suz hung up. She checked the Common again before saying, "Sean came down a little bit ago to see if you were in yet. He's in a bad, bad mood. Do you want some coffee?" Suz asked me on her way to the kitchenette.

"No thanks. I'm cutting back."

Her eyes widened. "One night at your mother's and now you've gone all health-food nut on me, too?"

"Not quite."

"Well, I might be gung ho for that Zumba class, but I draw the line at coffee," she mumbled as she walked away.

I heard footsteps on the stairs outside the door and jumped up, hoping it was Sean. I hadn't seen him since this morning and was suddenly desperate to lay eyes on him, maybe take his pulse.

I stuck my head out the door. Catherine Murphy was coming down the steps, one hand in an enormous handbag, rooting around the (seemingly bottomless) depths.

"Car keys?" I asked.

She smiled as she stepped onto the landing. "I can never find them in this thing. It might be time to downsize."

I leaned against the railing, held on to the newel post. Up close, she looked pretty darn good for the week she'd had. "I'm sorry about Anthony."

"Don't be," she said, her lips thinning.

"I don't understand."

"It's terrible, but I'm glad he's gone. He was mean, abusive, and downright nasty. He made Mary Ellen's life miserable."

"Why did she stay with him? Why not get a divorce?"

"She took a vow," Catherine said simply. "For better or worse. She suffered through a lot of worse."

I couldn't help comparing Mary Ellen to Mum. Whereas Mum bailed on a relationship whenever things turned bad, Mary Ellen had stuck it out. Mum was happy. Mary Ellen had spent most her life unhappy. I decided I needed to reassess my definition of "dysfunction."

Catherine pulled out a set of keys from her purse, jangled them triumphantly.

"Did you come alone?" I looked up the stairs, fully expecting to see Mary Ellen coming down.

"Mary Ellen's at work."

"So soon?" I asked.

"We both went back yesterday. We can't find it in ourselves to mourn."

"What about a funeral?"

"Tony was cremated and his ashes will be scattered in front of his favorite pub. Appropriate, don't you think?"

I didn't think she was really looking for an answer. "How did the meeting with Sean go? Did you see Meaghan?"

She looked up the stairs, toward the SDI offices. "Meaghan was gone by the time I arrived. Honestly, it was a waste of my time coming here, but I couldn't refuse Meaghan's request. I'm truly sorry for Meaghan, but there's nothing I can do to help her at this point. Tristan Rourke did Mary Ellen a favor as far as I'm concerned and I'm not necessarily of the belief that he should be punished for it, but there is nothing I can do to help him. The course that he's on is one of his own making. Stealing a car ... running Tony over. Crime is in his nature. Maybe it's best for Meaghan it turned out this way. She can move on, find a nice boy to settle down with. Because with Tristan she'll be looking at a lifetime of pain. Men don't change."