"That's one of our specialties, ma'am," Lilith said.

Once I took the "before" shot, it didn't take long to empty the closet. Soon the bed was piled high, and Wendy was breathless and laughing. There was a slightly hysterical edge to her laughter.

I said, "Remember the key questions?"

She rhymed them off and added, "Does it make me feel fat? Old? Dumpy?"

I waited long enough to see how it would go. Wendy went to reach into the middle of the pile. I said, "It's best not to cherry-pick. It adds to the time. Take the first item and make a decision. Then the second and so on. It's good to have a buddy to bounce your reactions off. Your buddy, Lilith, will help you keep on track."

The first item was a stained T-shirt from a PTA fund-raiser in 1999. Lilith held it up.

Wendy hesitated.

Lilith rolled her eyes. "I hope you're kidding. Animal rescue!"

Wendy gave a squeal as it went into the bin for WAG'D. The second item was a pair of sprung leggings. They joined the T-shirt. I leaned back and watched Wendy and Lilith whip through a dozen items. Only one was a keeper: a crisp white shirt, never worn.

"Does it fit?" That's always my first question.

"It does."

"And you like it?"

She nodded.

"That's good, because almost everyone's wardrobe needs at least one."

"It's new because I don't have anything to wear it with," Wendy said.

"When we're done, we'll see what else turns up that might look smashing with it. Charlotte will give you some advice there," Lilith told her. "You'll be surprised."

The shirt went into the Keep pile.

"This is kind of fun," Wendy said.

I agreed. I figured it was way more fun than I was going to have dealing with Lorelei's perfect wardrobe in her perfect and perfectly depressing house and the even more perfectly disturbing belief that her daughter had been murdered.

9.

If it doesn't make you feel good, it definitely doesn't belong in your closet.

I toodled home after Wendy's, still feeling good because that project was going well and in part because I'd had all those cookies. I knew Wendy and Lilith would accomplish a lot in the short time they had. I walked the dogs, chastised them for barking at a small child, and sent them back to the sofa to resume their nap while I changed to go to Lorelei's for one.

On the way there, I found myself once again driving slowly. I was ahead of schedule and, whatever else, I didn't want to be early for the Beauchamps. I drifted past Stewart's, hoping to see Nick scoring a coffee. No luck. I cruised around to Tang's. But there was no sign of Nick attempting to con Margaret's mother out of free chips, another regular pastime.

I had one more spot to try: Hank's, the greasy spoon that Nick had been hanging out in since he was a teenager. Sure enough, there was the Woodbridge Police Services black-and-white parked outside.

I peered in and spotted him, alone at a table, staring morosely at a hamburger and a pile of fries. This would be my chance to push back a bit and find out what he knew about Anabel's death. I tapped on the dingy front window. I thought Nick's beautiful head would hit the ceiling and dislodge the flaking paint. I saw panic fill his eyes. He did his best to cover it up, but he was still pale under his rugged-guy tan when I approached his table. "Ow, Charley, what are you doing?"

I tried not to inhale the smell of ancient grease that has always been the signature scent of Hank's. Even if Wendy hadn't stuffed us full of snacks, nothing would induce me to eat anything I could hear sizzling on the grungy grill.

I said, "Turnabout is fair play."

"Ha-ha." Nick tried a sort of smile.

I could tell that whatever else was going, Nick didn't want me to know that he'd had a scare. Wouldn't want that to slip out during casual girl talk with Pepper.

"I'll try to help you with whatever you are worried about, Nick. But I also need a favor."

"Worried? I'm not worried about anything, Charley."

"Tell it to someone who believes you."

"There's nothing you could do to help me, and you shouldn't be involved in this. I'll work it out without involving anyone I care about."

"Okay. If you change your mind and need to talk about whatever 'this' is, you know where to find me. In the meantime, I need to know why you thought there might have been something funny about Anabel Beauchamp's death."

"I don't know what you are talking about." Of course, the fact Nick turned white put the lie to his words.

"Well, to refresh your memory, you mentioned there might have been something 'funny' about that death. I assume you meant disturbing or unusual and not humorous."

He shivered. "Come on, Charley. That was terrible. There wasn't anything funny about it."

"But there must have been something that felt wrong."

"Hey, they bumped me down from detective because they said I get stuff wrong. Maybe this was one of those things. Anyway, it was an accident."

"Why don't you tell me about it, Nick? Explain what seemed odd. Maybe you didn't get it wrong. I could-"

Nick banged the table, causing the dishes to clatter. "Do you have a death wish?"

My jaw dropped. I managed to shake my head no anyway.

"Me neither. And that means you have to stay away from me."

"You mean that I might be in danger by chatting with you?"

"Well, duh."

"But you just-"

"You keep pushing me, Charley. I have to warn you."

"Warn me about what exactly?"

"Girl talk wouldn't be enough to save you, Charley. You gotta believe me. This is serious."

"But-"

"Leave it alone, Charley. It's none of your business. And don't be around me. It's bad enough I have to worry about Pepper and Little Nick." He turned his handsome head and went back to staring at his hamburger and the pile of fries rapidly cooling on the plate next to his coffee.

As I headed back to the Miata, I turned back to Nick again. The waitress scowled at me through the window.

On the road out to the Beauchamps', I thought about Nick and his reaction. Pepper was right. He was definitely jumpy. And he was very worried about Pepper, too. What kind of problem could he have that would have him afraid for her? And what about her reaction? She knew his weaknesses. He wasn't very bright. He was lazy and shallow and vain. He was useless around the house and unlikely to rise in the police. He couldn't resist women or trucks. But she'd known his flaws before she married him. Whatever she was worried about was much more serious. To the best of my knowledge, Nick didn't gamble. Didn't have the concentration, I'd once joked. He didn't do drugs. Wouldn't want to mess up his body or end up with bad hair. If it was a woman, Pepper would have gone after her and made her wish she'd never been born.

Maybe I was wrong about those things. Did Nick have a gambling problem? Was he being threatened by someone he owed money to? Could he have been stupid enough to get into drugs at this age? He wouldn't have been the first person I'd known who'd done that. Or, despite Pepper's protests, was it a woman? Someone with a blackmailing streak or a murderous husband?

Of course, he'd said it was none of my business. But whatever was wrong in Nick's life was very serious, and if he'd put Pepper and the baby in the middle of it, this truly was my business. Especially since after all these years, she'd come to me for help. I wondered if I should talk to Tierney about it. Too bad I didn't have even a scrap of useful information to share with him or with Pepper as a result of this talk. I didn't think I'd get far on my gut feelings.

This time Lorelei was not only out of bed but also dressed and in full makeup. I was glad I'd taken the time to change from my closet-busting clothes into a pin-striped cotton jacket and trim gray pants and my teal blue heels. I hoped the jacket would give me a bit of authority with Lorelei, something so far sadly lacking.

"Harry's been hovering," she said with a blase laugh. "His hand's been over the Veuve Clicquot since noon."

From far away, Harry said, "That's not at all true, Charlotte honey. But it does remind me that today's cocktail is a green dragon. Midori and bubbly."

How could these people get through the day if they were tossing back cocktails from noon on?

"I think Lorelei's ready."

"I am," she said.

I glanced at her and wondered if she'd taken some kind of mood-altering substance to get herself going on this day. If so, could a double slug of booze be anything but trouble in conjunction with it? On the other hand, Harry was crazy about Lorelei. He wouldn't risk doing anything that would harm her.

"Charlotte honey?"

"No, thanks." I was getting prissier by the minute. Was that what it meant to be over thirty? The next thing you knew, I'd be eating regular meals and exercising. Game over.

"All right then, but y'all let me know if you change your mind in a little bit."

"Sure thing."

Lorelei smiled slowly at me, the way you smile at the camera when your heart's not in it.

"Are you looking forward to our project?" I asked as Harry arrived with the drinks.

She lifted one shoulder in an elegant gesture of unconcern. "As much as I am looking forward to anything."

"Well, I hope it might be a bit of fun. Did you give any thought to the charity for donations?"

She glanced at her husband. "What was it again, Harry?"

"We do support Hope for Youth at Risk, because Anabel was so committed to it. But I don't know if they have a clothing resale shop. Do they, Charlotte?"

"I don't believe so. But there are lots of wonderful charities that do."

Lorelei interrupted. "If there is anything to donate. I'm not sure. All my things are in beautiful condition, so maybe not."

Harry gave her a startled glance. After all, she had seven closets crammed with high-end stuff. How could she begrudge a few cast-offs to the charity her own daughter had devoted her life to? Or any other charity for that matter. I reminded myself that Lorelei had been through a lot and perhaps that was why she was hanging on to what she could.

I whipped out the paperwork with a flourish. "I brought the contract with me. This might be a good time to have a look at it. You'll see the terms set out there. Because this is an unusual job with so many closets, I'll be charging by the hour, with a minimum number, in order to reserve enough time for you. My rates are on the last page. Take a look and see if it suits you. You should know what you're getting into and feel no pressure, Lorelei."

I've learned the hard way not to do anything past the initial consult without a contract. The consult is free if a contract comes out of it. Otherwise, it's a one-hour job at my top fee. At this rate, I figured I would be spending untold hours at the Beauchamps' and losing other clients as a result.

Lorelei shooed the contract away with a languid wave of her wrist. "Harry handles paperwork for me."

I found myself checking Harry's expression yet again. I wondered if he got tired of being the person who did everything. Or did it help him to keep busy? After all, he'd lost his daughter, too. Lorelei wasn't the only one with a heart full of grief. From what I'd observed, Harry had been the parent who was always there for Anabel.

But Harry kept any emotion off his face as he checked out the terms of my standard contract.

Conversation stopped and I sat, waiting in a room that seemed to be full of ghosts.

A minute later, Harry raised his head and said, "This is fair and comprehensive, Charlotte. I'll sign it right now. I see you've already signed both copies yourself."

I smiled at Harry. "Can you sign both copies, too, please?"

Lorelei was busy staring out the window at nothing. If her demeanor was any indication, it was going to be a long day. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I don't answer it when I am with clients, but I have to admit that I sure felt the urge. Instead, I turned to Harry and grasped for a conversational loophole. "I assume you have a closet, too?"

"Thank you for asking, Charlotte honey. I sure do."

"Let me know if you want me to have a look at it. I'd be glad to."

"You're welcome to check it out, but you won't find much of interest. Just the basics, hanging up, waiting for something to happen to get them out."

"Why don't we do that? And give Lorelei a moment with her thoughts."

I don't know if she even noticed us leave the room and walk up the long sculptural glass and metal staircase to the second floor. My cell phone vibrated again and again. Harry had his own room. The next one down from Lorelei's, but not connected by a door inside either room. Harry's room had an old southern elegance about it. Heavy, dark mahogany bedroom furniture that looked as though it might have been in the Beauchamp family for generations. A four-poster bed, a campaign desk. A gentleman's highboy wardrobe. All polished to a fine patina and neat as a pin. On the campaign desk was a fairly recent picture of Harry and Anabel laughing and eating cotton candy at what looked like the Woodbridge Fair. Anabel had a large pink blob on her nose, and Harry seemed to find that funny. Anabel was forever captured in that happy moment.

Harry turned out to be absolutely correct about his storage. His closet was spare and orderly. He had the minimum of elegant menswear wear, hung neatly. The space between each hanger was the width of two fingers. A dozen crisp white shirts, five suits, a handful of sport jackets and pants. A place for everything and everything in its place. Even down to the polished shoes on the shoe trees. I approved. You don't see much of that anymore.

Of course, seeing Harry's closet was all a ploy, and the ploy was entirely mine. I had to admit it wasn't unduly subtle, either. I wanted to talk to Harry out of Lorelei's hearing.

"Harry, I'd never make a living if everyone was like you. This is like a work of art. But you probably figured out, I'm not here about your closet."

"As you can tell by looking at me, I wasn't born yesterday, Charlotte honey."

"The thing is, I'm a bit worried about Lorelei. She doesn't seem to be . . . entirely in the moment."

"In the moment? No, Charlotte honey, Lorelei is never in the moment, as you call it."

"Never?"

"Not in the thirty-two years we've been together, thirty of 'em married, too. Did you know that?"