"Maybe someday you three gals can get together again," Harry said. "That might be fun, wouldn't it, sweetheart?"

"Yes, it would," Lorelei said with a smile that didn't come anywhere within a long block of her beautiful eyes.

"Sure," I said, imagining Harry and me witnessing as Lorelei and Esme tossed verbal bombs at each other, leaving us splattered with the resulting damaged egos.

"We could have a party?" Harry's eyes lit up.

"Absolutely no parties," Lorelei said.

"A dinner, darlin', not a party per se."

"There are no visits planned," I said, hoping to put an end to it.

After all those years of being a captain of industry, Harry must have been desperate for things to keep him busy and yet still leave him time to dote on his fragile and difficult wife. An imaginary visit from my mother for instance.

Lorelei said nothing, got to her feet, and led the way. Two minutes later all three of us were standing in front of the closet in a third bedroom on the second floor. This one seemed to be a room given over to clothing. There was an oversize ironing board and a Rowenta iron, as well as a steamer and a huge three-sided mirror. I couldn't imagine Lorelei steaming anything herself, but surely she had people to do those things for her.

She sat in the upholstered chair and waited. I opened the door. As in the bedroom, clothing was jammed inside. Everything in there would have required steaming the minute it came out.

Harry said, "More coffee?"

We both shook our heads. I was finally going to do what I'd come for.

"Tell me, Lorelei. Do you wear all these clothes?"

"Of course."

I could clearly see price tags still dangling, so I knew this wasn't true. "Do you think you will wear them this coming fall and winter?"

"I'd like them available in case I want them. They all have some value to me. I don't think I'll give any of them away."

I nodded.

"And I don't want to sell any of them."

"Right. So are you happy the way things are going here?"

She jerked her head to stare at me. "What do you mean?"

"Perhaps the closets suit you the way they are? Maybe you just need more closets or racks to hang things so they won't be crushed. That would be very easy to do, and it wouldn't take any time. This room might be perfect for a few racks."

"I never liked racks."

"I can understand that. They have a very temporary feeling to them."

"Worse than that. They remind me of modeling. You know, this whole thing is giving me a headache. I have to go back to bed."

Harry watched helplessly as she left the room, graceful yet listless. Every move a slap in the face.

I said, "I am sorry, Harry. I don't think Lorelei's ready for it yet."

"You're probably right, Charlotte honey. It's frustrating, but I can't think what to do anymore."

"Well, maybe she needs more closets built. You could get in a good carpenter and line the walls with them. Maybe use mirrored door on some so the room doesn't get too claustrophobic. Lorelei would have to agree, of course."

I was actually hoping the project would end at that very minute. I could get on with my life and not have to come here and feel the energy sucked from my mind and heart.

"We'll try that. I know this is hard on you and I know you have troubles of your own, but I think it is helping." He flashed me an appreciative smile. "Would you like to have a look at Anabel's room?"

No, I thought, I don't want to see Anabel's room. It's going to be a shrine to her and another totally strange manifestation of this family.

"Please," he said. "I'd love to show you. We'll give Lorelei a minute to settle in before we go."

I figured that meant time for the next sedative, if that's what Lorelei was on, to take effect. Lorelei's door was closed, no light showing from under it as I followed Harry along the long, softly carpeted hallway. I realized that while the first floor was all polished stone, wood, and glass, the entire second floor was buffered in this pale silver carpeting.

Harry led the way. "It's at the end of the hallway. I said 'room,' but it was more like a suite, designed especially for her. It had a separate entrance so she could come and go like any adult. Her own bath, of course, and a dressing room like her mama's. Well, maybe not like her mama's, but you get the picture. Then she had a little sittin' room and her bedroom. Perfect little apartment. Lorelei never understood why she didn't live here for the rest of her life. But Anabel always wanted to be useful, and she felt she had to be out in the world to do that."

That gave me pause. Anabel hadn't gone far away, or so I'd thought. But I didn't know that much about her.

"Where did she live when she left, Harry?"

"She got a little condo downtown, practically on the river. She had a trust fund from my daddy. She didn't want us to help her, thought she should make it on her own. But it had to be by the river. Both my girls like to see the Hudson. Anabel loved the water even more than her mama does."

He opened the door and the light made me blink. I suppose I'd been expecting a dim and quiet space like Lorelei's. Anabel's face glowed from a collection of photographs on a wall montage. Her graduation photo showed a wide smile, a square jaw, and honest, serious brown eyes. She was all Harry, sturdy and sensible. I could see nothing of Lorelei about her except the soft blond hair. Not a girly girl, not a clothes horse, not a flirt. Just a nice young woman who wanted to be useful. And maybe she'd also wanted a life.

I stepped forward to stare at a shot of Anabel in hiking gear, and another one of her in a sea kayak. I stared at a group photo in the inside of a bar or a restaurant. Anabel was in the middle, laughing. Dimitri was clowning around for the camera. Gwen wore a forced smile, and to the far side was a striking dark-haired girl with a nose ring. She looked steaming mad. Jewel?

Harry said, "I put up a lot of these photos after she . . . I wouldn't want you to think she was vain. She wasn't at all, and she never would have kept all these around in frames. I found a lot of them in her condo when I went to close it down. It was a side of Anabel that we didn't get to know. I think we should have. But I wanted to see them. Her mother can't bear to see the pictures yet. She doesn't come in here."

I waited until his voice settled. He said, "We still keep her things. That's why Lorelei wouldn't want you to clear them out. We have to wait until she can at least look at them. I should never have suggested that you take care of Anabel's closet."

We have a mantra in the business: The artifact is not the person. That scarf is not your mother. The recliner is not your father. The pearl choker is not your grandmother. There are many strategies to help people deal with what someone else has left behind. It's also the hardest part of organizing. People don't want to let go.

Harry knew that if Anabel's clothing went to someone who could use it, it would enhance her memory, not diminish it. From what I knew about Anabel, she'd want to share. Of course, the decision no longer rested with her.

Even so, that wasn't why he'd brought me there. He wanted me to see how much he'd lost. How much they'd both lost. I was beginning to understand, even though I didn't have much room in my heart for extra pain on that particular day.

After a long moment of silence, Harry closed the door and we walked slowly side by side along the corridor, down the remarkable stairs and to the front door. As I said good-bye he squeezed my hand. "I do not know what to do," he said.

"Neither do I." I returned the squeeze.

I am an organizer, not a clinician. I can help them improve their homes and their lives, sometimes even their marriages and careers. But there was not a damn thing I could do to help Lorelei Beauchamp. Or Harry.

I used my cell to check with the hospital. Pepper had been moved from ICU but still was not allowed visitors. I glanced at my watch. I decided to catch Ramona before lunch. I started up the rental and burned rubber to the library. I spotted a streak of blue in the reference stack and pounced. Ramona whirled, making her latest dangling silver earrings clink.

"I'm sorry to hear about Pepper," Ramona said. "I know you two go way back."

I nodded.

"Nick, too. Even if he is a rotten little jerk."

Again, nodding seemed appropriate.

She said, "Of course that is my own personal view and does not reflect the views of the administration of the Woodbridge Public Library. As you can see, we are up to our patooties in not taking a stand."

I could hear a rustling of raised eyebrows among the denizens of the reference department.

"I have your clippings about that other matter. Everything I could think of that might have some connection, and some stuff that might never make it online. I made copies so you don't have to sit here with people breathing down your neck."

"Thanks," I said. "And I want to ask you something. You're plugged into the community resources. I'm interested in finding out what's available for women who've been physically abused by their husbands. Do you have-"

"Sure do. Got a brochure, got some contact names. Have some social workers to contact and a shelter. I'm assuming it's not for yourself unless those dogs of yours are getting out of hand."

"Not for me. And in fact, maybe not for anyone. I'm not convinced that abuse is the issue at all. It's pretty awkward, but I can't stand around and do nothing in case it is."

"I hear you. It's a tightrope. But we still have to do the right thing. I'll get that information for you."

I felt a bit better taking a step forward. Normally I would have discussed something like this with Pepper, gotten an "off-the-record" answer. For obvious reasons, that approach wouldn't work in this case.

"Let me know," Ramona said, "if you need help or support in that other matter. You can count on me."

I thanked Ramona and headed home to read the clippings about the death of Anabel Beauchamp.

I knew she meant it. And I figured she was well aware that I was enquiring on Pepper's behalf.

One of the best things about running your own business is having flexibility in your schedule. As much as I missed having the normal weekends that other people enjoyed, I did like the fact that I was in charge. And lunch didn't mean gulping a protein bar one-handedly at my desk while working spreadsheets with the other. I might make a lot less money as a one-person business and I might actually work longer hours, but I always made a point of putting Friend Time on my To Do lists. I always made sure I had Dog Time, too, as if Truffle and Sweet Marie let me get away without that.

As I pulled into the driveway to give the dogs a quick walk, a cuddle, and a seat-of-the-pants bit of training, I spotted Jack's bicycle near his front door. I realized he was at the shop with a most likely wailing infant and I hadn't given either of them a moment's thought. I am, after all, my mother's daughter. I took care of Truffle and Sweet Marie, said to hell with the barking training, and tore off to CYCotics to see what was needed. This particular "friend time" wasn't on the list and it didn't need to be. I was headed there anyway. No point in phoning as Jack doesn't always answer. Part of that laid-back cycle shop thing. Must come from the same place as the Hawaiian shirts.

I puffed into CYCotics carrying a container with three panini sandwiches-prosciutto and Asiago, to be exact-and two large cups of coffee. My cell phone was vibrating as I struggled to open the door, but I didn't have a free hand to answer it. I had the envelope from Ramona in my briefcase. I don't know why I was expecting a tsunami of diapers, overturned equipment, a squalling baby, and a frazzled Jack. I felt vaguely disappointed by the air of calm and quiet. There were even a few male customers quietly drooling over some special type of alloy wheels in the corner. A woman accompanying one of them appeared to be drooling over Little Nick.

Jack hung up his phone and gave me a startled look when I arrived. That was followed by a whispered, "Shh, just got him down for his nap."

Huh.

"What's going to happen, Charlotte? Did you hear the news?"

Of course I hadn't. I'd been busy rushing about. I set out the sandwiches on the desk and then asked, "What?"

"Maybe it's not the right time to talk about it. Margaret just called. She was looking for you, but you didn't answer. Frank told her the police believe that Nick was the person who did this. Pepper's injuries are consistent with being hit with a baton. They've found Nick's with his prints on it and traces of . . . Pepper's blood."

The full horror of that showed in Jack's eyes and I am sure in mine, too.

Jack continued. "He's no longer a person of interest. There's an actual warrant for his arrest now. Pepper hasn't regained consciousness yet, but she's out of surgery. Her parents will be arriving from Florida to take Little Nick. Pepper wouldn't want that. She doesn't have anything to do with her parents. So we can't let that happen."

"You're right. She'd never want him to live with the same man who gave her regular beatings when she was growing up and the woman who let it happen." I'd already lost interest in the food. "I'd better call Margaret."

"Already done. That's why I was talking to her," Jack said. "I remember Pepper's bruises. I know how she grew up. I couldn't take a chance."

"I can stay here with you, until Margaret shows up."

"Never mind. She'll be looking for the best way to postpone handing over Little Nick until Pepper is able to speak for herself. She'll find an interim solution. Nick's parents would be better. No one made his life miserable when he was a kid."

I thought back to Nick's mother, a bighearted, big-armed, booming woman. No one would ever give her a hard time, and no one gave her kids a hard time, either. She and Nick's dad had retired to North Carolina, and I knew their health wasn't great, but I was betting that they were also on their way back to Woodbridge. But considering that Nick was under suspicion, I figured there wasn't much chance the child welfare authorities would hand over Little Nick to them. And they would be concerned about finding Nick, too.

"I know I won't be able to keep looking after him," Jack said. "Much as I'd like to. Even you don't believe this was a good spot for a baby. Margaret says I should take him to Sally's and she'll apply for an interim custody arrangement. Seeing as there are four healthy happy kids there and Benjamin's a pillar of the community, she's confident that might happen. Especially as she can document that Pepper's estranged from her parents."

"What a tough situation. But if it's any consolation, Jack, I've had second thoughts about the wisdom of taking a baby to a bike shop. I just had to open my mind and my eyes."

"I appreciate that. Are you going to eat any of those sandwiches?"

I always plan ahead for Jack's voracious appetite. "Go ahead. I'm not hungry. I'm going to look over these clippings about Anabel."

"What's the point of that? You don't still think there's something suspicious about it, do you?" Jack asked before chowing down on one of the panini.

I turned to the clippings I had brought in with me. "I believe Nick knows something and whatever it is has him falling apart."

Jack said, "Can you do me a favor later?"

"Sure."

"I have some extra blankets at home in my closet, and I thought it might be nice if I could put the little dude down on the floor and let him work on his crawling technique without him getting splinters from these old wooden floors. Can you drop them off to me if you have a chance? I don't want to close the shop when business is getting better. I think the little dude is a good luck charm."

"I am going to try to see Pepper, but I'm glad to bring them afterward if you're not in a big hurry."

At that moment the door jingled and sure enough another young couple strode in. They looked like they knew exactly what they wanted in an overpriced bike. Leaving Little Nick happily burbling at colorful bike parts, Jack ambled over to help them make that happen. I turned my mind to the clippings again. I had only a couple of minutes to peruse the articles. The file from Ramona was what I would have expected: an obituary for Anabel, an article about her accidental death from the local paper. A lot of coverage that resulted for her famous mother. But there were also pieces about the work she was doing prior to her death. A couple of newspaper photos and a printout from a website with her photo. In the newspaper she was wearing a plaid shirt and jeans and grinning as a new grant for the youth program was announced by city officials. Even subtracting the genius of newspaper photography, here was someone who enjoyed what she was doing. She was glowing. I shuddered when I turned over a photo of the watery foundation where she'd drowned. It reminded me of huge, gaping jaws.

I reminded myself that overwrought reactions were useless. I needed to have an unbiased, unemotional understanding of what had happened. My eyes widened as I spotted something that might help. A clipping from the local paper contained a familiar name and a new bit of information: Brad Dykstra had been one of the paramedics who had tried to save Anabel.

15.

Consider your quality clothing in a new light. Can you update items by shortening them or taking them in? Factor in the cost of simple alterations to see if they're worth it.

My attempt to talk my way past hospital staff to check on Pepper ended in failure. The regular WINY updates didn't help. So I was in need of a smile when I pulled up at Wendy's place. But I wasn't expecting the dress that provoked it.

"She'd hidden it," Lilith shrieked. "Can you believe that?" She pointed to the object in question first and then to Wendy, who was sitting on the bed doing her best to maintain her good nature.

One look at the yellow dress with its eighties sleeves and full skirt and I could indeed believe that someone would hide it. Of course, Wendy was the client, and I thought I might be a bit more discreet than Lilith. Comes with age and having a business.

"Her own son ratted her out!" Lilith was having a good time.

Wendy wore a sheepish grin, but was she having that much fun?