"Well..."

"That was no lie." His hand was resting on the top rail of the crib, and she placed hers gently atop it.

"Tell me about it," he said.

She leaned against him. "I went from one house to another, looking for someone to love me, and making sure I never found that person by being as obnoxious and as much a troublemaker as I could possibly be."

"You? That's hard to believe," Stan interrupted, his tone soft and soothing.

"Perhaps," she admitted. "It took me years to understand what I was doing, and I'm still not sure I do. Let's just say I was used to people sending me away because they didn't like me, and I didn't like them. But what if I found someone to love, and thought they loved me...and then they still sent me away? How could I cope? I was so afraid of that happening, of the rejection I'd feel, that I made sure it never did."

She went on to explain how, at age eighteen, the state stopped paying for her keep. Since her foster parents needed the income, she had to leave their home, her bed was no longer available to her. It never had been "hers," she realized. Nothing ever was.

She worked in Los Angeles a few years-first McDonald's, then a couple of waitressing jobs. Tired of it, getting nowhere, she moved to San Francisco and hooked up with some girls and guys who invited her to sleep on the floor of their flat in the Haight-Ashbury. The job situation, she quickly learned, was a lot worse than in L.A. She wasn't the only one bedding on the floor. Everyone who could contributed a little money toward the rent.

Things went on in that apartment she didn't like to think about, but she managed to stay out of everyone's way. It was a roof over her head, and that was all that mattered.

One day, Hannah was panhandling at Fisherman's Wharf when Gail Leer spotted her. Gail looked at her strangely, and Hannah later learned it was because she reminded Gail so much of her sister. Gail's husband owned the Athina, and she offered Hannah a job.

"It was surely nice of Gail to do all that for you," Stan said.

"She's a good person. I once asked her about it, and she said she and Eugene couldn't have children. If they had, they'd probably have a daughter my age, so I was taking the place of the child that never was. It was a strange thing for her to say, though, because I later learned they'd only been married about twelve years. I guess she was just trying to come up with an excuse for helping me."

Hannah dropped her hands from the crib and moved away from Stan. "I don't know what's come over me, jabbering about myself like this. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be such a bother."

"I'm glad you told me. Look, Kaitlyn's awake," he said. "Look at her smiling at us."

"She can't smile yet, Stan," Hannah said with a laugh as she picked up the baby and held her to her chest.

Unfortunately, as soon as she did that, all Stan could think about was that her b.r.e.a.s.t.s might start to leak, right there in front of him, and the previously tender moment vanished.

"Time for dinner," he said, and stumbled quickly into the kitchen, hoping to clear his head. He never realized women were so...drippy.

He found a frozen macaroni and cheese container and plopped it into the microwave at the same time as he dropped some hot dogs into a pot to boil.

Meat, starch, and...vegetables! That's what was needed.

He grabbed the head of iceberg lettuce Angie insisted he buy, hacked it into fourths, placed two quarters on plates, and smothered them with Thousand Island dressing. Chef Emeril, move over!

He was dishing out the mac and cheese when the doorbell rang. It had to be Angie. He wasn't expecting anyone.

"Can you get that, Hannah?" he called.

"Sure."

He heard a female voice say, "I'm sorry, I thought this was where Stan Bonnette lives."

"It is," Hannah said. "Won't you come in?"

Just then, Stan stepped into the living room, a dinner plate in each hand. He saw Hannah in a robe, the baby in her arms, and Nona Farraday at the door.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed as she gawked at him. "I'm sorry," she said to Hannah. "I've got the wrong Stan Bonnette. Good-bye."

Dinners at four of the city's top restaurants were among the "big" prizes to be awarded each night at the public television auction, and it was Angie's job to read the pitch that would get donors to open their wallets wide.

Her voice quivered and her hands shook the first time she read the script aloud for the TV producer. By read number three, however, she was bored and calm. Her pitch would take place before, during, and after three hours of Julia Child reruns.

Before the show began, Angie went in search of the restaurant owners who would be part of the first night's auction.

Two of them she'd met before, but nevertheless, as she spotted each one, she walked up, held out her hand, and announced, "The name is Amalfi, Angie Amalfi." The first time she said it she felt like she was part of a Bond, James Bond movie, but she needed to be sure the owners distinctly heard her name, since she was hoping for a reaction such as, Oh, my-we're holding your engagement party at our restaurant!

It didn't happen. Not even when she added, "Have you met my mother, Serefina Amalfi? I believe she mentioned you to me."

They hadn't.

The evening didn't work out the way Angie had wished, but she had two more nights of this. She'd never had beginner's luck anyway, so why expect it now?

For her first appearance, she was given a cue and nervously made the pitch. By the end of the third hour, she was so far beyond being nervous she even ad-libbed and was ready to do more of it when she saw the director scowling at her.

She went back to the script.

When her job was over, she put in a call to Yellow Cab and asked for Peter Leong. He'd picked her up at her apartment to bring her to the studio and when she told him she'd be making the same round trip three nights in a row, he said to ask for him and he'd make sure she was safe.

KQED was located in a small building south of Market Street. Unfortunately, it wasn't in the central SoMa area that was being gentrified and revitalized, nor was it in the eastern area with the Pac Bell baseball stadium and other new office buildings. Instead, it was in the still-decrepit western sector. That was the reason she decided to take a cab instead of driving. The parking lot would be pretty lonely this time of night, and anyone could be lurking in it since public TV's security wasn't top-notch, nor needed to be. Besides that, it wasn't the type of area to leave a Mercedes CL-600, alarms and GPS notwithstanding.

She took the stairs from the studio to the lobby and huddled at the door to the main entrance, looking out the gla.s.s doors to the street for her taxi. Before long, she saw headlights. Peter got out of the cab and opened a back door. She hurried to it, glad to see him.

"Did you make a lot of money for public TV?" he asked as he drove.

The auction had gone surprisingly well. As they talked, she learned he'd been driving a cab for over twenty years, ever since his restaurant business bellied up. It had been a lunch spot in the Financial District, but there was so much compet.i.tion, he couldn't make a go of it. Still, it gave them a lot to talk about. Angie had never wanted to open a restaurant. Too well did she know about the long hours, hard work, and struggle to make a profit. Only if one was very lucky and developed the kind of word-of-mouth that resulted in steady customers could a restaurant make money. If not, the waste of food was phenomenal.

"I don't want to make you nervous," Peter said suddenly, "but is there any reason a car might be following us?"

"What?" She turned and saw a car some distance behind them. "Not that I know of."

"I'm going to turn, just to see what he does," Peter said.

The car turned where they did. The residential streets were quiet this time of night. The coincidence of the only other car out there going in exactly the same direction was worrisome.

He made another left and watched from the rearview mirror. The other car made the left as well. Peter drove another couple of blocks and then made another left.

So did the car following.

"Sometimes taxis are robbed because these punks know we carry cash," Peter said. "Buckle up. I'm going to get rid of whoever it is."

"Go for it," Angie encouraged.

He stepped on the gas and they were off, first racing up the hills to Pacific Heights. From there he turned north onto Fillmore Street, one of the steepest in the city, and bounded downhill. At each intersection the street would level out, and then drop precipitously, causing the cab to become airborne a short while before landing with a thud on the pavement.

Angie wedged herself against the corner, clutching the top of the seat with one hand, the door with the other. Her teeth rattled, and it was all she could do to hold her mouth shut so she didn't bite her tongue.

Peter zigzagged through the Marina where the streets curved, mazelike, and some were only one block long.

Not until he was sure that the car following them was gone did he drive up to Russian Hill and Angie's apartment.

She thanked him, gave a big tip, and then tottered to the safety of her apartment building on shaky legs. The Disneyland attraction, Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, had nothing on Peter.

He drove around, block after block, pounding the dashboard and cursing. That rattletrap of a taxi somehow evaded him this time, but never again.

He pulled into a parking s.p.a.ce and cut the engine, then stared up at the night sky, hoping the serenity of the full moon could calm him. There was still plenty of time, he told himself. No need to panic. He'd find her soon enough.

With that thought, he smiled. Next time, he told himself. For sure, next time....

Chapter 14.

"Madonna mia!" Serefina cried as Angie stepped out of the dressing room in a pale blue evening gown. The front dipped in a V almost to the waist, and the skirt was short. "Are you crazy, Angelina? There's nothing there!"

"It's fine, Mamma," Angie cried, looking down at herself. "Maybe a little short. And low."

"Exactly." Serefina folded her arms and glared at the offending dress. She was a short, stout woman with black hair pulled straight back into an elaborate bun, and wearing a rayon dress of white and navy diagonal stripes. As she marched around the boutique inspecting the clothes, the stripes pirouetted like a dans macabre.

Angie went back into the dressing room and switched to a different pale blue dress with a halter top and ruffles from knee to floor. Serefina's reaction was even more negative.

Next, Angie tried a pale blue dress with a lace bodice and bell skirt. It made her look like a schoolgirl. That one, Serefina liked. Angie didn't, so she moved on to a pale blue bias-cut one-shoulder number that dropped to the floor in a straight skirt.

"Not bad, but why do you choose nothing but light blue?" Serefina asked, sitting now. "It's so drab on you. You look better with warm colors. You know that."

Angie had to admit it was true, but the more she thought about the purple cake, she feared the entire decor might be purple. A soft blue dress would look much better than the yellow Dior she loved.

Besides, her party was now only eight days away. Since she was having no luck finding out anything about it from anyone, she'd come up with this plan.

"Blue is a color that will go well with any decor," she said, then added pointedly, "I don't want to clash with the decorations or the cake, for example. Lots of them are in strong colors these days. Colors like, oh, for example, purple."

"Purple?" Serefina looked at her as if she'd grown two heads. "Who uses purple for engagement parties?"

"What? No purple?" Angie was both shocked and relieved. "What about...black doves?"

"Are they dead?" Serefina asked, horrified.

Angie's relief was so great she could have waltzed her mother around the boutique. "Well, maybe my yellow dress will be fine after all." She turned back to the dressing room. Serefina followed.

Back in the dressing room, Angie had to wonder: if Serefina wasn't behind the strange phone calls and dove delivery, who was? Her sisters didn't have that warped a sense of humor. No way would Connie or Stan do it. That left-Angie scowled-Nona Farraday!

It had all started after she met Nona at the Fairmont. That rat! That snake in the gra.s.s!

"Can we leave now?" Serefina asked. "I'm tired."

"We'll go." Angie started to change to her own clothes. Feelings of relief and revenge filled her, but she didn't want to think about that now. "By the way," she said, "Did Papa say anything to you about his meeting with Paavo last week?"

Serefina gasped. "He met with Paavo?"

Uh-oh. Angie gulped. "I saw them together at Moose's. Paavo won't say why."

Serefina's lips pursed. "Your father's been acting peculiar lately. Now I learn he's sneaking into the city without telling me! He's up to something and I'm going to find out what! You need to help me, Angelina."

Her mother's reaction, her expression, were strange. Angie felt suddenly uncomfortable. She didn't want to know about trouble between her parents. "It's probably nothing. Maybe they just decided to get along, like they said. For the sake of the party."

"Humph!" was Serefina's reply. Angie agreed.

She finished dressing and stood before Serefina in a red and black Donna Karan suit.

Suddenly tears sprang to Serefina's eyes.

"Mamma, what's wrong?" Angie asked, horrified. "Is it about Papa?"

"No. You!" Serefina fished a handkerchief from her black Coach bag.

"Me? What did I do?"

"I remembered when you were just a little girl in frilly dresses. Now you're a sophisticated woman, hawking stuff on television-"

"Hawking?"

"-and soon you'll be a bride." More tears flowed. "My little girl. Soon all my daughters will be married women, with families of their own. You won't need me or your Papa anymore."

Angie was near tears as well. Hands clasped, she moved toward her mother. "We'll always need you, Mamma. How often does Frannie come running back home when she gets mad at Seth?"

"I wouldn't wish a marriage like that on you and Paavo!" Serefina wiped her eyes, dropped the hankie back into her purse, and smoothed her hair. "Marriage does change a person, though. There's a reason it's called settling down."

"Mamma, it'll be all right." Angie tried to give her mother a hug.

"Don't be so mushy, Angelina! Of course it will be fine." She brushed her off and took out her compact to check her eye makeup. "Those were tears of joy. Now, before we leave, I saw an Hermes scarf I want to buy."

Angie wondered if she'd ever understand her mother. At least they enjoyed shopping together.

Paavo was beginning to understand Sal Amalfi a lot better, which was why he was certain he should drive by Elizabeth Schull's apartment building on her day off.

Sure enough, just like the other night, Sal's red Lincoln was parked a few doors from it, as big and ugly as a neon sign flashing STALKER. If Elizabeth ever had any doubt that he was watching her, it had to be gone now.

Paavo parked and walked up to Sal's car, while Sal scowled at him through the window. The pa.s.senger door wasn't locked. He opened it and got in. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked.