She cut me off. "I just got a look at the morning papers. Sounds like Mick was in some trouble. But he's out of jail now, I gather? Or are you sitting in the visiting room?"

"He's free," I said. And I told her that Danny Pescara was under arrest for Kitty's murder.

"No shit," she said. "That weasel? The one running the betting racket?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Nora," said my little sister, "sometimes you're so naive it's like I'm related to Shirley Temple. What's happening now? The cops think Mick hired Danny? Why would he do that?"

"The police are looking for any reason to put Michael in jail. This seems like the easiest way at the moment."

"So," said Emma, "is your stud muffin planning an escape to a southern climate with nice beaches and flexible banking laws?"

That possibility struck me silent.

Instantly contrite, Emma said, "Sorry. Look, I don't see Mick running away from a fight. And I can't picture him turning into a beach bum. I was just kidding. You still there?"

"I'm here."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know." I craned around to look out the window at Michael. He was leaning against the side of the car, and the homicide detectives seemed to be entertained by a story he was telling them. I heard laughter. I said, "I have to find out why Kitty was wandering around Tall Trees when she was killed."

"How are you going to do that?"

"I'll talk to Hemorrhoid. My other option is tracking down Brinker Holt."

"What does Brinker have to do with this?"

I told her about finding Brinker's name in Kitty's appointment book. Then I asked, "Do you know where he is?"

"In New York with the Brinker Bra, I presume. It's all over the news. Even Katie Couric talked about the hype. It's like America has rediscovered boobs."

"How long is Brinker staying in New York?"

"What am I? His social secretary?"

"I'm surprised you associated with him at all," I snapped, irritated by my sister's attitude.

"I can associate with anyone I please. Even a serial creep like Brinker."

"Can you blame me for wondering if you need a keeper?" I asked. "Brinker, Emma! Why are you working for him?"

"It's a free country."

"You know what he's capable of."

"I can handle him. I'm all grown up now."

"And his games have grown up, too. Do you remember what he did, Emma? Or has all the vodka pickled your memory?"

Emma hung up on me.

Rightfully so, I thought grimly. I was trying to run her life again.

Spike climbed into my lap. Michael got back into the car, and I returned his cell phone to him.

He pocketed the phone. "You okay?"

"No."

"What did Emma have to say?"

"She was checking up on you, I believe."

"You look steamed."

"She's an idiot. And I'm supposed to keep my mouth shut while she acts like-"

"-an idiot, I know," Michael said. "Who's the guy this time?"

"Brinker Holt. She's not sleeping with him-that honor is reserved for a rhinestone cowboy with a drinking problem at least as bad as hers. But she's working for Brinker, and that is so colossally stupid that I-"

"Why is it stupid?"

"Because Brinker is a sadistic monster, that's why."

"I thought he was just a lousy comedian."

"The truth?" I was shaking hard and unable to control my voice. "He nearly raped Emma when she was twelve. His pack of animal friends held her down while he-Well, let's just say I happened to arrive just in time, which was what he planned all along. It was me he wanted to punish. It was so horrible to see Emma pinned down like that, and I-"

"Hey." Michael reached for me. "Take it easy. It's over."

"No, it isn't!" I pushed his hand away. "Emma has conveniently forgotten that she was tortured by that horrible kid, who's grown up into an even more horrible man. She is scaring the hell out of me right now. She has no judgment. None of you do."

"Me? How do you figure?"

I faced him. "Michael, tell me the truth." I knew I was getting hysterical but I couldn't stop. "What were you doing with Danny night before last?"

He turned his face away. "You don't need to know."

"Yes, dammit, I do! This time I really want to know what's going on."

"Nora-"

"Just tell me!"

Spike began to bark.

"All right," Michael snapped over Spike's noise. "Danny wanted to get rid of a car. He didn't tell me why, and I didn't ask, understand? I know a guy, so we took the car to his place in Jersey. I didn't look in the car, and I didn't ask any questions. By now it's on its way to Venezuela."

"You saw the same people who were involved in the car-theft ring that night?"

"Yes. We went to a different garage, though, and missed the bust."

"Do you know who shot the police officer?"

"That's not-No, not yet. All I did was help Danny make a car disappear."

"How can you do it, Michael?" I burst out. "How can you help a person cover a crime?"

"The crime I assumed he was covering wasn't murder."

"Other crimes are okay? Which ones, exactly?"

"Don't lecture me. Crime is a natural part of the world. Gambling? People like to gamble! My father provides a service even little old ladies want! If he didn't do it, they'd find some other way to throw their money away. And who doesn't want to fix a parking ticket? Break the speed limit? Get a freebie once in a while? It's all illegal! But it's what people want."

Suddenly I was shouting, too. "But Danny killed somebody! And you helped!"

"I didn't help. I had another agenda that night. We set him up, get it? I'd had enough of the shakedown shit he was running while calling himself an Abruzzo. We set him up to get busted. Ditching his car was part of the plan, and you don't need to know the rest. . . . No, you really don't. It went wrong, and part of that's my fault. But what the hell he was doing over here capping some broad when he was supposed to be in south Philly sure as shit beats me."

"So now you're involved in covering up a murder."

"I'm not happy about it."

"Was Kitty in the car while you were with Danny? Or did he put her somewhere and come back later to leave her body on my porch?"

"Damned if I know. Maybe he had some help. He's too much of a mutt to figure out anything more complicated than a parking meter by himself." Michael slammed the steering wheel. "He's a fucking, stupid mutt. Now I've got to fix this mess. But no matter what, goddammit, until I do, you are going to keep your nose out of it!"

With the speed of a striking cobra, Spike lunged from my lap and bit Michael.

He cursed, and I pulled the puppy back, but the damage was done. Michael's hand began to bleed.

In my lap, Spike fell silent and didn't move a muscle.

Michael got a handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped it around his hand.

In the quiet, I said, "Does your cell phone keep track of incoming calls?"

"Yes."

"I need to know where Emma is staying."

I put Spike on the floor. One-handed, Michael retrieved his cell phone and punched a few buttons. He looked at the tiny screen and passed it to me.

The name of Emma's hotel appeared in little blue letters.

"Is that where you want to go?" Michael asked.

"Yes, please."

"All right, I'll drop you," he said. "I have something else to take care of."

He reached across the seat and caught me gently around my neck. Leaning close to kiss me on the mouth, though, he suddenly stopped himself, and we looked at each other.

"I love you," I said.

"I love you," he said. But it sounded different this time. I could see his mind was already far away.

An hour later, I was downtown and knocking on the door of my sister's room in one of the city's most luxurious hotels. I crossed my fingers that she hadn't trashed it.

She opened the door herself, wearing a hotel bathrobe and carrying a can of Red Bull. Her hair was wet and standing up on her head. Spike yipped with glee and leaped into her arms.

Emma caught him without spilling a drop. "Hey, Sis."

Behind her, doing sit-ups on the floor in his underwear and a Stetson that looked as if a herd of cattle had stampeded across it, was Monte Bogatz. "Hello there, little lady," he yodeled, hands behind his sunburned neck. "Come on in, and welcome to Paradise!"

"Speak for yourself, cowboy," Emma said, closing the door behind me and giving Spike a roughing-up.

Monte got to his feet and held my hand with a smile that looked overmedicated. "It's a real pleasure to lay eyes on you again," he drawled. "Such a pretty gal as yourself must have more important people to talk to than little old Monte, but I'm sure glad you stopped by."

Emma leaned against the wall by the door and held on to Spike. "Actually, cowboy, we need a little sisterly chat. How about if you go down to the bar and find the jukebox?"

"Oh, sure, I know how you sisters need your chats," he said. "Why, I bet you talk each other's pretty little ears off, don't you?"

Monte picked his jeans up off the floor and went into the bathroom with a cowpoke swagger.

Emma sighed. "He's talkative, but he gets the job done."

Their hotel suite had two rooms plus the bath, and through an archway I could see an unmade bed the size of a tropical island. The living room had a big-screen TV tuned to Junkyard Wars with the sound turned off. The minibar door hung open, and various items of clothing had been abandoned on the carpet.

"So it's Sexcapades with a singing cowboy now?"

"Why not?" Emma said, matching my testy tone. "He's got stamina. And plenty of enthusiasm."

I glanced at the television. "I'm sure the postcoital conversation is stimulating, too."

"I'm not with him for the conversation."

I did not ask if she was with him for the vodka he could supply. Instead, I glanced around the lavish suite. "And Monte's paying for all this?"

"Even chocolate-covered strawberries. You want some room service? We're running a tab."

"No, thanks."

"Want to smell my breath?" she asked in a harsher tone.

"No, I don't, Em. Your breath is your business now, I think."