"I'm not saying it'll happen." Aldo put his beefy elbows on the table and supported the coffee cup under his chin so he could smell the steam. "There's a lot of slips between here and there. And the lawyers, they're the best money can buy. But these cops . . . they have a thing for Big Frankie. They're working hard to get him this time. It'll hurt him bad if the son has to go, but-"

"I don't believe this."

Michael had tried to tell me the same thing-that he might have to leave. Except I hadn't realized he meant going back to jail.

"No," I said. "This can't be happening."

I grabbed the phone and dialed Michael's cell again. No answer.

Aldo sat looking at me stolidly. "He has things to do."

"Where is he? What's he doing?"

Aldo put his coffee cup back on the table. "Not for me to know. Or you either. He'll be back if he can."

"If he can," I repeated. "What about Danny? Will he go to jail?"

Aldo smiled a little. "Doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

"Danny's not the surviving type no matter where he is."

"How. . . ? No, you don't mean the family will do something?"

Aldo got up from the table. "Nobody likes a cooperating witness."

"You're talking about killing a person!"

"I'll be outside," Aldo said. "Thank you for the breakfast. A little sausage would be good. I'll bring you some."

I locked the door after him.

I broke a plate as I washed the dishes. Shoving the pieces into the trash, I knew I had to start thinking straight or lose everything. I cleaned up the kitchen and went over things in my mind until I had a plan. I continued to clean the rest of the house as my scheme grew to trap the person who hired Danny Pescara. While I was vacuuming, everything became clear for me.

I called Libby. She showed up in the afternoon, when my home was immaculate.

"Wow," she said. "Next time you get upset, come over to my house. This place looks great."

I pulled her to sit down at the kitchen table, and I told her my plan.

"Are you sure about this?" Her frown was doubtful. "Nora, the police were just at my house."

"What did they . . . ?" I finally saw the serious expression on her face. "They were asking about Michael?"

"No," she said gently. "They were asking about you. They wanted to know how badly you wanted Kitty's job, and I tried to assure them . . . Well, that's not what's important right now. They said they found the gun."

"The gun Danny used? Where was it?"

She reached for my hand. "I'm sorry, honey. It was at his house."

"Danny's house?"

"No."

"Michael's."

Libby squeezed me hard. "They searched it this morning, with a warrant and everything-trust me, I asked. They're going to arrest him. They say he was part of the plot all along."

"Libby, you know that's not true. The gun had to be planted."

"I know you believe in him, but I-Just where is he, Nora? The police are looking for him for the police shooting, too. And he's disappeared."

"He's looking for Emma, that's why!"

"Are you sure?"

I sat still and tried to sort through the information, then picked up the phone and punched in Michael's number again. I listened to it ring and ring. I wanted to cry. I wanted to stop shaking.

Beside me, Libby said, "Why do we always pick the wrong men? It can't be so impossible. There must be something wrong with us. I just want somebody with no serious drawbacks, like mental illness or felony charges. Who's also good in bed, of course, and makes a decent living and doesn't get mixed up in drugs or murdering people or-"

I terminated the call.

"Are we still going out?" Libby asked.

I had to try. Michael was going to jail for sure unless I came up with some solid evidence that contradicted what the police had.

"Of course we are."

She respected my tone. "Okay, okay. Where do you want to go?"

"To Brinker Holt's condo."

"How is that going to help?"

"If he didn't hire Kitty's killer, I'm sure Brinker filmed himself coercing the right person into hiring the killer for him."

"He films everything," Libby agreed softly.

"With special attention paid to the moments when he humiliates people. So let's see where he stores his tapes. Lexie's lured him to a meeting this afternoon. She'll keep him busy while we check out his condo."

"Can we get inside?"

"I think so. One of Michael's people is helping me. First we have to find this address." I showed her Aldo's printed note.

"Aunt Nora?"

Startled, we both turned. Rawlins stood in the doorway, and it was clear he'd heard everything. Behind him lurked Orlando, looking scared and clutching Spike in his arms for comfort.

Rawlins said, "I want to help."

I tried to smile. "That's very kind of you, Rawlins, but the most helpful thing you can do today is stay here and look after Orlando."

It was the wrong thing to say.

"I don't need anybody to look after me!" Orlando pushed past Rawlins and rushed into the kitchen. "I want to help, too."

Spike jumped out of Orlando's embrace and ran to me. He bounded up and braced his front paws against my knee. His message was clear.

"No," I said to the dog. "You can't come either."

"But we can help," Orlando insisted.

"We can," Rawlins chimed in. "We can be lookouts."

"Or sneak through secret passageways," Orlando volunteered. "I'm the smallest. I can sneak."

"I want to help Mick," Rawlins said. "If he's in trouble, I want to help."

"Why you?" Libby demanded. "Have you been hanging around with That Man again?"

"Mom-"

"Rawlins, you are grounded. Absolutely grounded."

"I like Mick. He's been nice to me. He gave me a chance and taught me some good stuff. Like, like . . . well, some good stuff. Besides, if you want to be sure where I am all the time, let me come with you today."

Libby opened her mouth to refuse, but didn't have the motherly ammunition to combat his argument.

Orlando seized my arm, and his gaze implored me to do the right thing. "Please," he said. "Don't leave me alone here. I want to come with you."

"But you'll be perfectly safe with Rawlins."

"I want to be with you."

"Orlando-"

His grip slackened. "You don't think I can do anything," he said. "You think I'm a wimp. I'm a nerd and a wimp."

I tried to put my arms around him. "That's not true."

"I just need a chance," he said. "I want to learn stuff like Rawlins. I want a chance, too."

"But . . ."

Both boys stood stiff and braced for the worst.

I sighed. "All right. You can come. But this is potentially very, very dangerous. You have to do whatever I say, got that? If I say you have to stay in the car, that's what you'll do, understand?"

Orlando whooped with joy. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! We're going! We're going!"

Spike yipped gleefully and peed on the floor.

"Get your coats."

"I'll need my backpack," said Orlando. "I'll bring supplies."

Shaking her head, Libby led the way to her minivan.

Libby drove us to the city, and we found the backstreet location of Aldo's contact. It was a hardware store with dirty windows and one of those WE'LL RETURN cardboard clocks hanging on the door. The clock had no hands.

"Want me to go in?" Rawlins asked from the backseat as we all stared at the seemingly vacant store.

"Or me?" Orlando piped up.

"I'll take care of this," I said, stepping outside.

I went to the door and knocked. Inside, an elderly man shuffled over to unlock the door and let me in. Aware that Libby, Spike and Orlando watched me, their noses pressed to the windows of the minivan, I took a deep breath for courage and stepped into the store.

The hardware store smelled like old oil and coffee. Large shelves crowded with outdated merchandise loomed around me. Although the light was dim, I saw power tools, bins of nails, a collection of garden rakes and a row of wheelbarrows. A group of five elderly men in nearly identical cardigan sweaters sat on folding chairs at a rickety card table in a spot of the sales floor that had been cleared to make space for their table. They were playing dominoes and drinking espresso. The espresso machine, on the checkout counter beside an antique brass cash register, was the only inanimate object in the entire store that wasn't covered in a layer of dust. Underfoot, the floor crunched with pistachio shells.

I guessed the last time anybody bought hardware here had been during the Nixon administration.

With hesitating steps, I went over to the cash register.

Another gentleman got up from the table and hobbled to the counter. He had a grand total of twelve long wisps of white hair combed over a shining bald head. His eyebrows, however, were thick enough to hide a mouse in. With hunched shoulders, he stood about five feet tall, and his hands were gnarled with arthritis.

From under the cash register, he palmed a small envelope and slid it across the counter to me. Meekly, I accepted the envelope and peeked inside. It was the credit cardstyle passkey that Aldo had requested.

"How much do I owe you?" I asked, breaking the intense silence.

He shook his head. No words.

"Okay," I said, trying to muster some cheer. "Thanks very much!"

I let myself out the front door, noting that everybody had been careful not to look at me during my two minutes in the store. Probably so they wouldn't be forced to identify me in a lineup.

I got back into the minivan.

"How was it?" Libby asked.

"Twilight Zone. Nobody said a word."

We drove along Front Street not far from Independence Mall, a normally busy neighborhood of restaurants, tourist-friendly parks, the Seaport Museum and high-priced condos near Penn's Landing and the piers. Despite the constant dull thunder of I-95 traffic, the neighborhood was unusually peaceful that afternoon. Few tourists wandered the sidewalks. A gang of teenagers slouched by, headed somewhere else. People were probably at home napping, preparing to expend the last of their holiday energies in one last night of revelry before the new year began. Libby made an illegal U-turn down near the Sheraton and went back until she found a parking space a block from the building where Brinker Holt lived.

"Now what?"

I checked my watch. Lexie's meeting with Brinker would be starting in a few minutes. "Let's watch for a while. To be sure Brinker's not around anywhere."