Dom had just lost someone she cared deeply for, a gorgeous man a bit older than her, though she reportedly had a young lover: Gregor Zukovski, possible Slavic diamond smuggler.

I realized that I was patting the dead man's clasped hands, while mine were swathed in black lace Victorian gloves, circa 1860, and I was sobbing, heartbroken, over his loss.

In this state between psychic awareness and reality, I sometimes lost myself. Now I wanted to know if my gut-wrenching tears were for Dom or for her lover.

Of course! I wasn't myself, anymore, I was Dom. But I was feeling Dom's feelings. Either my psychometric ability had been kicked up a notch from use, or wearing a dear friend's clothes made the vision stronger.

Previous to this, I would be a casual observer in someone else's clothes, but right now I was experiencing a range of emotions, not the least of which was a debilitating grief.

I'd zoned and was having a vision and a half. Wow, hard to get a clue when you're grieving for two people at the same time.

Sc.r.a.p. I knew Dominique would only have worn Coco's extraordinary and valuable dress to a very special event. Obviously this man meant the world to her.

Was this Deep Throat? I wondered. If so, they never did get to run away together.

"I'm so sorry about your dad," I heard from a man in my line of vision talking to the family.

"Victor was a good man," said the next to pay her respects. "The best."

Pierce Pierpont wearing a black Ca.n.a.li suit and diamond studs in his French-cuffed white silk shirt stood accepting condolences from a long line of people.

The man Dom had loved was Pierpont's father. And he had pa.s.sed away only two weeks before.

Kyle had said that Pierpont sent her flowers before every performance. Not Pierce but Victor, who simply signed them Pierpont.

Son of a st.i.tch, I thought, as my vision hazed and I began floating dangerously away, I had to find out what Victor Pierpont died of.

Twenty-nine.

Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death.

-COCO CHANEL "I hate smelling salts," I said as I coughed and turned from the stench, feeling more myself again, embarra.s.sed to realize that I was on the floor flat on my back at eye level with the base of the kneeler and casket stand, my dad and Werner, among others, bending over me.

"What happened?" I asked, as if I didn't know, though I'd never pa.s.sed out during a psychometric vision before. Then again, I'd only talked that one time, too. Which meant that I never knew what to expect.

"You fainted," my father said, while Werner helped me up. He attempted to walk me to a chair, but I turned back to the coffin, because I needed to see Dominique one more time.

Werner nodded and moved away.

I went to the casket and patted her hands the way she patted Victor Pierpont's. I'll find out what happened to both of you, I promised, though I wondered why I found the old man's death suspicious at all.

Oh yeah, I remember. I'd been kneeling in Dom's place. She had been suspicious.

I heard Kyle's voice rise as he spoke with the funeral director. Kyle insisted on closing the lid himself, well, "ourselves," he said.

"It just isn't done," the director argued.

Kyle stepped up to the man, close and threatening. Not Kyle's style at all, or was it?

Then again, grief is a mighty stressor that can cause exacerbated reactions.

"For a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar funeral," Kyle whispered furiously, "I would hope that an exception could be made, because if it can't, people will want to know." This made Kyle's words the kind of threat that metaphorically raised the funeral director in the air by his shirt collar.

"Of course, Mr. DeLong," the director said, backing away and smoothing the metaphorical wrinkles in his suit.

Kyle came up beside me, kissed his mother's cheek, and asked if I was ready. When I nodded, we slowly lowered the lid on Dom's casket.

With my heart in my throat, it was among the most difficult things I'd ever had to do, and yet, I knew it was what Dom would have wanted.

I would never forget my last view of her dear face. I tried to see her radiant beauty, instead of her ravaged features, while I swallowed convulsively.

When we finished, Kyle and I looked at the picture of us together. That was the memory I'd rather take with me.

Startling everyone, the sound of Dominique singing "Amazing Grace" filled the room blanketing it in shocked silence, except for her extraordinary voice.

I went to sit beside Dad, who was holding Aunt Fiona in his arms, her face against his chest.

Of course this would be hard for Aunt Fee. She'd had a casket trauma of her own to deal with, like being shut inside one not that long ago.

Werner handed me the cup of water he'd been holding. "Are you all right?" he whispered. "That was brave."

"What, pa.s.sing out?"

"No, closing the lid."

My hand shook as I sipped the water, and that's when it hit me that I wouldn't see Dom ever again.

Aunt Fiona gave me a tissue.

My dad put his other arm around me and gave me his spare shoulder, st.u.r.dy and familiar. That's why they'd come. To be here for me.

Up front, Kyle took his place to receive the world's sympathy and with a raised brow, he turned his ex-dad away from the family receiving line.

Ian looked like he'd won some kind of game as he came to sit in the front row with us, even though he should be ashamed of losing his son's respect and having it witnessed by all of us.

To my surprise, after "Amazing Grace," Dominique's vocals continued with the songs she sang in Diamond Sands and some she didn't sing in the show: "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend," "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," "This Diamond Ring," "Diamond Girl," "Diamonds in the Mine," "Diamonds and Guns," and more were piped softly into the room. They may not all have been used in the show but diamonds were the common theme.

Was that a clue? Dom kept an a.r.s.enal. She had somehow shipped me the dress saying if I had it, she was dead. Had she also planned her funeral, songs and all? I'd have to ask Kyle. I couldn't leave any possibility, however remote, unchecked.

Kyle stood alone and received New York's elite with his head high and Galina Lockhart first in line. Dom's well-chronicled rival did not look like she enjoyed Dom's vocal supremacy while she was trying to talk, and that made her steam.

It made me smile.

Eve and I were too close to the line of mourners to comment on the clothes, a hobby of ours, but I watched the face of every person who entered the room, and I made notes as to how they reacted when they saw the casket.

Sometimes Dad or Fiona supplied the name of a celebrity from their generation. Werner told me the names of a couple of gorgeous starlets, "hot and upcoming," he said, but I didn't recognize them.

After the service, the funeral director stood to make an announcement. "The interment, immediately following the service, will be private, but you're all invited to a funeral collation at the Pierpont Mansion at four this afternoon."

In the stretch Lamborghini, I called Dolly to tell her we were on our way to the funeral, as promised. The trip to the cemetery seemed more bizarro than anything so far today, though it might rival yesterday.

The unnamed mausoleum looked like what I perceived heaven should, especially if you were Dominique. I wouldn't be surprised if she oversaw its design.

Constructed of carved white marble outside, the inside mixed the white with a claret marble, and an allover pale pink marble, predominant in the handkerchief-skirted angels with flowing hair, offering a rose in each hand.

For the occasion, bouquets of multicolored roses stood on towering stands and filled every corner of Dom's place of eternal rest. Knowing Kyle, they might continue to do so.

I was overwhelmed by both the beauty of this place and by my grief.

The design and palette struck an overall mood: hard marble carved to a soft beauty, cold to the touch but warm to the spirit, beautiful, peaceful, comfortable.

A haven for eternity.

As we stood surrounding the casket, a woman entered wearing flowing white robes, dragonfly jewelry, and carrying a crystal wand. Then I recognized the table at the foot of the casket for what it was, an altar. On it, ritual candles, cup, knife, lavender oil, crystals, a pentacle, incense, a bell . . . Wiccan tools all.

Dom told me years ago that she was Wiccan. Back then, I didn't know that my mother had also been a practicing witch.

"My name," the white-robed woman said, "is Danica, and I'm a high priestess. Dominique asked me to perform a ritual to bring you comfort and send her to the Summerland, the Elysian Fields, or to a place where you would rather think of her as being peaceful and happy. I invite any witches here present to step up and take part in seeing Dominique on a wondrous and joyous journey."

Danica cast the circle and after a bit of hesitation, Aunt Fiona stepped up to work beside her. My father and I turned to look at each other as the light scent of chocolate wafted by us. My mother urging me to take part in sending Dom on her way. For my friend, I thought.

After a nod from my father, I took my place beside Aunt Fiona. I had loved Dominique and she deserved my partic.i.p.ation.

My father's expression turned inward, and he seemed neither judgmental nor approving. Good progress, Dad.

Danica set a piece of smoking white sage in a silver dragonfly burner, and lit a tapered fireplace match. "I light this candle to celebrate the life of Dominique DeLong. Recall your favorite memory of her. Your best memories are the ones she wants to take with her, and by recalling them, you will be sending them to her."

"The pink candle is for love, the blue for peace. She wishes to leave you with both. The white candle will protect you from grief. Visualize Dominique beside you. Hug her and say goodbye so she can leave. Imagine her stepping into the light, greeting loved ones who have gone before, resting in glory for as long as she pleases, then reincarnating and returning to you."

Kyle smiled. I found suddenly that I could, too.

For a short service, Danica's ritual packed a wallop, and peace filled me as we left the mausoleum. Aunt Fee put her arm around my waist as we stood with my dad beside the casket. "I smell chocolate," Aunt Fee said. "Your mom is with us."

"Yes. She reminded me to take my place at the altar, for Dominique's sake."

Dad cleared his throat and took off his gla.s.ses to clean them. Perhaps he felt my mother's presence more keenly than either of us.

Thirty.

I think fashion is that we go two steps forward and go fifteen back each time because you always have to look back and see what's been done.

-BOB MACKIE After everyone left the DeLong mausoleum, Kyle leading the way, I stood beside the casket for a minute alone with Dom. "I'll find out who did this to you. I promise."

When I got outside, people were still milling about as if they didn't want to go.

A pastoral peace lingered in Ferncliff Cemetery, in Hartsdale, New York, where Dominique Delong joined the greats: Judy Garland, Christopher Reeve, Jerome Kern, Joan Crawford, Jim Henson, and so many more.

I stopped talking when I heard a man talking. He looked up, caught my eye, and looked away. The Wings driver?

"Eve," I called walking up to her. "Eve," I said, hooking my arm through hers. "Kyle, can I borrow her for a minute?"

In the middle of conversing with people Eve and I didn't know, Kyle nodded, so I dragged Eve aside. "See that guy over there? The one with the olive suit? I think that's the Wings driver."

"You're kidding me? You can tell from his eyes?"

I chuckled. "He was like all eyes that morning, remember, and he looked guilty just now when our gazes met. But it's his voice that I remember."

"Uh, I can't tell from his eyes. Let me see if I can get behind him. I'd know that squeezable tush and those quarterback shoulders anywhere."

I rolled my eyes and smiled inwardly as she crept from tree to tree, waving as she peeked from behind each one before moving to the next. Anybody else watching her would think she needed to be committed, the ham.

Finally, she ended up in a clump of holly directly behind the guy. When she took a good a.s.sessing look at his tush, his shoulders, back to his tush, she gave me a thumbs-up.

Then she straightened her back and marched right up to him.

"Baste it, Eve. You're not supposed to give us away," I said out loud.

"Madeira, are you talking to yourself?" Phoebe Muir asked as she stopped beside me.

"Who's that guy Eve's flirting with?"

"Looks more like she's giving him h.e.l.l."

"Shows how little you know Eve."

Phoebe nodded. "Okay, that's Zachary Tate. He's Lance Taggart's younger brother. Lance was Dominique's leading man in Diamond Sands. That's Lance in the blue suit beside Zachary. Dom considered them friends. They're not members of the Parasites, if that's what you're getting at."

I gave Phoebe a double take. "You knew about the Parasites?"

"Hey, I was Dom's girl Friday. She told me everything. Of course I knew."

I hooked my arm through Phoebe's. "Introduce me?"

Phoebe led the way and made the introductions.

"So, Mr. Deliveryman," I said to Zachary Tate. "What do you have to say for yourself?"