I pulled my phone from my pocket-no service bars on mine either.

"I've had this trouble before," Cory said. "The walls of the steam plant were superthick and the service is horrible."

Breathing a little harder, I banged on the mirrored wall and shouted for help; then we listened. But who would possibly hear us? The nearest people I'd seen were two blocks away at the ferry dock.

Cory tried her cell again with no success, then reached for the emergency phone hanging on the wall. "There's no dial tone. Good Lord, it's hot in here." She unwound the blue scarf from her neck and fanned her face with her hand.

"I hate elevators," I said, my panic rising. "Didn't you tell me this thing was brand-new?" A drenching sweat broke out on my face and chest and I began to feel like I was choking.

"Sit down and put your head between your knees," Cory suggested, and I sank to the floor, quaking. Telling myself I was not my mother. And that we would find her. And that someone would come soon to let us out of this box. The walls pressed in closer and closer and I labored to breathe.

"It's nice that your mom could come for the conference," said Cory, still working the b.u.t.tons on her phone. "Not too many daughters would care to spend three full days with their mom."

"We have our moments," I said, my face buried in my hands, not really wanting to talk about it but realizing chatting was the only thing standing between me and a full-blown claustrophobic panic attack. So I'd talk. "I got a little stressed and said something harsh this morning about her living off my father-alimony for life."

"Ouch," said Cory.

"I know. Other than that, we've had a lot of fun and it's been an interesting weekend. I realized some things."

"What kind of things?" she asked.

"It's complicated," I said. "Right out of college, my mother gave up her own ambitions to raise a family. If she really had any to begin with. She got pregnant with me in her last year of school and dropped out to be a housewife and mother. I think I've always been afraid I'd take the same path."

"You could do worse than that," Cory said.

"Yeah, but then you're at the mercy of the guy you married. Or live with. I tried that when I followed my ex down here. When that relationship blew up last fall, I felt like I'd hitched all my hopes to him. And then he lopped me off like a dead tree limb."

She nodded sympathetically. "Every woman should have a backup plan. And the money to fund it."

"It's totally creepy that I'd repeat my mother's exact mistake." Although Eric would have said it was to be expected-if I refused to explore this stuff in therapy, it was bound to haunt me.

"I can see how that would freak you out," Cory said, tapping furiously on her phone again and then shaking it in frustration.

I continued to jabber-all the thoughts I'd had in the back of my mind over the weekend tumbling out in their full embarra.s.sing glory. "And that's probably part of why I feel so much pressure about my job at Key Zest-besides the fact that Ava Faulkner is dying to fire me. I started feeling like this would be a huge opportunity to make something of myself. It seemed absolutely critical to come out of this weekend with a big story."

The more I talked, the calmer I felt. But my nose had begun to run and beads of sweat were popping out on my forehead: I was baking in the rising heat. And it wasn't only me. Cory stripped off her blazer and rolled up her shirtsleeves. "My G.o.d, it's getting hotter and hotter."

I rolled my neck in circles, listening to the cartilage click. The third time around, I stopped to gaze at the ceiling of our cage. "What are the chances we could push one of those panels out and climb into the shaft?" I asked. "I don't think we dropped too far from the kitchen level."

"Not good," said Cory. "But we can try." She narrowed her eyes and looked me over, head to toe. "I suspect I've got a few pounds on you, so I'll be the ballast."

First we tried Cory on hands and knees as a step stool-but I was too short to reach the ceiling and too worried about cracking one of her vertebrae to put my entire weight on her. Then she crouched down and encouraged me to stand on her shoulders. After several tries, we collapsed on the floor in a panting heap.

"What if I hold my hands like so"-she demonstrated clasping them-"and boost you up onto the handrail? Maybe then you can reach."

With her help, I balanced on the railing and managed to pop out one of the mirrored ceiling panels. She hoisted me up another six inches and I grabbed a metal bar in the shaft. Wishing I'd spent more time-any time really-at the gym, I duck-walked up the wall and dragged myself into the dim s.p.a.ce.

"What do you see?" Cory called.

"It's pretty dark. Some cables and a sort of winch. The town house kitchen's only a couple of feet up, but the outside elevator door's shut."

"You'll have to force it," she said. "But hurry up and get out of there. If this thing starts up again, you could get crushed."

"Thanks for that good news," I muttered, and shuffled across the beam toward the sliver of light marking the exit, imploring myself to keep my mind only on what I was doing. I inched my fingers into the crack and pressed until the doors snapped open. Then I shimmied up and scrambled out onto the maple parquet floor, b.u.t.t first.

Olivia Nethercut was waiting by the opening to the shaft, a bottle of red wine c.o.c.ked in her fist.

"Oh my G.o.d, you scared me to death," I yelped, clutching my pounding chest.

She kicked at my knees. "One step forward and you and your mother are dead," she said.

Cory's voice floated up from the shaft. "What's going on? Get me out of here, please."

Olivia waggled the wine bottle like a baseball bat and kicked me in the side this time. "Get back in the shaft," she hissed. "Or your mother is a goner. And that nosy real estate agent too."

I curled into a hangdog ball, pretending I'd given up, but trying to figure out how to take her on. What was the point of pushing me back into the shaft? She probably hoped to crush me as Cory had warned could happen.

I took a deep breath and then sprang up and lurched forward. "You've done enough damage this weekend," I shrieked as I barreled into her legs and knocked her down. I pinned her to the floor with a menacing growl. "Now what the h.e.l.l did you do with my mother?"

Olivia began to thrash about like a trapped animal. I was losing control. I threw myself away from her, scrabbling to my feet and grabbing the bottle of pinot. "Where is my mother?" I said through gritted teeth, waggling the wine. "Ten seconds or I knock you cold."

She got to her feet and took off running, tearing out of the kitchen and down the hall, and then down a back stairwell I hadn't noticed on Cory's tour. I tore after her, clattering down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, she burst out into the empty garage, grabbed a metal shovel hanging on the wall, and came toward me, swinging. The shovel glanced off my shoulder and I winced and dropped the wine. The bottle shattered on the cement. With one final surge of adrenaline, I barreled into her midsection, wrestled the shovel away from her, and slammed it into her temple. She crumpled.

I punched 911 into my phone and bolted from the garage to get enough service bars so the call could go through.

Two police cars raced up moments later, sirens blaring and lights swirling. I waved them over and Officer Torrence tumbled out of the first vehicle with the female cop who'd interviewed me Thursday night, followed by two other officers I didn't know. "Olivia Nethercut is lying in that garage. I knocked her out."

"Get an ambulance," Torrence instructed one of the cops, then drew his gun and started over to the gaping door.

"I hope I didn't hurt her badly. It was me or her," I called. "I'm almost certain she was involved in the murder of Yoshe King. And Cory Held is trapped in the elevator. And my mother"-I sniffled back some tears and looked helplessly after them-"is still missing."

Then a third cruiser swerved into the parking lot and Detective Bransford and another cop leaped out. Just seeing his solid form, I felt weak with relief. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?" he asked.

The relief drained away. Speechless, I just shook my head and pointed to the condo.

"You stay put," he told me firmly. As if I would rush in after them.

Fifteen minutes later, Olivia was loaded onto a stretcher and carried out to the ambulance, woozy and handcuffed but still spitting vitriol. One of the policemen came outside to wave me in.

I bounded through the garage, into the condominium, and up the stairs to the kitchen level of the apartment. Cory was just struggling out of the elevator compartment, red-faced and drenched with sweat, not at all her usual immaculate self.

"Thank goodness," she said. "I thought I was going to melt." She strode over to the fancy digital heat control panel on the kitchen wall and switched it off. "She had it pushed up as high as it would go. Maybe she was planning to leave us in the elevator and hope we died of hyperthermia."

A m.u.f.fled banging noise came from the direction of the pantry. Bransford and Torrence drew their guns again and approached cautiously.

"Is there a key to this door?" Bransford asked Cory.

"Unfortunately, I don't have access to it."

Torrence instructed the lady cop to retrieve a pry bar from their cruiser. She returned shortly and they winched the door open. Inside, my mother lay on her side, wide-eyed, trussed like an enormous turkey, her face red and sweaty, her mouth stuffed with a red potholder.

While the police untied her and the detective helped her to a chair near the counter, I rushed to get her a gla.s.s of water.

"Thank G.o.d you found me," she croaked as soon as the potholder was removed and she'd taken a sip. "I had the worst choking feeling-like I'd swallowed the Sahara. But then I calmed myself down by thinking about what I'd cook if I lived here. Isn't this the most amazing apartment?"

"I had the same thoughts," I told her, ignoring the puzzled looks of the cops. "I was imagining the parties we could throw on that deck overlooking the whole island." I reached for her hands, rubbing the circulation back into her wrists.

Then she hugged me hard and took a long drink of water. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you! I heard you earlier, but I was afraid I'd make things worse with Olivia if I made noise. But then when I heard the men's voices, I figured it was safe to kick the walls so you'd know I was here."

"You're one smart cookie," I said. "I'm so sorry about the alimony-"

She put a finger to her lips, cutting me off. "Enough said. I asked him to stop paying me when you left for college-I should have told you. Anyway, I know you didn't mean it-the weekend's been a little bit stressful." And then she grinned. "But kind of fun."

I shook my head in amazement-my claustrophobic, helpless mother had come a long way. "Mom, this is Cory Held. She's a real estate agent who works in the office below mine. She got us into this condo."

Mom embraced her too. "Thank you, thank you. If my daughter decides to stay on in Key West and find her own place, we'd love to have your help. I could spot the down payment," she added. "Though you've got a sweet deal with Miss Gloria."

"Never mind that, Mrs. Snow," Bransford broke in. "Exactly what happened here?"

She fixed a stern look on him. "As you probably know, Hayley and I were trying to understand whether it could be true that that lovely Yoshe King killed herself. Not to mention why our dear friend Eric is in jail." A horrified look slid over her face. "Before I go on, how about calling the Sheriff's Department and telling those people to let him out?"

"We'll take care of that, Mrs. Snow," said Bransford. "Please go on."

"You wouldn't have any way of knowing this, but I took a lot of photos this weekend-I was so excited to be attending the conference with my daughter. While I was waiting to meet Hayley for lunch, I ran through the whole lot. Honestly, after Thursday night, no one looked like they were having much fun. But then I came across a shot of Yoshe and Olivia, who looked positively grim. And I remembered that Olivia told us she'd flown into Marathon rather than Key West. Why would she do that, unless she had use of a private plane? And she's a writer: Where in the world would she get the money to hire a jet? I started thinking about her foundation and I got a funny feeling that maybe she was using public funds in an unethical way ... so I asked my friend Sam to look into it."

"A funny feeling," said Bransford, glowering at me. "You two are very much alike, aren't you?"

"Yes. Aren't I lucky?" Mom reached over to stroke my hair, now grinning so hard, I couldn't help smiling along with her.

"And then?" Bransford asked.

"Then I stopped in the conference bookstore. Olivia was there, holding court with her fans. When she left the building and hailed a cab, I followed all the way here on my scooter and hid it in the bushes. But she must have figured out I was onto her. A middle-aged woman wobbling down the road on a pink motorbike will tend to catch your attention."

Mom looked sheepish as she explained how Olivia had ducked into the vestibule of the Steamplant Condominiums but left the door propped open. "When I came in, she leaped out from the shadows-scared me half to death-and pretended she had a gun. Of course, if I'd called you people as I properly should have"-she pressed her hands together and bowed at Bransford and then Torrence-"this never would have happened. On the other hand, would you have listened to more theories from me?"

24.

Cooking connects every hearth fire to the sun and smokes out whatever G.o.ds there be-along with the ghosts of all our kitchens past, and all the people who have fed us with love and hate and fear and comfort, and whom we in turn have fed.

-Betty Fussell Miss Gloria had borrowed a folding table from the Renharts for our impromptu dinner party and even sweet-talked Mr. Renhart into setting it up outside on her deck. A dozen tea lights flickered on the white lace tablecloth, disguising the few stains that had collected over the years of use and showing off her antique silver flatware, which she had buffed to gleaming for the occasion.

Eric, Bill, and Mrs. Altman had arrived fifteen minutes earlier and settled onto the deck chairs with gla.s.ses of white wine. Eric had been released from the jail in time to go with Bill to the airport to pick up his mother. Mrs. Altman was doing her best to be cheerful, but she looked bleary and exhausted and wouldn't let go of Eric's hand. Every so often she reached up to stroke him from shoulder to elbow, as if he were an enormous housecat.

"Where do you keep the Ritz crackers?" my mother called from the galley.

"Be right back," I told our guests.

Mom was kneading meat loaf in a red pottery bowl in Miss Gloria's galley kitchen. I found a sleeve of crackers tucked away in one of the cabinets and put them on the counter.

She dumped them into my food processor and whirred them into crumbs. "There's no point in trying to make this dish low-fat or otherwise too healthy," she explained to Connie as she added the crumbs to the meat. "You serve it once in a while, it makes your man happy, end of story. So skip the ground turkey and the quinoa. You need ground beef, some pork if you want to be fancy, plus chopped onion, carrots, and green pepper, cracker crumbs, a few tablespoons of Lipton's Onion Soup mix, half a jar of Bone Suckin' barbecue sauce. And an egg to bind it all together." She shaped the red ma.s.s into an oval, tucked it into an oblong gla.s.s pan, slathered more sauce on top, and shunted it into the oven. "If you girls could get started on the mashed potatoes, I'll go freshen up."

Connie looked up from the notes she was taking at the kitchen table. From Janet Snow's Kitchen was written across the top of the note card. "This is an old family recipe, right?" Connie asked.

"Hayley discovered this one," my mother said. "I never did much care for my own mother's meat loaf." She winked and left the kitchen.

"Don't you dare tell her," I whispered. "It's my stepmother's recipe. One of the few edible things she can make."

Connie crossed out Janet and penciled in Stepmom's meat loaf. We burst into giggles and then began washing and peeling the sack of potatoes. When we were finished, I dropped them into a pot of simmering water and set the timer. We went back out to the porch to join the others. Connie's fiance, Ray, arrived and Miss Gloria introduced him to everyone. A popping noise echoed from the galley.

"A toast to the future bride and groom!" called my mother. She bustled out from the kitchen with a fizzing bottle of champagne and offered it around the table. She held up her gla.s.s. "May your life together be bursting with love, laughter, and good food!"

"Thanks so much," said Connie shyly.

Mom fingered Ray's ponytail and smiled at Connie. "With any luck, he'll get a haircut before the wedding." And then she took the seat across from Eric. "Now tell us what happened this weekend."

"Sorry I worried all of you." Eric took off his gla.s.ses and laid them on the table, slumped a little, then rubbed his face with both hands. He sat up blinking.

"From way back, Jonah loved to think about himself as a rule-breaker," he said. "Not to say he didn't start out playing by the rules-you don't land a job reviewing restaurants for the Guide Bouchee if you're not willing to do it their way. Or get a job as a line cook in a well-known restaurant. But once he learned their ropes, he wanted to break out and he was willing to take the risk of leaving a good job to do so."

He slid his gla.s.ses back on. "I wasn't his therapist, of course, but I think most of what he did was driven by his rage at not being accepted by his family. They would rather have pretended he didn't exist than acknowledge he was gay. But with the publication of his memoir, pretending was no longer an option. In fact, Jonah discovered last week that they had filed a lawsuit for libel against him and his publisher."

I cleared my throat. "But, Eric, something happened between you and Jonah. Your fingerprints were on that bird. And I don't believe you left the party Thursday night because you had a migraine. You've never had a migraine in your life." Then I confessed how I'd seen him on the Duval Street webcam, looking worried and guilty.

"Did you know there's a time delay on that camera?" Ray interrupted. "It doesn't show the street in real time. Did you look at who came by after Eric?"

Of course, I hadn't. I went to get my laptop, set it up so the table could see the screen, and replayed the scene I'd studied a dozen times already.

"You see what I mean?" I asked as Eric's figure hurried by in jerky slow motion. Eric nodded, wincing. Several minutes after that, Olivia Nethercut appeared on camera, walking briskly away from the scene of the crime. Determined and angry.

I groaned. "If I'd seen this and managed to convince the cops that it meant something, Cory and I could have skipped the whole elevator nightmare. And saved you," I told my mother, "a couple of hours locked in that closet."

"Probably did me some good," she said, blowing a kiss across the table. "Banished a nasty little lingering phobia." Then she turned her attention back to Eric. "So, what really happened that night?"

Eric sighed and squeezed his mother's hand. "Jonah e-mailed me last week and said he was done with secrets. Even old ones."

He told us that back in their New York City graduate school days, they'd fallen in love. Or not really, but who believes it's not real when all the hormones are raging? Jonah had pushed him to be truthful about everything, including his s.e.xuality. "The more Jonah's parents resisted facing who he truly was, the louder he got. And the harder he pushed the people around him.

"Unfortunately, I got caught up in his fervor. My mother can tell you how bad things were."

She nodded sadly. "Not a high point in our relationship."