It was less than a half hour, and Di was back, looking decidedly greenish.

"Well?" the two men asked simultaneously.

"Oh, it's ours; Melanie says they all got cardiectomy, and there were some little fried bits of flower wreaths on all of them, I would guess they had the full rites done on them; just like the man at Bachmann Lake except for maybe the mutilations. I think the kills at Amerine were to raise power so that they could perform this sacrifice undisturbed. Ramirez, if I were you, I'd start looking for a big flat rock somewhere in the park with bloodstains all over it."

"I'm on it " the detective shook his head wearily, and headed over to the picnic shelter, where a group of three uniformed cops were standing. He spoke with them for a few moments; they nodded, and started off into the park in three different directions.

"So this time they didn't clean up after themselves," Mark said, thinking out loud. "Probably figured on the fire taking care of the evidence and either forgot, or didn't know that green plant stuff doesn't burn worth s.h.i.t."

"Could be," Di replied, shaking her head and blinking hard, as if she was having trouble with blurring vision. "Could also be they're getting enough power that they don't care. And that scares me."

"I've got another guess " Mark said, shifting from one, tired, aching foot to the other, and wishing he could sit down for a while. Or better yet, lie down for a while. "I bet that one of those four guys was our missing Bronson."

She nodded. "They won't know for sure until they match dental records, but I'm certain. The one on the pa.s.senger's side in the front seat was Bronson."

Mark cursed under his breath all the way home.

Mark was still feeling groggy as they pulled up to the gate at the Bear Creek apartment complex where Robert had moved his family in their newfound prosperity. This time (unlike the first time he'd come out here) he called ahead, so the guard had his name and waved him in though not without the usual frown of disapproval at the battered old Ghia.

"I wish you'd warned me," Di said with a completely deadpan expression, "I'd have dressed for the occasion."

Certainly they were going to look as out of place once they stepped out of the car as the little Ghia did among all the BMWs, Mercs, and Porsches. Mark pulled into a slot between a Corvette and an antique Triumph and replied defiantly. "Be d.a.m.ned if I'm going to cater to this lot's delusions ""Whoa there, Magnum, I was just putting you on!" she said hastily, swinging out of the pa.s.senger's seat. "Look at it this way from the tensions around here, I can promise you that this bunch isn't enjoying themselves or their work half as much as you are or at least the way you do when you haven't the kind of pressure on you have now."

"Yeah, well "

"I know; there's times I get jealous, too," she said softly. "When I look at something that's selling off the bookshelves and think 'h.e.l.l, I've thrown out better writing than that.' Stay cool; you do more good in half a year than these hedonists will do in a lifetime, and that's what counts."

He managed to grin at her as they headed up the sidewalk to Robert's townhouse. "Like they say, money may not buy happiness, but it sure makes misery comfortable."

"It does that," she answered, as they paused on the flagstoned doorstep and Mark rang the bronze- framed doorbell.

Sherry must have been waiting for them; the heavy oak-finished door was opened almost before the echoes of the chimes died away.

"Mark!" exclaimed the slender blond who pulled the door open then practically flung herself at Mark. "Dammit, Mark we have missed you!"

Mark felt his temperature rise a notch, and told himself sternly to stay calm. He kind of wondered, with a twinge of worry, what Robert had been doing to make her so happy to see him. He also wondered what Di was picking up.

At that point Sherry noticed that Mark wasn't alone, and pulled away from him, flushing, and betrayed her nerves by tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind one ear.

"Sherry, this is Di; a colleague of mine," Mark said hastily.

The slight hint of wariness faded from Sherry's expression, and she extended her hand with nervous friendliness. "Hi," she answered, "I'm glad to meet one of Mark's co-workers, finally."

"Not quite a co-worker," Di answered serenely. "I'm more of a PI. Mark and I met back in college, and when all this mess started up, he remembered that I specialize in weird cults, and got Dallas PD to bring me in."

"Deprogramming?" Sherry asked, with a hint of interest. More, maybe, than the question warranted.

"Among other things, sometimes," Di replied, looking at her oddly. Sherry flushed a little, and looked uncomfortable.

At that moment they were interrupted by a blond-haired ball of energy that flung itself at Mark's legs. "Markmarkmark!" the boy crowed.

"Heya!" Mark was rather grateful for the interruption; Di was handling the situation, but Sherry was obviously uneasy and off balance. He grabbed the giggling child and tossed him into the air. "How's my favorite dragon-slayer?"

"Miss you!" the child said, completely without shame. "Da won't tell me stories, an' he won't play wif me neither."

Mark gave the little rug-rat a quick hug and put him down. "Now, kidlet, your Da's a busy man.

He's "

"He don't wanta play wif me; he wants to play wif the Mean Ladies," the child retorted.

"Bobby!" his mother exclaimed, blushing a full crimson.

"Well, he does an' they are" Bobby insisted. He turned his attention to the one stranger in the group. "Who're you?" he demanded.

Di was obviously struggling to keep from laughing. "My name is Di, and I'm a friend of Mark's."

"Are you a cop too?" he said with intense fascination. "Like on TV? Are you like Cagney and Lacey?"

"Kind of. I knew Mark from a long time ago, and when Mark asked me to come help him, I did. And if you'll promise not to embarra.s.s your mum again by calling your father's models the Mean Ladies, I have something for you."

Bobby considered the offer thoughtfully. "Okay," he decided.

"Then hold out your hand "

He did, and she put a lavender-toned, eight-sided crystal the size of a walnut in his palm.

"That keeps monsters away," she said, absolutely seriously.He was enthralled, his blue-gray eyes big and round. "Really?"

She nodded. "Cross my heart. Put it by your bed and you won't even dream about monsters, unless you want to."

He c.o.c.ked his head to the right and looked up at her, as if trying to measure her sincerity. "I like G.o.dzilla."

"Then if you want to dream about G.o.dzilla, you will. But only monsters you like. Okay?"

"Okay!" He ran back inside, clutching his prize.

Sherry looked at her with a very bemused expression. "How on earth did you know he's been having nightmares? And what was that you gave him?"

Di shrugged.

"Mark said something about it, and I've worked with kids a bit. At his age, nightmares are pretty common, especially when the family is under stress moving to a new home is a lot of stress to a little one," she replied with delicate tact. "Frequently you can reprogram kids that age to eliminate their own nightmaring by giving them a talisman, and it works especially well if what you give them is unusual enough. That was just a common fluorite crystal, but I figured it wasn't likely he'd ever seen one. They aren't the kind being sold as pendants, mostly because they generally aren't as pretty as that one."

"Well, if it works I am going to be in your debt. He's been waking up screaming about once a night and Robert has been getting pretty tired of it," Sherry replied, waving them in. "Not that he's blaming Bobby " she added hastily, "but "

"It's okay, Sherry, we dig," Mark replied. "After a while it gets old."

"Exactly," she said, leading the way to the sunken living room, a room utterly unlike Mark's apartment. It looked like a House Beautiful ad, all fashionable beiges and creams, from the soft carpet to the velvet upholstery of the pit-group. "Oh Mark, Robert's home for a change he didn't like what the lab did to the last set so he swears he's going to do all the developing himself from here on in. We got the new darkroom finished just in time."

She waved at a door at the farther end of the room as they settled into the living room. Mark recalled that the last time he'd been here, that had been an extra-large bathroom. There was a kind of design or glyph in hand-forged bra.s.s mounted on the door. It matched the obviously handmade (and expensive) bra.s.s lamps and occasional tables.

"Like the logo?" Sherry asked, with a certain amount of pride. "It's Aztec, it means 'Fire and Water.'

That's the official name of the company. I think that glyph is our good-luck charm; ever since we started using it, we can do no wrong."

"Nice," Di said. "Where on earth did you find someone to do that kind of metal work around here?"

Sherry shrugged. "Robert found an artist; he's good at getting things done nowadays. Well, what can I do for you?"

"We've got " Mark began, when the door to the darkroom opened.

"I thought I heard your voice," Robert said genially, as Mark rose to meet him. His handsome, almost sculptured face was crossed with what seemed to be a genuine smile of welcome. Mark was gladder than ever that he hadn't given in to his longings and He'd have hated like h.e.l.l to do anything that would have ruined that friendship. No matter how he felt about the way his friend was treating his wife, no matter how attracted he was to that wife, he still liked Robert.

"So, old buddy, what can we do for you?" Robert asked, when they'd finished exchanging greetings.

"This time it isn't your expertise we need, it's Sherry's," Mark said. "Got a fabric sample I want to see if she can identify. It's handmade; we're hoping she can place it."

"Oh well," Robert replied, glancing (Mark thought) a little uncomfortably at Di. "I can tell when I'm superfluous."

"Don't give me that "

"No seriously, I have a lot of work I need to do. I hate to say hi and run, but "

"If you don't get back in that darkroom, you aren't gonna be able to keep up the payments on this heap," Mark teased.

"Don't I know! Okay Sher, be nice for me "

"No problem," she replied, wrinkling her nose playfully at him. He waved vaguely at them and disappeared back into the darkroom.

"All right, let's see this fabric sample," she said, turning back to them as they all sat back down again. Mark thought he detected a certain haunted quality to her eyes, but if so, she closed it off before he could be certain.

"It isn't really a sample," he said apologetically, handing her the big envelope he'd picked up at the Forensics lab. "It's a photograph. The sample is the only piece we've got, so the lab's hanging onto it like it was the Holy Grail."

"Right, I understand," she answered absently, sliding the photograph out of the manilla envelope.

Her eyes went very wide with surprise.

"Recognize it?" Mark asked.

"I certainly do! It's Mestizo only it's much finer work than I do. I work with bigger patterns and a coa.r.s.er weave, but otherwise it's exactly the kind of thing I learned in Mexico. I'd say it was Chiapas, except that see this line of figures, and this, and this?" She indicated the patterns as Di and Mark leaned over her shoulders. "Those aren't Chiapas patterns at all; in fact, I don't recognize them. But in general, well it's definitely Mex-Indian work. My bet would be that it's a renegade weaver; one using traditional techniques, but making up her own designs. That's supposed to make bad luck but now and again somebody will say 'be d.a.m.ned to tradition' and chance it."

"What do you mean, that you use a coa.r.s.er weave?" Mark asked.

"Well, come on into my workroom and I'll show you."

They followed her through the kitchen into what probably had been intended by the apartment designers as a third bedroom or a den. There was no carpet on the pale gold hardwood floor; the only furniture was a huge loom. But that loom was not in use; it wasn't even strung. Instead Sherry showed them a loom barely the size of a coffee table.

"You see?" she said. "This is a piece I'm doing for myself; a huiple and wrap-skirt with all the patterning in the weave instead of in the colors." She brightened as she stroked the finished fabric. "It was Robert's idea; it was the first time in a long time that he's shown any interest in my work. I've got the skirt done, the blouse is three-fourths finished. But look, this is the finest weave I've done yet, and you can see that my piece has only about half the number of threads per inch as the piece in the photograph."

Mark looked closer, and saw that she was absolutely correct. "So this couldn't have come from one of your outfits?"

She shook her head. "No, no way. I've only seen work like that once and that " she faltered. "That was in Mexico," she finished flatly.

Her eyes flickered over to Di and back. Mark didn't miss the glance; neither did Di.

"If you don't mind, Mark," Di said then, "I'll get back to the car and start writing this up. It'll probably take me a while to put this into terms the Chief understands, so take your time."

"You don't have to leave " Sherry began halfheartedly.

Di shook her head. "I'll think better in the car and I mumble when I write. No problem, and it's a beautiful day."

"Then let me see you to the door," Sherry replied, obviously torn between relief and a desire to be the proper hostess.

Mark followed them as far as the living room, where he sank down into the luxuriously soft upholstery in one of corners of the pit. He couldn't help reflecting wryly on how out-of-place he looked, in his sneakers, jeans, and blue workshirt.

"So," he said, when Sherry returned alone. "Why don't you tell me a little about where you saw that kind of work."

Her face was closed and about as close to expressionless as Sherry ever got. "Well, it was on the trip where Robert met the girls. We were in Mexico City; Robert was working on spec for Travel World, and I was looking for examples of the kind of clothing I told you about. We were out at the pyramids when this young girl came up to us, trying to sell us silver jewelry."

Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "It was Lupe, of course; she's not the oldest of the girls, but she's the leader. She was wearing exactly that kind of weave, I think. The funny thing is that I don't remember much about that day, or the next. I think I might have gotten heat stroke, or something. I know that I was in a kind of fever; but I don't remember taking half the photographs or making a quarter of the charts that I obviously did. I do remember that Lupe loaned me more garments to copy while Robert took them out to pose in the ruins; that was what I was photographing and charting all day. But I really don't remember much about the things she was wearing, except that the figures in the weave were different from what she gave me."

"So this stuff could, in fact probably did, come from Mexico City?"

To his surprise, she shook her head. "No, because I don't know where Lupe is originally from. She could be from up on the border around El Paso; her English is certainly good enough for that. It's really odd; I just don't know that much about the girls. It's that I really don't care that much, I guess. I " She laughed, but it was obviously forced. "I resent them. And I just can't get past that. I guess I don't want to know more about them than I do; knowing about them would make them human, and I'd have to like them then."

"Sherry, why did you ask Di if she did deprogramming?"

Sherry blushed again, and bit her lip. "Just I have these stupid ideas, sometimes.

Like sometimes it seems as if Lupe and the others have got some kind of strange hold on Rob that has nothing to do with s.e.x. I can't help thinking that they've maybe gotten him tangled up in a peyote thing or something."

"He didn't look like or act like a druggie to me," Mark said, cautiously. "And I've seen more than my share."

"I know," she sighed. "I told you it was stupid. I think all kinds of nasty things about the girls; I'd like to think everything that's kerwhacky between us is their fault. But it isn't, and in my saner moments, I know it."

Mark was at a loss for words. He was saved from having to make a stupid reply by the sound of the front door opening and closing.

"That would be her highness now," Sherry said bitterly. "She never bothers to knock."

The rapid click of high heels on the tile of the entry way and hall preceded "her highness." Mark had no doubt who Sherry meant; his a.s.sumption was confirmed when one of Robert's four models prowled into view.

"Prowled" was the only appropriate word. Mark had seen women before who had been described as being graceful as a cat; this was the first one he'd ever seen who merited the description.

Lupe moved with all the lithe swiftness and controlled strength of one of the big hunting cats. Her black hair was confined at the nape of her neck in a simple knot; where Sherry was wearing little more than a bit of eye makeup and some lip-gloss, she was made up to within an inch of her life. And somehow Mark was irresistibly reminded of Indian warriors decorating themselves for combat. She had changed a great deal since she and her sisters had made those initial photographs no simple folk costumes for her, not now. The skin-tight jeans she was wearing bore a top designer name over one hip; the sleeveless tee was silk, he'd bet on it. She was wearing a heavy silver necklace with odd designs incorporated into it; he rather wished he could see it a bit closer. It seemed to him that it looked a lot like the one Robert was wearing.

She was incredible, unbelievably s.e.xy and attractive; skin so perfect it seemed almost poreless, vivid dark coloring, hair a thick fluid cascade of black silk. He could feel himself responding to her in spite of himself. She held herself with the poise of one born royal, and so aware of the fact that it had become unconscious awareness. Even that prominent nose was not a detraction rather, it seemed that Sherry's nose (for example) was absurdly small by comparison.