I honestly dont think any of us would, Ca.s.sie speaks up. She looks from Fiona to Brynn. Look, Im a doctor. That was a h.e.l.l of a fall. Do you honestly think what? That Rachel was really alive down there, and Tildy lied about it? You believe that Rachel got up after that fall and walked awayand now shes back to torment the rest of us?

Her words hang in the air, punctuated by ambient restaurant sounds: silver clinking against china, murmured conversations, cla.s.sical music.

Its either that, Brynn says quietly after a long moment, or one of us told somebody what happened.

Fiona looks around the table. Anyone want to come clean on that?

More silence.

I didnt think so, she mutters, reaching for her purse, and her cigarettes, before remembering that she cant smoke here.

This is ridiculous. Tildy pushes back her chair. Im not sitting here while the three of you accuse me of something so heinous, after all Ive done for all of you.

Im not accusing you of anything, Ca.s.sie protests.

No,youre not, Tildy concedes, taking her leather Hermes bag from the back of her chair and slinging the strap over her shoulder. Theyare.

Were not accusing you, either. Brynn touches Tildys arm, and looks to Fiona for agreement.

As irked by Brynns benevolent att.i.tude as she is by Tildys self-righteous outrage, Fiona merely shrugs.

Were just trying to figure out who could have sent those cards, and why, Brynn goes on, turning back to Tildy, and how they could have known what happened.

Maybe theydidnt know, Ca.s.sie suggests, and is promptly on the receiving end of three blank stares.

What do you mean? Fee asks.

Maybe whoever sent the cards just knew that Rachel disappeared on her birthday ten years ago, and that she was our friend. It was all over the news at the time, remember?

Remember? Fiona echoes, thinking back to the media blitz that followed that terrible night. Is there anything about any of it that we can possibly ever forget?

Rachels pretty face was plastered everywhere, fromThe Today Show to the evening news, from the front page of all the New York tabloids toPeople magazine.

Impressive coverage. The case held certain elements of ma.s.s appeal: a beautiful coed from a privileged family had vanished without a trace, and on her birthday, no less. People ate that stuff up.

Always have, always will.

In the past decade, other beautiful young women have mysteriously disappeared, just as Rachel did.

Chandra Levy, Elizabeth Smart, Natalie Holloway Sometimes, their stories have happy endings. Others conclude tragically. But even recovered remains bring closure.

There was no closure for the Lorent family. There were no remains to bury in the family plot on Long Island.

Eventually, rumblings began to surface in the media, just as there were rumors on campus, that Rachel had simply run off somewhere on her own. Gradually, her story faded from the public eye.

Of course, she was resurrected in the local press on the first few anniversaries of her disappearance, and when her father died of cancer a couple of years ago, and whenever a similarly high-profile case came along. But for the most part, it was over.

For everyone but Rachels family And the four of us And whoever sent the cards.

So, if thats the caseif the cards came from someone who knew about Rachel from the news, and not what really happened, Brynn says slowly, absorbing Ca.s.sies theory, then maybe its just some sicko who remembers reading about it in the press, and the four of us arent the only ones who got them.

What do you mean? Fiona asks impatiently.

Maybe some of her other friends got the cards, too, Ca.s.sie says.

Brynn nods. We need to find out.

How are we going to do that?

We arent, Fiona firmly informs both Ca.s.sie and Brynn, noticing that Tildy has remained conspicuously silent through their speculation, though shes made no further move to leave.

Dont you think we should know whether this is strictly about the four of us, and somebody possibly knowing what happened that night? Brynn asks.

Id love to find out, but we cant go around looking up the Zetas and asking questions without making ourselves look suspicious.

I disagree.

Fiona shakes her head at Brynns stubborn expression. You want to start calling people and saying we all got cards from Rachel, and did they get them, too?

Not flat out, but No, Fee is right, Tildy pipes up at last. We dont need anyone thinking we might know something about Rachel. Not even now, after all these years. The best thing we can do about all this is keep quiet.

But Brynns protest is interrupted by the waiter returning with a loaded tray.

They wait in silence as he places their meals before them. As soon as he departs, Fiona says, Lets a.s.sume that whoever sent those cards knows what we did that night. What do you think sheor heis going to do about it?

Blackmail us. Tildys answer is immediate.

Fiona had been thinking the same thing.

What if its Rachel? Brynn asks, her meal still untouched, like the others. You think shed want to blackmail us?

It cant be Rachel, Brynn, Ca.s.sie insists. How did she survive? Where has she been all these years? Why did she disappear?

I dont know! Brynn squeezes her fingertips against her temples. It doesnt make sense, but I cant think of anything else that does, either.

Blackmail makes sense, Fiona admits.

So should we go to the police, then?

No, the other three answer Brynns question in decisive unison.

So we should just what, then? Sit around waiting for something else to happen? Wait for someone to blackmail us? Or worse?

n.o.body answers that.

You would expect Fiona to be the first to emerge from the inn, with Brynn d.o.g.g.i.ng her heels, but thats not how it happens.

No, its Matilda Harrington who steps out onto the porch less than an hour after Ca.s.sies arrival, unaware that shes being watched from the stand of trees alongside the parking lot.

She looks straight ahead through huge designer sungla.s.ses as she strides toward her Ferrari as though she cant wait to get in and drive away.

Already clutching her keys, she unlocks the door with the remote when shes still a few yards away. She slips behind the wheel, closes the door, starts the engine Is she going to drive off without even spotting the white rectangle on the windshield?

No.

The door opens and a hand snakes out to pluck away the envelope.

Seconds later, the car shifts intoREVERSE and rolls backward, tires crunching on the gravel lot.

Did she even look at it?

There wasnt much time for that.

No, she most likely tossed it recklessly onto the seat next to her, probably thinking its some kind of advertising flier.

Matildas face is visible through the windshield for a moment as the Ferrari rolls past the hiding spot en route to the exit.

She appears to be utterly poised, as always.

She wouldnt be if shed read what was in the envelope.

No, not at all.

Oh, Matilda. You, of everyone, should have bothered to look at it.

Well, dont say I didnt warn you Because, in my own clever way, I tried.

In the small ladies room with its antiquated fixtures, Ca.s.sie leans toward her reflection to reapply her coral-shaded lipstick with a shaky hand as Brynn comes out of the lone stall.

She washes her hands at the sink. Her eyes meet Ca.s.sies in the mirror.

I didnt even ask you anything else about your wedding.

Thats understandable. Ca.s.sie gives a choked little laugh and puts the cap back on her lipstick. Its the last thing on my mind right now.

It shouldnt be, though. You cant let this get to you, Ca.s.sie. This should be the best time in your life.

Yes. It should be.

Did you um, pick out your flowers yet? Brynn asks, sounding as though she genuinely cares.

Thats the thing about Brynnshe really does care.

Maybe more than I do,Ca.s.sie thinks wryly.

Im meeting with the florist soon, she says aloud, trying to remember the correct answer to the question, and I was thinking of doing all roses.

In red? That was our sorority flower, remember?

Maybe red, but not really because of the sorority. Maybe I wont do roses at all.

I had pink and white roses with babys breath at my wedding, Brynn volunteers as she dries her hands thoroughly on the roller towel.

I guess Id go with deeper colors. I wouldnt want pastels since the wedding is in November.

When is it again?

The weekend after Thanksgiving. Ca.s.sie guiltily avoids meeting her friends gaze again in the mirror above the sink.

Maybe she should invite Brynn and Fee after all. She opted to include only Tildy on the guest list, reasoning that shes been in more regular contact with her than anyone else these past few years.

And why is that?

Because shes always been closer to Tildy, even back in their college days.

And why isthat,Ca.s.sie? her inner voice demands.

Because the Boston Harringtons hobn.o.b with the equally wealthy and similarly tragedy-ridden Boston Kennedys. They even have a friendly political rivalry, kindred folk who happen to belong to opposing parties. Of course, the Harringtons are actually involved in politics only through their close a.s.sociation with Troy Allerson.

Yes, the Boston Harringtons are, according to Ca.s.sies parents, the kind of people its good to know in this life.

As opposed to the Cape Cod Costellos and the Cedar Crest Fitzgeralds.

It isnt that Ca.s.sie herself subscribes to that brand of sn.o.bbery. Its just that she has precious little time to stay in touch with anyone from her past, so when she does have an opportunity to catch up with someone, it might as well be Tildy.

That way, whenever her parents invariably ask how Matilda is and when she last spoke to her, Ca.s.sie at least has a satisfactory reply.

Fiona sticks her head in the door. Brynn, come on. We could have been halfway home by now!

Im coming.

Well, hurry up! The door bangs closed.

Brynn and Ca.s.sie look at each other.

Listen, Brynn says, about all this I know, Ca.s.sie cuts in. Its bad. Im scared. But, Brynn, you cant tell anyone. Please swear to me that youre not going to do something crazy, like Go to the police.

Please dont.

You know I wont. Not behind your backs.

Ca.s.sie doesnt know that. She doesnt know Brynn. Not anymore. She was part of another life, one she left behindor so she hoped.

Just Brynn reaches out and gives her a quick hug. Have a beautiful wedding, okay? Im happy for you.

Ca.s.sie nods, suddenly unable to speak, and watches her walk out the door.

Stepping out onto the porch of the inn, Fiona lights up and takes a deep, satisfying drag.