And the date: Tildys thirtieth birthday.

Its meant to warn herperhaps all of themthat someone is out there, watching.

Someone whoknows .

Fiona is sitting at her deskwhere there is no longer any trace of the rose or the bloodfighting the overwhelming urge to chain smoke, when Emily informs her that Patrick is on the phone.

She didnt even realize it had rung.

At the mention of her exs name, however, she springs to life.

Thanks, Emily, she snaps. And can you please close the door? Thanks.

The receptionists obedient response is immediate. Good, maybe shes learning.

When she showed up at 8:43, Fiona let her know, in no uncertain terms, that shes on thin ice.

If youre ever late again, youll be fired on the spot, Fiona informed her.

Never mind that if Emily hadnt been late this morning, she would have been here to witness the gory sight in Fionas office.

And n.o.body needs to know about that.

The evidencethe rose, and a wad of bleach-soaked, b.l.o.o.d.y paper towelsis sealed into a black garbage bag she tossed into a Dumpster out back moments before Emily walked through the door.

She had the gall to blame her delay on the weather, as if she had to drive a hundred miles over rain-slicked and fog-shrouded roads to get here.

Disgusted, Fiona laid into her, then retreated to her office to brood.

Now, she looks at the phone, where a lit b.u.t.ton indicates Pat holding on Line 1.

Scowling, she jabs it as she picks up the receiver with a brusque, Fiona Fitzgerald.

Im just letting you know that Im getting Ashley today after school, her ex informs her without a greeting, same as always.

He calls her every other Friday morning to confirm his prescheduled weekends with their daughter.

After what you did? she retorts with a brittle laugh. I dont think so.

Theres a pause on the line.

Then Pat asks, What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?

You know, she says, and holds her breath.

Doeshe know?

Please let the rose have been from him.

Yes, some kind of sick, twisted joke meant to signify that he somehow figured out she was on a date last night.

Because if he didnt leave it here I have no idea what you think I did, he replies so cluelessly that her heart sinks, but if its spending the last forty-eight hours building a part.i.tion in my apartment and redecorating so that Ash will have her own room when she visits from now on, youre right. Lucky guess.

Dammit. Who could have left the rose?

The same person who sent the card.

It makes sense that the two are related.

The sorority flower was a red rose. That this one was lying in a sticky, congealed pool of blood might have something to do with Rachel Fiona? Pat prods in her ear.

Jarred back to the conversation at hand, she says only, You built a room for Ashley?

Shes getting older. She needs privacy when shes here.

So thats what was so important you couldnt watch her for me last night, and I had to p.a.w.n her off on Brynn?

You didnthave to do anything, he shoots back. And if our daughter is putting such a cramp in your style, maybe we should talk about my getting full-time custody.

And the generous child support that would go along with it, no doubt.

No. The word is curt. She isnt cramping my style at all. But, to answer your question, you can pick her up after school and take her for the weekend.

That will give me a chance to figure out what in G.o.ds name is going on here,she thinks uneasily.

Stepping through the French door onto a brick patio, Quincy sees Detective Mike Connelly. Deceptively young-lookingthough a father of three college-aged kidsjovial, red-headed Mike has a nurturing air that tends to soothe even the most shaken witness.

Hes standing over a woman seated at a wrought iron table. Her gray head is buried in her hands.

Catching Mikes eye, Quincy raises his eyebrows questioningly. Mike shrugs and throws up his hands, indicating he hasnt gotten anything out of her.

Quincy glances at the notes in his hand before approaching.

Miss Schicke? These old-world types arent big on Ms.

She looks up. Her plain face is etched in tear-dampened crows-feet.

Im Detective Hiles, and this is Detective Jackson. He flashes his badge, as does Deb. We need to ask you some questions.

She nods wearily and sits up straighter in the chair. He notes that shes wearing a uniform that consists of light blue pants and a light blue top with white cuffs.

Mike and Deb hover nearby as Quincy sits across from the witness.

Can you describe what happened this morning? Take your time.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself. I walked in and found Wait, back up. What time was this? And how did you get in?

With my key. The alarm wasnt set. I knew right away something was wrong.

And when was this? Mike prods.

About five to eight, I think. Thats when I come every day. She falls into an emotional silence.

Quincy prompts, So you let yourself in and And I found poor Matilda. Her voice breaks and she sobs.

Her grief seems authentic. Perhaps even, Quincy notes, a bit deeper than one would expect in an employee-employer relationship.

How long have you been working for Miss Harrington? Deb asks.

All her life. The woman wipes her streaming eyes with a tissue. I was her nanny from the time she was born. Then she lost her mother, and all these years, Ive taken care of her. She was like a daughter to me. I cant believe somebody could do this to her. Poor Matilda. Oh, her poor father is going to be devastated.

Shes sobbing again.

Quincy waits patiently for the tears to subside.

When she pulls herself together he asks, What did you see when you walked into the house, Miss Schicke? Step-by-step.

There was a stain in the hall, on the floor, and some on the baseboard. But I didnt realize what it was at first. I thought it might be paint. But it wasnt. She shudders. Then I looked in the dining room, and I saw Excuse me Hiles? Can I speak to you for a second?

Quincy looks up to see Hal Tambert, a uniformed deputy, beckoning from the back doorway.

He strides over. What is it?

Weve got a neighbor who says she saw someone sitting in a car parked out front late last night, for a few hours. She said it looked like he was waiting for someone or maybe keeping an eye on the place.

Do we have a description?

Yeah, and its a pretty distinct one. Tambert glances at the pad in his hand. The neighbor said he was a white male, very thin, and thatTambert snortshe bore a close resemblance to Abraham Lincoln.

As Ca.s.sandra turns down Commonwealth Avenue, she spots a commotion in the block ahead Tildys block, she realizes. Of all the luck.

Is it a fire?

No, no fire trucks or rescue vehicles.

Just police cars.

And lots of them.

Someone must have been mugged, or something.

Then again, Ca.s.sie thinks, thats an awful lot of chaos for a mugging. Well, there cant be much crime in this neighborhood, so maybe the authorities go overboard with the response whenever something happens.

When she reaches the intersection, she sees that the next block is barricaded from traffic. A uniformed officer waves her on around the corner.

As Ca.s.sie follows his direction, she notices a couple of satellite news vans parked near the police cars, and a lot of people milling around on the sidewalk. Maybe its a protest of some kind. The college isnt far from here, right?

Tildy cant be too thrilled with all the turmoil right on her doorstep. If shes home.

She isnt at work. Ca.s.sie had already called her office a few times and kept getting her voice mail. Finally she called the nonprofits direct line and the receptionist said she wasnt in today.

That doesnt mean shes home, though.

Heading down Gloucester Street, Ca.s.sie spots aMa.s.s PIKEsign and wonders if she should just get on it. Just forget about trying to talk to Tildy and leave Boston, and everything that happened here, behind For what? To go home to something even more complicated?

No, shes come this far. She might as well see if Tildys around. She has to tell her what she heard on her voice mail.

Just thinking about it raises the hair on her arms.

Who would call her, leave that creepy recording of the sorority song, and hang up?

Her phones electronic incoming call log revealed nothing. That call was listed as Private Name, Private Number.

Each year, every ZDK sister in the house receives a copy of the annually videotaped pledge ceremony, which concludes with the girls singing the sorority song.

That means, theoretically, suspects would be limited to Ca.s.sies fellow ZDK sisters. In which case It has to be a stupid prank,she tells herself. Just like the birthday card.

But what if it wasnt? What if someone knows about Rachel and somehow got their hands on a copy? Are they setting up an elaborate blackmail plot now?

Or What if itis Rachel?

But it doesnt make sense. Even if she survived the fall somehow, and lived, why would she just disappear? And why would she come back now?

She was upset about something that night. So upset she drank herself into oblivion. What was bothering her? And could it possibly have been devastating enough to make her willingly vanish for ten years, putting her family and friends, and, yes, her sorority sistersincluding the four of usthrough h.e.l.l?

Maybe.

Ca.s.sie is starting to believe that anything is possible. And if thats the case Making an aimless right turn onto Newbury Street, she shudders, wondering if Rachel realized that the four of them abandoned her in the woods.

Does she want revenge of some sort? Is that why shes trying to scare them?

If its even her. And thats pretty d.a.m.ned far-fetched, Ca.s.sie concludes, spotting a parking garage with aVACANCY sign just ahead.

She decides to put the Rachel incident, and the voice mail message, out of her head. Shes got enough going on right now.

Maybe Tildy will let me stay for awhile, till I get my act together.

Oh, who is she kidding? She doesnt have the luxury of camping out at her friends house indefinitely or even for one night.

She has to get home to her fiance, her family, her job.

And tell them ?

Well, she still has no idea what shes going to tell them.

Sh.e.l.l figure that out later. Maybe Tildy will have a suggestion.

Back in their sorority days, Ca.s.sie fell into the habit of consulting Tildy whenever she came to a crossroads. She still does. Her old friend always seems to offer a decisive reply when Ca.s.sie needs it most, even if its not necessarily the advice she wants to hear.