This time, though, it isnt just about emotional trauma and physicalappearance. Its about constantlyfeeling sick. Nauseous, achy, weak, exhausted Shes been so distracted by the dramatic circ.u.mstances surrounding Tildys deathand the rumors that one of her coworkers is about to be charged in the murderthat she never stopped to consider whether her general malaise might be attributed to more than just that stress.

Never until now.

Shes felt this way before, she realizes. This same distinctive blend of cloying nausea mixed with sheer exhaustion Shes felt it twice before. And both times, it wasnt related to death.

It was, in fact, quite the contrary.

Tightly gripping the edge of the sink to keep from swaying, she does a quick mental calculation.

With mounting trepidation, she does it again.

And again.

Youre late.

She should have had her period well over a week ago.

Brynns reflection registers the utter shock coursing through her at the stunning, but indisputable, truth.

Youre pregnant.

h.e.l.lo?

Startled when the ringing phone gives way to a voice on the other end of the line, Fiona sits up straight in her desk chair. Deirdre! Ive been trying to call you forever!

Well, we had a little problem down here called Hurricane Gregory and I had to evacuate. Butdont tell me, I know you never have time to watch the news or read the papers, so youre probably clueless about that.

Actually, Fiona has been watching the news and reading the papers. But not because of the violent storm that devastated parts of the Caribbean last weekend; rather, because of the tempest that raged through her own world to a similar effect.

Reports that the Boston police have an official suspect have done little to ease Fionas concern.

Theyve got the wrong person; she knows it will be only a matter of time before they figure that out. Meanwhile, for all anyone knows, the real killer is preparing to strike again.

And again And Id give anything if I could evacuate from my life,she finds herself thinking wistfully.If not forever, than just for the next few days, at least.

Its been the week from h.e.l.l, with no signs of letting up.

Theres a memorial service for Tildy this weekend in Boston, and she knows her attendance is mandatory. A delegation of ZDK sisters, past and present, is going.

James Bingham is not. He said he and Tildy werent really friends, and, anyway, hes having some weekend work done on his Cedar Crest house that he wants to oversee.

Fiona was mildly surprised, and immensely relieved. She doesnt want him entangled with her past in any way.

So, are you okay down there, then? she asks her sister, pushing unpleasant thoughts of Tildy from her head for the time being.

We had some wind damage to the roof and we lost a shutter. We also lost a big, beautiful hibiscus Antoinette just planted out back.

Fiona toys with her Montblanc, tapping it on the stack of client folders lying untouched in her in-box.

And the cell service and power had been down since last weekend, Deirdre continues, but today were back up and runningobviously, because Im talking to you. We were lucky.

Thank goodness. And why dont you get a regular land line? she asks her sister, not for the first time. Your cell goes down all the time.

Thats fine with me. I like being incommunicado. So whats up? You didnt call just to check on me.

Fiona knows better than to pretend she did.

She and her twin have always shared some level of what Fiona has come to realize is telepathic communication. Its how she knew, without having to be told, that her sister weathered this recent hurricane without injury.

And its how shes known in the past that Deirdre was in some kind of trouble, and vice versa.

She still clearly remembers the September morning a decade ago when Puffy summoned her to the house phone, and she unexpectedly heard her sisters voice on the other end of the line. That was a few months after Deirdre left home for good; they hadnt spoken since.

Whats going on, Fee? Deirdre asked from somewhere in Europe.

What do you mean? Fiona told herself Deirdre couldnt possibly know what had happened with Rachel.

No, but Deirdre could sense that Fiona was in the midst of an ordeal.

Somethings up with you, Fee, she said that morning. I know somethings wrong. I dreamed about you last night, and you were running in the woods and something was chasing you.

Fiona forced a laugh. Dont worry. That didnt happen.

She didnt run in the woods, and nothing chased her. Not literally, anyway.

Figuratively, Deirdre had hit the nail on the head.

I cant explain it now, she said, conscious of the lack of privacy in the sorority house. I will when I see you.

Just tell me if youre okay.

Im okay, yes.

Now, ten years later, without a soul in earshot, Fiona can talk freely.

Listen, wheres Antoinette?

Outside pulling shingles out of the pool. Why?

Shes not right there?

No. Whats going on, Fee?

I just need to know Did you ever tell anyone about what I told you about Rachel back when I was in college?

Theres a pause.

Slight, but long enough for Fiona to know the answer before Deirdre gives it.

Only Antoinette. Why?

You swore you wouldnt tell a soul. You gave me your word, Deirdre.

That was ten years ago. I didnt even know Antoinette back then. She and I share everything.

Yeah, well, you and I used to share everything, and I wish we hadnt, Fiona lashes out bitterly. How could you tell her something like that?

Because it was bothering me. And because I trusted her. I still trust her.

Well, I dont. And it was my secret, not yours.

It became mine when you told it to me. And she and I dont keep things from each other. Thats how mature relationships work. You just dont realize it because you and Pat never Please dont bring Pat into this. Fiona closes her eyes, tilting her head against the back of the chair.

All I mean, Deirdre says more gently, is that if youd had the kind of marriage where you share everything with each other Well, we didnt, okay? Fiona snaps, sitting upright again, eyes wide-open. And this isnt about my trusting Pat, which I dont, its about my trusting you. Which I should never have done.

You can trust me, Fee, and Antoinette, too. Whats going on? Did Rachels body turn up or something?

No, Fiona says curtly.

But it looks like Rachel did.

Ca.s.sie, Im checking to see how you are this morning. Please call me as soon as you get this message.

Press 1 to hear this message again. Press 2 to delete this message.

Ca.s.sie presses 2.

Ca.s.sie, its Alec. I hope today is a better day. How about if I bring dinner over later? I need to talk to Ca.s.sie presses 2.

Thats it. No more new messages in the last hour since she took the phone off the hook. She disconnects from her voice mail and debates leaving it off the hook again, but decides against it.

She cant avoid human contact forever.

Its been five days since the world as she knew it came to an end.

When she left Brynns house last Friday afternoon, she came straight home.

She didnt know what else to do. At that point, she was utterly numb with shock, grief fear.

The first two have worn off in the days since; the last has only escalated with every pa.s.sing hour.

She hasnt been back to work yet. Yesterday and today were regularly scheduled days off, but she was supposed to be there this morning. She called in sick first thing.

Will you be in tomorrow? asked the desk attendant who took the call.

Im not sure.

Well, she cant keep doing this: spending every day lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, reflecting on the past and terrified about what the future might hold for her.

The Boston homicide team has reportedly detained an unnamed suspect for questioning; hes a coworker of Tildys.

That news should probably be comforting to Ca.s.sie, but she isnt taking any chances. They could be way off the mark. They dont know about Rachel.

So Ca.s.sies been holed up here for days, and the only saving grace is that her mother had to go back to New York on Sunday.

Im just glad that your name hasnt been dragged into the papers, she told Ca.s.sie before she left. The last thing we need is for you to be in the media, a.s.sociated with something like this.

How ironic, considering that just days ago, her mother would have killed to have Ca.s.sies name linked to Matilda Harringtons in the press.

Both Alec and her mother a.s.sume she knew about Tildys death before she took off. In fact, they think thatswhy she couldnt face going to the shower.

If they ever realize that Tildy was still alive and well when Ca.s.sie fled Well, its really a miracle they havent figured it out yet. The coverage has been nonstop, all over the papers and the regional television news.

It even made the network news the first night, in a story that compared the latest Harrington tragedy to the tragic losses suffered by the Kennedys. They showed footage of Jason Harringtons Beacon Hill mansion, where reportedly he was in seclusion. The cameras caught his closest friends showing up to console him, looking elegantly somber: Former Governor Allerson and his striking wife, Lisa, along with a.s.sorted Kennedy family members who have been there, done that too many times in the past.

The front page of theBoston Herald asked: IS THERE A HARRINGTON CURSE?.

The article inside gave a blow-by-blow timeline account of Tildys movements on the night in question, speculating that she was killed in the wee hours.

But then, Regina Ashford doesnt read theBoston Herald. If she had occasion to read a Boston paper, it would be theGlobe .

Mainly, she reads theNew York Times . And theTimes carried only an obituary, free of the gory detailsor even details that might incriminate Ca.s.sie, such as the exact time of death.

So, for all her mother knowsalong with Alec, and everyone else who had waited in vain for the guest of honor that nightCa.s.sie was blindsided by news of her friends death en route to the shower.

She was vague when they later asked where she went when she disappeared; they didnt press her. Nor did they press the issue that she hadnt thought to call, or check her messages.

A temporary lapse in consideration is understandable when youre in shock over your friends murder.

Temporary.

But shes running out of excuses. Sooner or later, shes going to have to face them all. And then what will she say?

What about her birthday, just a few days away?

You arent just running out of excuses,Ca.s.sie reminds herself as dread, now coldly familiar, ushers a death march of goose b.u.mps over her skin.

Youre running out of time.

Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.

Theres the neighbor again, calling for her lost cat, same as shes been doing for days now.

Here, kitty. Mama has some nice cream waiting for you here. Come on, Agatha. Where are you?

Im in a Dumpster behind the supermarket, Mama, with my throat slit.

Ha, ha. Thats rich.