Puffy Trovato was the sorority housemother, a warm, maternal woman whose nickname came from her round physique. n.o.body knew her real name, and she didnt seem to mind.

Her specialty was triple-layer Devils Food Cake topped with whipped-cream frosting and a spray of fresh red rosesthe sorority flower. She made it for every one of the sisters birthdays, serving it up with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream and a maternal bear hug.

Then everyone would serenade the guest of honor, first with the birthday song, then with the official sorority song.

Tonight, watching Rachel pick at her cake before pushing the plate away and leaving the table, Brynn wanted to ask if everything was okay. Pet.i.te Rachel, with her free-spirited gypsy style and easy smile, was usually the most upbeat, laid-back sister in the house. Last year on her birthday, she stood on her chair and laughingly conducted theHappy Birthdaychorus, then followed that up with a hammy, operatic solo of her own.

Rachel, pursuing a bachelor of fine arts degree, had been taking voice lessons since childhood. She had a vague ambition to one day have a career on a concert stage; she just hadnt decided whether it should be at the Met, backed by a full orchestra, or at the Garden, backed by electric guitars.

Maybe Rach is just feeling old, leaving her teens behind, Brynn decided, and Fiona rolled her eyes.

Oh, as if. Who wants to be stuck in their teens? I cant wait to turn legal so I can officially hang out at the Rat with Pat.

The Rat, of course, was short for The Rathskeller, the off-campus pub where Fionas older boyfriend tended bar. Her fake ID was useless here in town, where the locals had known her since she was born.

I hate to break it to you, but legals going to take awhile, Brynn informed her friend. Youve got to turn twenty before you can turn twenty-one, remember?

When I do, though, Im throwing myself one h.e.l.l of a birthday party at the Rat. And I know just who Im inviting, too.

Already?

Yup, because by that time, graduation will be right around the corner and Im going to be networking every chance I get.

Accustomed to retrieving conversations that had been commandeered and steered off course by the self-centered Fiona, Brynn prodded, In the meantime, what are we going to do about Rachel? Her birthday is today, and so far it seems to suck.

Well Ive got a bottle of decent champagne Pat gave me last weekend to celebrate the new semester.

You didnt drink it with him?

Nah, he only drinks beer and bourbon. Come on, lets go find Tildy and Ca.s.sie and surprise Rach with a little party.

At the sorority house?

Uh-uh, then wed have to invite everyone else. Fiona was currently feuding with more than one of their fellow sisters, as usual.

Anyway, the five of them were the closest, ironically because of how their birthdays fell. For some reason, the college systematically grouped incoming freshmen into dorms based on when they were born. Brynn, Fiona, Tildy, and Ca.s.sie all had October birthdays. Living in close quarters on the same hall, they formed a quick, intimate bond long before they pledged the same sorority.

Rachel, whose birthday was a month earlier, lived at the opposite end of the hall, but latched on to their foursome because, as she put it, All those September Virgos down at my end are too conservative and unemotional. You Libras are much more easy-going and social.

Brynn often popped up to point out that she was actually a Scorpio, born on the twenty-ninth. But Rachel, who was into astrology, told her she had more Libra traitsand that strong-willed control-freak Fiona had more Scorpio ones.

Well do this party for Rachel up at the Prom, Fiona said in her usual case-closed way.

The Prom was local shorthand for promontory, and referred to an enormous, flat rock outcropping high in the woods above the campus. Secluded despite relatively easy access via a winding trail, the sweeping vista plus a cl.u.s.ter of makeshift log benches made the Prom a favorite Stonebridge party spot.

Just so you know, Im going to invite my sister, too, if shes around when we get back to the house, Fiona added.

Brynn said nothing to that. She knew that Tildy was getting annoyed about Deirdres continued presence in the sorority house, and she wouldnt be welcome tonight. She had been staying with Fee for over a week now, trying to get her life together after being thrown out of their parents house.

Luckily, Dee wasnt hanging around that night to join the party and further complicate matters.

Only the five sorority sisters slipped out of the house and headed up the trail, armed with flashlights, the champagne, a portable CD player, and jackets or sweaters to ward off the autumn chill.

They gossiped and giggled as they ascended, four of them unaware that the fifth had concealed something lethal beneath her silver-gray and cardinal-red sorority sweaterand that when the night drew to its grim conclusion, only four Zeta Delta Kappa sisters would descend.

Matilda Harrington, Tildy says crisply into the telephone receiver.

Good morning, gorgeous, a low voice croons.

She quickly looks around to see if anyone is in earshot of her cubicle, lamenting as always the fact that her position as special events manager at the nonprofit doesnt even warrant walls that reach all the way to the ceiling.

At least the coast is relatively clear this morning. Its just past nine; most people arent at their desks yet. No sign of the perpetually lurking Ray Wilmington, even.

Hey, there, gorgeous yourself, she says, low, into the receiver. She pushes aside the yellow legal pad containing the guest list and RSVPs for her thirtieth birthday party in a few weeks. Plenty of time to go through those later. When did you leave?

Oh, around three or so. I kissed you good-bye but you were snoring blissfully.

That would be thanks to the tranquilizer Tildy had popped shortly before he showed up unexpectedly on her doorstep. Had she known he was coming, shed have foregone the pill and relied on him instead to provide a distraction from FromHappy Birthday to me.

Tildy didnt tell him about it, of course. That, or the drugs that were necessary when she grasped the full, horrifying implication of the greeting card.

Renewed uneasiness threads its way through her even as she protests lightly into the phone, Hey, I dont snore!

Oh, but you do. Delicate little snores, like a kitten taking a nap in the sun.

If Ray said something like that, Tildy would immediately roll her blue eyes.

Funny how the difference in whether a flirtatious line comes across as hopelessly sappy or infinitely s.e.xy lies in the speaker himself.

So listen What are you doing for lunch? Tildy asks throatily, after casting another furtive glance around the office.

You, is his satisfying reply.

Smiling, she hangs up a moment later, then belatedly opens her date book to make sure todays noon slot is free.

It isnt.

She simply erases her lunch tasting meeting with the caterer whos doing her birthday party. That can wait until tomorrow or the day after, she thinks, bending over the page to blow away the shreds of pink eraser.

Life has been so much easier ever since Tildy took to writing her appointments in pencila necessity when youre living an active love life strictly on short notice.

Shes flipping through her Rolodex in search of the caterers phone number to cancel their lunch when a long shadow falls over her desk.

Ray Wilmington.

She knows it must be him before she even looks up to find his gaunt, black-bearded Abe Lincolnesque presence looming above her.

What up? he asks.

She snortsaloudat the ludicrous gangsta greeting spilling from the wimpiest, most white-bread human in all of Boston.

G.o.d bless you, he says politely.

She doesnt bother to inform him that it wasnt a sneeze, but a snort. Of laughter. At him.

How are the tulips holding up, Matilda?

Ah, the tulips.

She debates telling him that they wilted and she had to throw them away.

No, he might then decide to send her another bouquet.

Her desire to avoid that scenario is based less on the futile expense to his limited budget than it is on the inconvenience to her.

Shed have to go through the motions of thanking him again, and risk clogging the disposal with all those stems, or cutting herself on the shards of another useless gla.s.s vase.

Much less complicated to simply say, The tulips are fine, and resume her Rolodex perusal.

Did your lunch meeting cancel on you? Ray asks, and she sees that hes peering over her shoulder at the newly erased twelve oclock slot in her date book. Because if youre suddenly free, I know a great little place Im not free, she interrupts curtly, wishing he would just get lost.

Then how about tomorrow?

Presumptuous is the perfect adjective for Ray Wilmington, from his investigative interest in the details of her life to his a.s.sumption that she might be willing to share a precious free moment of it with the likes of him.

It isnt just his looks that are off-puttingalthough Tildys certainly not the least bit drawn to him. Hes tall and dark, yes though thehandsome is conspicuously missing. Put a stovepipe hat on top of his prematurely thinning hair, and he really would be a dead ringer for old Honest Abe.

Abe Lincoln would hardly be Tildys type.

Especially if Abe was making a pitiful salary and living at home with his mother in Dedham.

But its more that Rays blatant interest in her, which began right from the day he started at work here in July, gives her the creeps. Her well-honed inner radar interprets him more as a potential stalker than potential suitor.

Ignoring his query about tomorrow, she tells him pointedly, Ive got some phone calls to make, as she lifts the phone receiver again.

All right, Waltzing Matilda. Ray emits a self-satisfied chuckle at his own cleverness, apparently a.s.suming hes the first person ever to call her that. I guess Ill see you later, then.

G.o.d, I hope not,she thinks grimly, dialing the caterer.

CHAPTER 4.

Cedar Crest is divided into neighborhoods, each with its own distinct character.

On the outskirts of town, closest to the highway exit, is the ubiquitous commercial strip lined with fast food restaurants, chain hotels, supermarkets, discount stores like Wal-Mart and Target.

Then theres Stonebridge campus itself, a forested, self-contained enclave connected by a series of winding paths that meander past brick dormitories and academic buildings, a new sports facility, sprawling athletic fields.

Adjacent to the campus is a grid of old streets with two-and three-story homes. Once, they were upper-middle-cla.s.s family residences; today, most are student housing with bikes and furniture on porches, doors and windows perpetually ajar. Most could use a fresh coat of paint, a handyman, and some yard work. Those in best repair display Greek letters beneath the eaves.

Todays middle cla.s.s resides on the opposite end of town, where winding streets like Tamarack Lane reflect architecture from the first half of the twentieth century: primarily Tudor and Arts and Crafts. Here, yards are well kept. Late summer perennials are in bloom, local election signs are already springing up on lawns sprinkled with the seasons first fallen leaves. SUVs and station wagons sit in driveways. There are wooden backyard swing sets and domed curbside mailboxes.

Both residential areas are dotted with churches, parks, and playgrounds; theyre bridged by the central business district, with Main Street running its length. Stores and restaurants spill onto the perpendicular numbered streets along the way.

There are no chains here, but plenty of locally owned bars, sub and pizza shops, and coffeehouses that cater to the college crowd. Thosealong with a Laundromat, a coffee shop, and shops that sell books and postcards, T-shirts and Stonebridge memorabiliaare cl.u.s.tered on the north end, closest to campus.

The southern end is home to banks and realtors, cafes and pharmacies, a childrens clothing store, a couple of small markets, a yoga studio.

Fiona Fitzgerald Public Relations is here, on the ground floor of a turreted mustard-yellow Victorian mansion thats been converted to office s.p.a.ce.

Brynn makes the fifteen-minute walk over from the bus stop, pushing Jeremys collapsible canvas umbrella stroller in the cool September sunshine.

Come on, little guy, lets go visit Auntie Fee, she says with false cheer, and unstraps Jeremy from his stroller.

No!

Yes.

No! Jeremy squirms in her arms.

Shes forced to haul him up the wooden front steps, leaving the stroller behind. Well, if anyone wants to steal it, theyre welcome to it. Its definitely the worse for wear after carting first Caleb, then Jeremy, around town.

Brynn really should pick up another one at Target before this one gives out altogether. But money is tight this month.

This month?

When isnt it tight?

Well, it was less tight when they were a two-person household living on two incomes as opposed to a four-person household trying to make it on one.

She supposes she could always put Jeremy in day care and get some kind of job But she doesnt want to do that. She wants to stay at home, fully available, the kind of mothershe had.

Except that Ill live to see my children graduate high school, and college, and get married, and have children of their own She wants to witness the big milestones just as shes been able to witness the little ones: first steps, first words, first teeth I just want to be their mom. And Garths wife. Thats all I really need to be.

Which is good, because thats all I am. And I love my life just the way it is Theres just something about being in Fionas presence that makes her a little self-conscious about the decidedly domestic path shes chosen.

She crosses the porch with a still-protesting Jeremy on her hip, wondering if maybe she should have called first, instead of just barging in here.

Glancing at her watch, she notes that Fee will most certainly be in the office at this hour. Shes in the office at just about any waking hourincluding some hours that the rest of the world may not necessarily count aswaking .

Shh, Jeremy.

Opening one of the tall double entrance doors, Brynn steps into the dim hall that was once a grand foyer. High ceilings, ornate moldings, and a sweeping staircase bear testimony to the buildings past; several closed, placard-bearing doors to its present.