"Huh . . . where's that?" Daniella had to ask but she felt herself burn anew with indignation and fury.

"An island in the Caribbean." She looked around as if expecting someone to be listening. "We all met there, but Andre wasn't around. Naomi seemed to know what she was doing and just took off. I never saw Jerrilyn."

"What did you do?"

"Me? Nothing. I hardly left the airport. I thought we were . . . I don't know, I thought it was a game. I mean, I know it was a game. We weren't really going to do something criminal!" She laughed shortly.

"But Teresa's dead, right? That's what Andre said."

"I don't know. Yeah . . . yeah, I guess she is. I heard someone talking about the woman's body in the bay, so it was Teresa, right? I went right out and caught a flight home as soon as I heard."

"But didn't you just get back?" Daniella blurted out. "You haven't been here."

"I-I went home for a little while." She glanced away and Daniella could tell she was hiding something. "What were you doing with Lumpkin?"

"Hey, it's not my fault he came here," Daniella said, the lie tasting bitter in her mouth. "You think Naomi or Jerrilyn killed Teresa?"

"I don't know. Maybe she just died." She clapped her hands over her ears.

"Y'all went there to kill her. One of you did it," Daniella pointed out.

"I would never kill someone." Clarice looked shocked at the idea.

"Come on, Clarice. You didn't all take a trip just to play games," Daniella argued. "If you don't want to tell me, fine. But don't act like I don't know what I'm talking about."

Clarice glared at her, but Daniella glared right back. Finally, Clarice said, "Teresa was evil. It's good she's gone."

"Andre liked her best."

Abruptly she got up from the table and stalked off. "If you just want to be hurtful, I'm leaving!"

Daniella watched her leave with mixed feelings. They always got the plum jobs, while she got the s.h.i.t ones. Even Clarice. And it was just because she wasn't as pretty. Maybe not as seasoned as the rest of them, minus Clarice, who was a naive train wreck waiting to happen, but all of them were out-and-out wh.o.r.es, no matter what story they told themselves. If Andre said go have s.e.x with whomever, they just went off and did it, and even if Clarice tried to act like her s.h.i.t didn't stink, if he ordered her to kill someone, Daniella bet she'd at least try to please him. Naomi would definitely do it, and Jerrilyn, that mean s.e.x addict, she'd go right ahead and pretend it was her idea.

And Teresa had already killed. First the guy she'd married. Then the one who'd tracked her down and found her at their house. Andre had made her kill him, but Daniella kind of thought that had been the beginning of the end for Teresa . . . and maybe for all of them.

Jerrilyn's raised voice, followed by Naomi's, sounded from Jerrilyn's bedroom. They were quarreling, and Daniella tiptoed forward to listen in. Before she heard more than the fact that Naomi was ripping on Jerrilyn about running out, with an underlying threat/reminder of what had happened to Teresa, which Jerrilyn just laughed at, Andre suddenly came through the front door. He was walking with purpose down the hall and nearly ran over Daniella before turning toward his own bedroom, not even stopping to acknowledge her or the argument he had to have overheard. He didn't say one word to her, which deflated Daniella, although she felt better when he also ignored Clarice's cheery "Oh, there you are!"

The door to his room slammed shut.

This was not usual Andre behavior. Though usually if he was going to close himself in his room he took one of them with him.

Snubbed, Clarice tried to pretend it didn't matter though she practically racewalked to the sanctuary of her own room. Ha! Daniella thought, cheered immensely that she was so crushed.

Clarice probably did kill Teresa, Daniella thought uncharitably. It would be just like her to act like it was all so terrible, that she was so pure and innocent, when all the time she was the one who'd drugged Teresa's drink, then threw her over the edge of a boat, if that's what even happened, since no one was really filling her in.

A few minutes later Jerrilyn appeared in black slacks, white blouse, and a black cardigan sweater, a small suitcase in hand. "You're really leaving?" Daniella asked her.

"Happy, are we?" she asked. "He's all yours, honey . . . oh, and Naomi's and Clarice's and whoever he picks up next."

Irked, Daniella shot back, "You just can't face him because Mittenberger cut you off and all that time's been wasted for nothing."

Jerrilyn raked her with a cold glare. "You're all deluded. This is nothing but a joke."

She slammed out of the house. Daniella ran forward to peer through the front windows, half-expecting Jerrilyn to steal one of their cars, but she stopped at the edge of the street and whipped out a cell phone, not one of the ones Andre had gotten for them. One of her own.

She's been planning this, Daniella realized with a start. On the heels of that, she felt jubilant. "Good riddance," she muttered.

She turned to see Naomi standing in the doorway to Jerrilyn's room, still in her prayer robe. Daniella could tell she was furious, though she didn't say anything as she strode in the direction of the prayer room. Daniella followed after her, curious, her gaze lingering momentarily on Andre's closed door. What were they supposed to do now?

Clarice reappeared a few moments later, but she stayed far away from Daniella, as if afraid she would probe with more questions. Well, she would, if she thought Clarice might actually tell her something.

And then Andre came out of his bedroom, but not in his robe. He was wearing a pair of slacks, a loose white shirt, and suede boots. "It's time," he said, looking faintly regretful as he noticed them all standing in the prayer room.

"You're going out?" Daniella asked, disappointed.

He gave her that look, the one he bestowed on them whenever they questioned him. "There's work to be done."

"Jerrilyn just left," Naomi said in a voice that could have cut ice. "She's not coming back."

"She never fit in," Andre said.

His casual dismissal caused Daniella to look from Naomi to Clarice and back again. They all were confused.

"You don't want to . . . go after her?" Clarice asked.

"I have to be somewhere tonight. In the meantime, just stay here and wait for me to call."

"What about our jobs?" Naomi asked. "I thought I was going to Laguna Beach to pick up where Teresa left off."

Andre nodded. "Yes, yes, of course," he said, as if he'd totally forgotten the directive.

"And I'm supposed to have lunch with Todd Bridgewater tomorrow," Clarice said reluctantly. Staying true to form, Daniella thought with disgust. All Clarice wanted was Andre.

Kind of like you? her inner b.i.t.c.h pointed out.

"When will you be back?" Naomi asked.

Another no-no, and one Naomi never did. Daniella held her breath, waiting, hoping Andre would chastise her. Maybe shake her like a rag doll until her stupid head snapped and rolled around on her neck.

But he just headed for the door, saying, "I'm taking the Xterra. You've got the Malibu and the Civic."

"How long will you be gone? What about money?" Daniella blurted out, unable to stop herself though she might earn another trip to the attic. But there were still bills to pay and they had to eat.

"I left the safe open," he said. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you."

The safe was open?

"What if Lumpkin comes back?" Daniella asked.

Andre hesitated, turning back to them. She watched as he looked from Clarice, to Naomi, to Daniella, a small smile playing on his lips. "Well, I'll be gone now, won't I? If he sees Clarice or Naomi, just tell him they're your friends and they don't live here. Just keep on doing what you're supposed to," he added. "Everything's come down to this and we're all going to be fine."

The door slammed behind him and Daniella suppressed a full-body shiver. Immediately she ran to his room and checked the safe. Inside she saw about three hundred dollars. She pulled out the money, worried at the small sum that wouldn't last long. As she turned away, she caught the dull, golden glow of one of the ankhs, lying on the floor. He'd been in such a rush he hadn't noticed it had dropped to the ground. Was it Teresa's? she wondered. He'd never given one to anyone else that she knew of. Before the others could find it, she slipped it over her head and under her robe, warmed by its coldness against her skin.

She had a feeling Andre wasn't coming back.

Gary Merritt, Victoria's lawyer, was the one who finally called West to tell him everything was set for him to bring Tucker back to the States. It was six P.M. and he was seated at the hotel bar, just finishing the Bakoua's take on a chicken salad sandwich served with mango, pineapple, and papaya when he got the call. Merritt a.s.sured him that Aimee had already been told and that he and Tucker were booked on the last flight out, the same one Teresa had planned to take.

He signed the meal to his room and was just leaving when he saw Talia Laughlin crossing toward him. He stopped short. Their relationship, such as it was, had always been an uneasy one; she didn't really want to deal with her husband's b.a.s.t.a.r.d son.

"There you are," she said.

He held up his phone. "I just got a call from Gary Merritt, Victoria's lawyer."

"I just spoke to him too. Looks like everything's set, but I just got here. Let's go tomorrow."

West looked at the slim, raven-haired woman with the sharp features. He remembered Talia from when he was a kid and invited to the ranch by his father. He'd been aware then that she was watching him like a hawk, though he hadn't understood all the ins and outs of what had transpired. To her credit, she'd never been outwardly awful to him, though he was pretty sure she and his mother had had words.

On his first trip to meet with Victoria to discuss finding Teresa, he'd been reintroduced to her. She'd been civil enough and had professed to being as interested in having Tucker back as Victoria was, though he'd since come to realize maybe she wasn't quite as eager as she'd have him believe.

West wasn't exactly sure how Tucker's guardianship was all going to play out, but he was determined to have Callie be at the ranch. Tucker needed someone completely on his side.

"It's best to get Tucker away from Aimee as fast as possible," West told Talia now.

"What's her stake in all this?"

"Money."

"Well, of course." Her lips tightened, then she shook her head. "Well, fine. I haven't even really unpacked, so I'll be ready. When are you planning to pick Tucker up?"

"Now."

"Oh, dear. I hope you know I'm going with you, but I really need to get something to eat first," she said.

"You can order at the bar," he said.

"Oh, can I?" She lifted her brows at his proprietary manner.

"Or you can go somewhere else and Tucker and I will meet you at the airport."

"You're just a joy to get along with, aren't you?"

West shrugged, and she said, "Fine," sat down at the bar, and ordered the exact same sandwich West had just finished.

An hour later they were on their way. The taxi driver double-parked outside the apartment building but a.s.sured them he would find a spot and stay for as long as they needed. He and West exchanged numbers, then West led Talia into the dark hallway outside Aimee's apartment. Before he even had a chance to knock, Aimee swept open the door and stared at him coldly. "I know," she bit out, stepping back to allow them entry. She and Talia, both slim and dark, looked each other up and down warily.

"Talia, this is Aimee Thomas," West introduced. "Aimee . . . Talia Laughlin. And here's Tucker," he added when the boy charged into the room, but came to a skidding stop near Aimee.

"Where is Callee?" he asked West.

"She's back home in Los Angeles. That's where we're going." He pointed to himself and then Tucker.

"I want Callee," he whispered, looking down at the floor.

Talia stepped forward and said, "You're going to go to a ranch with cattle and horses and cowboys."

Aimee's face was a thundercloud. She tried to put an arm around Tucker but he slid sideways, out of her reach. Warily, he came closer to West. "Michel go too?" he asked.

"No, Michel's not going!" Aimee snapped. She stalked across the room and swept up a small suitcase that looked as if it had been purchased new. Then she grabbed an envelope from a side table and held it up. "His pa.s.sport. Still good." She moved forward and slapped it into West's palm, then stood back and crossed her arms.

"You've been evasive about Teresa. You had to have talked to her during her last trip here," West said.

"You want answers, talk to the gendarmerie."

"I want answers," he agreed.

"Not my problem," she said coolly.

West would have liked to interrogate her some more, but this clearly wasn't the time and the place, and it was more important to tiptoe away with Tucker than antagonize her. He pulled a thick envelope from inside his coat pocket and exchanged it for the one she held out to him. She took the money without saying anything. It was a generous amount, but if it was enough to keep her from trying to gum up the works, that was fine with both him and Victoria.

"I'm sure you've taken good care of him," Talia put in a bit desperately. West could tell she was worried he was going to somehow screw things up.

"How are you related?" Aimee demanded of her.

"I'm Tucker's grandmother," she said. "He's my son's son."

Hearing that, Tucker pressed himself into West's leg, as Aimee silently a.s.sessed Talia. "I stay with you and Callee?" Tucker whispered to West.

"Yes, but first we've got to fly on an airplane to where she is," West said firmly when Talia opened her mouth to apparently argue the point. He grabbed up Tucker's suitcase and asked, "This all?" Aimee nodded curtly, and then he herded both Tucker and Talia out the door ahead of him.

Andre drove carefully, aware that something wasn't quite right inside his head. If he thought about it, it worried him a little, but most of the time he ignored it. Naomi was always jabbering about a doctor she knew whom she wanted him to see, but he wouldn't trust any one of the handmaidens to choose anything for him.

He'd had an epiphany, of sorts, about Teresa. He was pretty sure which one of the women had killed her, though he wasn't certain it was a true memory or something his brain had manufactured. The way the handmaidens had all acted on the trip, as if it were some vacation that he was just paying for, had really sent him into a dark funk.

But now, as he drove to Laughlin Ranch, his ranch, he had a glimmering of what had happened.

His cell phone rang and he stared at the screen. His mouth curved into a feral smile, and he answered, "Miss me already?"

"It's laughable, the way everyone thinks I'm someone else. I should get an Academy Award," the caller said.

"Teresa was good at that too," he reminded her, knowing he was purposely goading her.

"She certainly thought so," was her cool response.

"I have to go. I don't want to be pulled over because I'm talking to you on a cell phone."

"Have you got everything ready for me? Everything I need?" she asked.

He thought briefly of the prayer room, the robes, rites, and s.e.x, and had a moment of melancholy, realizing he wouldn't be able to pick among the handmaidens any longer. But were they really worth it, anyway? There was so much bickering, backstabbing, and disruption, and his head couldn't handle the noise of it all. Besides, he was moving into a new phase, the place he'd been driving toward for most of his life. He was almost there.