"Probably. It would have been tight, but she was good with money. Still, wouldn't it have been cheaper to buy one big policy?"

"Sure, but no one would have sold it to her. Not enough net worth. Might have hawked that much to a high-powered exec who pulls down a couple hundred grand a year, but not to a deli manager. Ordinary gal like Lauren asking for that size of policy would have set off red flags."

"And a five hundred thousand one didn't?"

"Nope. That's the cut-off point, according to Mabel. Anything more and they do a financial investigation when you apply. Anything less, and they take your money and grin. Our pal Lauren knew what she was doing."

"Wouldn't it look odd if someone bought eight policies? Surely these insurance companies are linked into some kind of network that shares information."

"You hit it, but our friend Lauren got around it," she said gleefully. "That's why all the renewal notices came within days of each other."

I frowned, perplexed. "I'm not following you."

Fran spoke boisterously, "Bright bulb that Mabel. She figured if Lauren applied for all the policies on the same day, none of the companies could nose out that she had double and triple coverage. The information wouldn't have hit their main data bank yet. Also, the gal could truthfully state on the application she didn't have any other coverage."

"Technically a lie, but brilliant!" I sprang from my chair and paced behind the desk. "Do the companies pay on suicides?"

"Depends."

My heart sank, and I halted mid-pace. "On what?"

"Lots of things. Like there's this thorn called materiality. All the information on your application has to be accurate, or the company won't pay. Take for instance if a company normally covered suicides, but you lied from your crib at the mental hospital and said you were healthy, they'd toss out your claim."

"Could Lauren have been in therapy at the time and still received coverage?"

"Maybe yes, maybe no. You apply, they do a complete medical history, including a blood test. Mabel says she could have told the truth, and they would have written to her psychiatrist for info, maybe cleared her for coverage. Maybe not. Or, she could have lied. You with me so far?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Which means if she did lie about counseling, or if any of the eight companies finds out about Lauren's policies with the other companies, they can refuse to pay."

"Not so fast! That's where this hummer called incontestability comes in. Aren't these slick terms, Kris?" Fran asked, beside herself with delight.

"Wonderful," I said hurriedly. "What's it mean?"

"After you've paid into the policy for a certain period of time, the claim is incontestable."

"The insurance company has to pay, no questions asked?" My voice filled with excitement.

"You got smarts, kid. Exactly the scoop. Before the time expires, they dig like hounds, trying to find any technicality that'll keep em from emptying their pockets. After, they fork it over, no sleuthing allowed. Amount of time varies from state to state. Guess what Colorado's is?"

I high-fived Fran. "Two years."

She flashed me a shrewd look. "How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess," I said, grinning, thinking of Lauren's private party at Choices. The two-year anniversary celebration, complete with candles and a granola bar. The day her eight insurance policies had to pay out, no matter what.

I could barely conceal my delight. "As far as you can tell, there's nothing to prevent Cecelia from collecting the money for Ashley?"

"Not now. Once those two years are up, the men in suits have no grounds to hold up the cash."

"How soon will she get the money?"

"Should come within sixty days. Tell Cecelia she has to file a death claim with each of the companies. Needs to give them a death certificate or a copy of the obit, something like that. Better yet, have her ring up Mabel. My old friend said she'd help her through the red tape."

"And you're positive even if one of the companies discovers the other policies, or she lied about something elsea" "

"Tough luck. Too late. Lady paid her premiums and followed their rules. Insurance is a gamble. You take out coverage, you bet you'll die. Those suckers bet you won't. This time, they lost. Didn't figure someone would come along and plan two years ahead."

I paused, deep in thought. "There's no way all this is mere coincidence, that Lauren bought a bunch of insurance but killed herself for some other reason."

"No way. Too much work and too clever. Didn't leave one thing to chance. Case closed, girl. You're done!"

"Yeah," I sighed. "Now I have to find some way to tell Patrice."

"Don't envy you that," Fran said, leaning back luxuriously, hands folded behind her head.

It took me half the day to get Fran out of my office. I had to sit through a circuitous recounting of her complex relationship with Mabel. I would have bet Ruth hadn't heard a fraction of the details Fran revealed, and I too could have lived without the intimate ones.

Fran broke camp only after I told her I had to go see David. She offered to tag along, but I declined. I had a mission, and no one could accompany me.

I dropped Fran off at a nearby bus stop and sped to the hospital.

Outside his room, a nurse I'd never met kept me from entering until they finished cleaning him. She directed me to a lounge down the hall, and I nervously fiddled with magazines for the next thirty minutes. When a family entered, five members holding and supporting each other, my stomach dropped, and I left. I spent the next fifteen minutes sitting in a bathroom stall, breathing through my mouth.

By the time I returned to David's bedside, I was emotionally spent from rehearsing lines I knew I had to deliver. "Hey, David! How are you doing?"

I sat next to the bed and patted my brother's hand.

"I came to tell you I won't be stopping by for awhile."

I took a deep breath and forced myself to turn toward him. To my relief, he looked good, almost healthy: hair combed, mustache trimmed, skin clear.

I began, haltingly, "Every hour of every day, I've debated whether I should come visit. I want to be here, to show my support, but I just can't anymore.

"I get off the elevator, and I have no idea if you'll still be here. I brace myself to hear the news that you're dead, or that you're awake but can't function. It rips me apart to see you like this.

"I talk, but I have no idea if I'm getting through to you. It isn't even you. It's what's left of you, and it's not enough. For some reason, you're in this limbo. You're not here, but you're not gone either."

I cleared my dry throat. "I have to let go, little guy."

Nervously, I tapped my foot. "Every time I come to see you, this sick part of me hopes I'll run into Mom or Dad. I guess I keep wanting to form some kind of connection with them, but I never do. I never have.

"They were pretty lousy parents, weren't they? To both of us. I know they let you down. They gave the lowest level of care and demanded self-sufficiency. Maybe that's why you keep getting sick, to call them back, to give them one more chance to pull through. But they never do. They left you behind.

"Being around them these last few weeks has brought back all the pain we used to live in. I'm sure you heard me fighting with both of them, as if nothing had changed. I keep expecting it to, but it doesn't.

"I think that's why I need a break," I said, hoarse.

I squeezed his hand, placed it back on the bed, and covered it. I rose to leave, but abruptly stopped.

I shifted to fully face him. "Before I go, I need to know one thing. How come you didn't take your medicine?"

I searched for a sign on my brother's face. None surfaced.

I pressed both hands to my forehead, trying to ease the pounding headache behind my eyes.

"Mom thinks she saved your life by getting the paramedics to come to your apartment. I can't figure out if that's good or bad." I leaned toward him and lowered my strained voice. "Did you want to die?"

I watched for but didn't see the slightest movement.

I continued in a whisper, "It's okay if you did. You've suffered enough."

I patted his leg and walked away, eyes dry. Passing through the door, I cast one last glimpse. "See you later, Dave."

23.

The next day, mid-morning, as I struggled to write creative copy for a pediatrician's brochure, Ann buzzed me. "Call for you on line one."

Harried, I picked up the phone.

"Kris, it's Cecelia. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

I brightened. "No, not at all. What's up?"

"I didn't know who else to call," she said, her voice breaking.

"What's wrong?"

"I got a letter today from Lauren."

"Oh my God! How? Is she alive?"

"No, but that's what I thought for a split second when I saw her handwriting on the envelope. It freaked me out until I noticed three postmarks. Lauren mailed it weeks ago, on her birthday, but somehow, the post office routed it from Denver to Kansas City and back to Denver again."

This had to be it: "The message sent but never received." A letter that should have traveled a dozen blocks had journeyed a thousand miles. Leave it to Noni, the psychic, to be exact in her predictions. This was what had agitated Lauren the day we contacted her. She'd paid her postage and, assuming death brought omniscience, had watched helplessly as her letter had veered off course.

That would have been enough to make anyone furious, dead or not.

"What's in the letter? Does she explain everything?" I asked, excited.

"Not really. There's a typewritten list of the names and addresses of the insurance companies. I guess she wanted me to know who to contact for the money."

"That's it?" I tried to mask my disappointment.

"No. There was one handwritten sentence at the bottom." Cecelia began to cry.

"Can you read it to me," I gently prodded.

"Just a minute, I'll get it." She set down the phone for a few minutes and returned, fumbling with papers. "Here it is," she said, after taking a deep breath. "'Cecelia, I did the best I could.'"

It wasn't easy after that, but I put in a full day at Marketing Consultants, all the while postponing my final meeting with Patrice. Sooner or later, I had to tell her why her sister had committed suicide. In fact, the sooner the better, but I couldn't seem to do it. My emotional reserve registered below empty.

Fran had volunteered, on numerous occasions, to take a more active role in the detective work. Maybe I could feign a sudden illness and pawn the task off on her. As soon as I had that cowardly thought, however, I nixed it. I knew I couldn't do that. Maybe to Patrice, but never to Ashley.

Right before I left the office, I called Patrice and made an appointment with her for the following afternoon. That salved my conscience a bit. I bought a little time, and also closure.

I drove home and was preparing to jot down thoughts for my meeting with Patrice when Destiny walked through my apartment door.

We shared a pleasant eveninga"pizza and sitcoms. After we'd both undressed and crept into bed, Destiny broke good news.

"I think Suzanne might be moving soon," she said coyly.

"Good," I responded bluntly. "She flirts with you too much."

"You think everyone likes me too much."

"Probably, but you two spend a lot of time together. She probably made up that literacy grant deal to lure you up to her apartment. I bet the whole thing was a fake."

Destiny smiled at my huffy attitude. "She got tentative approval yesterday for the first twenty-five hundred."

"I'll believe it when I see the cash."

Destiny traced my eyebrows with her forefinger. "You never did like her, did you?"

"You should never have told me you were attracted to her."

"I let that slip before I started dating you, when I thought you were my friend. More importantly, before I got to know Suzanne. Plus, it was superficial attraction. I used to think everyone was cute until I fell in love with you. You know why I like Suzanne now?"

"I have no idea," I said curtly.

"Because she's a good tenant. She pays the rent on time and keeps an eye on the house when I travel. Plus, she never uses the backyard. That's a big bonus."

"That's all you like about her?" I said dubiously.

"Please, Kris. She's too boring. Tedious and dreary."

"You two are sort of in the same line of work. You might be good together," I said seriously. "She's a helper, like you."

"Please, please, please, Kris, stop trying to set me up with other women."

"Mmm," I said, distracted by her meandering hands.

"You know what I'm attracted to in you?" Destiny asked in a husky voice.