In stocking feet, Irish McCabe went to his refrigerator for another beer. He pulled off the tab and, as he sipped the malty foam from the top of the can, inspected his freezer for dinner possibilities. Finding nothing there that was a better option than hunger, he decided to do without food and fill up on beer.

On his way back into the living room, he picked up the stack of mail he'd dropped on the table when he had come in earlier. While idly watching a TV game show, he sorted through the correspondence, culling junk mail and setting aside bills.

"Humph." A puzzled frown pulled together salt-and-pepper eyebrows when he came across the manila envelope. There was no return address, but it bore a local postmark. He unfastened the brad and wedged his index finger beneath the flap. He upended the envelope and dumped the contents into his lap.

He sucked in a quick breath and recoiled, as though something foul had landed on him. He stared at the damaged jewelry while his lungs struggled for air and his heart labored in his chest.

It was several moments before he calmed down enough to reach out and touch the shattered wristwatch. He had immediately recognized it as Avery's. Gingerly he picked it up and tentatively investigated the gold earring he'd last seen decorating Avery's ear.

Quickly coming to his feet, he rushed across the room to a desk that he rarely used, except as a catchall. He pulled open the lap drawer and took out the envelope he'd been given at the morgue the day he had identified Avery's body. "Her things," the forensic assistant had told him apologetically.

He remembered dropping her locket into the envelope without even looking inside. Up till now he hadn't had the heart to open it and touch her personal effects. He was superstitious. To paw through Avery's belongings would be as distasteful to him as grave robbing.

He'd had to empty her apartment because her landlady had insisted on it. He hadn't kept a single thing, except a few photographs. Her clothes and all other usable items had been donated to various charities.

The only thing that Irish had deemed worth keeping was the locket that had identified her body. Her daddy had given it to her when she was just a kid, and Irish had never seen Avery without it.

He opened the envelope that had been in his desk all this time and dumped the contents onto the desk's littered surface. Along with Avery's locket, there was a pair of diamond earrings, a gold bracelet watch, two bangle bracelets, and three rings, two of which comprised a wedding set. The third ring was a cluster of sapphires and diamonds. Together it added up to a hell of a lot more than Avery's jewelry, but it wasn't worth a plug nickel to Irish McCabe.

Obviously, the pieces belonged to one of the other crash victims, possibly to one of the survivors. Was somebody grieving its misplacement? Or had it even been missed?

He would have to check on that and try to get it back to the rightful owner. Now, all he could think about was Avery's jewelryathe watch and earring that had been delivered today to his post office box. Who had sent them? Why now? Where had they been all this time?

He studied the envelope, searching for possible clues as to its sender. There were none. It didn't look like it had come from a municipal office. The printed lettering was rickety and uneven, almost childish.

"Who the hell?" he asked his empty apartment.

The pain of his grief over Avery should have been blunted by now, but it wasn't. He dropped heavily into his easy chair and stared at the locket with misty eyes. He rubbed it between his finger and thumb like a talisman that might make her miraculously materialize.

Later, he would try to solve the mystery of how her jewelry had become switched with that of another crash victim. For the present, however, he only wanted to wallow in the morass of his bereavement.

"I don't see why not." "I told you why not."

"What would be wrong with me going down to Corpus Christi with you when you go later this week?"

"It's a business trip. I'll be busy setting up rallies for Tate."

Fancy's mouth drew into a petulant pout. "You could let me tag along if you really wanted to."

Eddy Paschal looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Guess that gives you your answer."

He switched out the lights at campaign headquarters. The property was located in a shopping center and had previously been a pet store. The rent was cheap. It was a central location, easily accessible to just about any point in the city. About its only drawback was the remnant odor of caged pets.

"Why are you so mean to me, Eddy?" Fancy whined as he used his key to secure the dead bolt. "Why are you such a pest?"

Together they walked across the parking lot to his parked car, a serviceable Ford sedan that she privately scorned. He unlocked the passenger door and opened it for her. As she got in, she brushed the front of her body against his.

As he rounded the hood on his way to the driver's side, she noticed that he'd recently gotten a haircut. The barber had clipped his hair too short. Topping her list of Eddy " redos" was his car. Second was his barber.

He slid in behind the wheel and turned on the ignition. The air conditioner came on automatically and began filling the interior with hot, humid air. Eddy made a concession to his fresh-out-of-the-bandbox appearance by loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar button.

Fancy went considerably further than that in her quest for comfort. She unbuttoned her blouse to her waist, then fanned it open and shut, providing Eddy with an excellent view of her breasts if he chose to take it, which she was peeved to note that he didn't. He was maneuvering the car through the intersection and up the entrance ramp to the freeway.

"Are you gay, or what?" she demanded crossly.

He burst out laughing. "Why do you ask?"

"Because if I gave away to other guys half of what I give away to you, I'd spend all my time on my back."

"To hear you tell it, you do anyhow." He glanced at her. "Or is that just so much talk?"

Fancy's blue eyes fairly smoked, but she was too clever to lose her temper. Instead, she curled up into the car seat with the sinuous laziness of a cat and asked slyly, "Why don't you find out for yourself, Mr. Paschal?"

He shook his head. "You're an incorrigible brat, Fancy, know that?"

"I should," she said breezily, pulling her fingers through her mass of dark-blond curls. "That's what everybody tells me." She leaned toward the air-conditioning vent, which was blowing out frigid air now. She held her hair up off her neck and let the air blow against her skin, which was dewy with perspiration. "Well, are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Gay."

"No, I'm not."

She sat up and angled her body toward him. Her hands were still holding her hair up off her neckaa pose that emphasized her breasts. The cold air had made her nipples hard. They jutted against the cloth of her shirt. "Then, how can you resist me?"

Congested freeway traffic had been left behind and were now heading northwest toward the ranch. Eddy's gaze roved over her slowly, taking in all the alluring details. It gave her satisfaction to watch his Adam's apple slide up and down as he swallowed with difficulty.

"You're a beautiful child, Fancy." His eyes rested briefly on her breasts, where the dark impressions of their pert centers could be seen beneath her shirt. "A beautifulwoman."

Gradually she lowered her arms, letting her hair fall loosely around her face and onto her shoulders. "Well, then?"

"You're my best friend's niece." "So?"

"So to me that means you're off limits."

"How prudish!" she exclaimed. "You're a Victorian, Eddy, that's what you are. A throwback. A stuffy prude. Ridiculous."

"It wouldn't be ridiculous to your Uncle Tate. Or to your grandfather or father. If I laid a hand on you, any one or all three of them would come after me with a shotgun."

She reached across the seat and ran her finger up his thigh, whispering, "Now, wouldn't that be exciting?"

He removed her hand and pushed it back across the car. "Not if you're the target."

She flopped back in her seat, annoyed, and turned her head to gaze at the passing scenery. That morning she had deliberately left her car at the ranch and hitched a ride into San Antonio with her father, planning all along to stay late and finagle a ride home with Eddy. Months of subtle invitation had gotten her nowhere. Since patience had never been one of her virtues, she had decided to step up the pace of her pursuit.

Buck, the bellhop, had lasted less than a month before he had become possessive and jealous. Then the man who had come to spray the house for cockroaches had ended up in her bed. That affair had lasted until she had discovered he was married. It wasn't his marital status that bothered her so much as his postcoital guilt, which he morosely discussed with her. Remorse took all the fun out of fucking.

Since the exterminator there had been an assortment of partners, but all had simply been diversions to occupy her until Eddy surrendered. She was getting tired of waiting.

Indeed, she was getting tired of everything. The last three months had put a real strain on her generally good disposition. There had even been times when she had envied her Aunt Carole all the attention she was getting.

While Fancy was spending interminable hours stuffing envelopes and taking telephone polls in that noisy, crowded, stinky, tacky campaign headquarters, with people who could get off on a ten-dollar contribution, Carole was being waited on hand and foot in that posh private clinic.

Mandy was another thorn in her side. As if the little brat hadn't always been spoiled rotten, it was even worse now since the plane crash. Just last week Fancy had been sternly reprimanded by her grandmother when she had yelled at her young cousin for eating all the Oreos.

In Fancy's opinion, the kid was off her beam. Her hollow, vacant eyes were damn spooky. She was turning into a zombie and, in the meantime, everybody kissed her ass.

Her daddy had gone positively ape shit when she had gotten her most recent speeding ticket, and he had threatened to take away her car if she got another. He even warned that she would have to pay the fine out of money she earned herself. Of course her daddy's threats never panned out, but his shouting had really gotten on her nerves.

She couldn't believe the fuss everyone made over that primary election. You would have thought her uncle was running for fuckin ' president the way everybody had carried on about it. He had won by a landslide, which had come as no surprise to her. She couldn't understand why they had paid a political analyst big bucks to predict the outcome a week before the election, when she could have given it to them months ago for free. Her uncle's smile made women cream their jeans. It didn't matter what his speeches were about; women would vote for him on the basis of his looks. But had anyone asked her? No. Nobody asked her opinion about anything.

Things were looking up, however. Now that the primary election was out of the way, Eddy wouldn't have so many distractions. His mind would be freer to think about her. She had been optimistic of a successful seduction when she had first launched the project. Now she wasn't so sure. He'd eluded her charms more adroitly than she would have guessed it was possible for a man to do. As far as she could tell, he wasn't even close to the breaking point.

She swiveled her head to glare at him. On the surface, at least, he looked as cool as a cucumber. She could have been as ugly as a warthog's ass for all the attention he was paying her. Maybe it was time she threw caution to the wind, stopped pussyfooting around, and, if nothing else, shocked the shit out of Mr. Clean.

"How 'bout a blow job?"

Moving with studied casualness, Eddy draped his right arm along the seat backs. "Come to think of it, that would feel real good about now."

Heat rushed to her face. She gritted her teeth. "Don't you dare patronize me, you son of a bitch."

"Then stop throwing yourself at me like a cheap streetwalker. Dirty talk doesn't turn me on, any more than a ringside view of your chest. I'm not interested, Fancy, and this juvenile game of yours is getting tiresome."

"Youarea fag."

He snorted. "Believe that if you want to, if it salves your ego."

"Then you're bound to be getting it from somebody, because it's just not normal for a man to go without." She scooted closer to him and clutched his sleeve. "Who are you sleeping with, Eddyasomebody who works at headquarters?"

"Fancya"

"That redhead with the skinny butt? I'll bet it's her! She's divorced, I hear, and probably real hot." She clutched his sleeve tighter. "Why would you want to screw somebody old like her when you could have me?"

He brought the car to a stop in the circular drive in front of the house. He caught her by both shoulders and shook her hard. "Because I don't screw childrenaespecially one who opens her thighs to every stiff dick that comes along."

His anger only fanned her desire. Passion of any kind aroused and excited her. Eyes alight, she reached down and pressed his crotch with the palm of her hand. Her lips curved into a smug smile. "Why, Eddy, darlin '!" she exclaimed in a sultry whisper. "Yours is stiff."

Cursing, he pushed her away and got out of the car. "As far as you're concerned, that's how it'll stay."

Fancy took time to rebutton her blouse and compose herself before following him into the house. The contest had resulted in a tie. He hadn't dragged her off to bed, but he had wanted to. That was progress she could live with for a while. . .but not indefinitely.

As she reached the door leading to her wing, her mother emerged. Dorothy Rae was walking straight, but her eyes were glazed with the effects of several drinks.

"Hello, Fancy."

"I'm going to Corpus Christi for a few days," she announced. If Eddy refused to take her, she'd just surprise him in the coastal city. "I'm leaving in the morning. Give me some money."

"You can't leave town right now."

Fancy's fist found a prop on her shapely hip. Her eyes narrowed the way they were wont to do when she didn't immediately get her way. "Why the hell not?"

"Nelson said everybody had to be here," her mother said. "Carole's coming home tomorrow."

"Oh, piss," Fancy muttered. "Just what I need."

THIRTEEN.

She saw him in the mirror.

Seated at the small dressing table in her room at the clinic, Avery made eye contact with Tate as he came in. They held their stare as she gradually lowered the powder puff to the mirrored surface of the table, then swiveled on the stool and met him face-to-face.

He tossed his coat and several department store shopping bags onto the bed while his eyes remained on her. Tightly clasping her hands in her lap, Avery laughed nervously. "The suspense is killing me."

"You look beautiful."

She moistened her lips, which were already shiny with carefully applied gloss. "The resident cosmet-ologist came today and gave me a makeup lesson. I've been using cosmetics for years, but I figured I needed a refresher course. Besides, the consultation comes with the room." Again she gave him a nervous little smile.

Actually, she had wanted an excuse to improve Carole's mode of makeup, which, in Avery's opinion, had been applied with too heavy a hand. "I tried a new technique. Do you think it looks all right?"

She offered her face up for his review. In spite of his reluctance to come any closer, he did. Placing his hands on his knees, he bent from the waist and gave her uplifted face a thorough inspection. "Can't even see the scars. Nothing. It's incredible."

"Thank you." She gave him a smile a woman gives her loving husband.

Except Tate wasn't her husband and he wasn't loving. He straightened up and turned his back on her. Avery closed her eyes momentarily, tamping down her discouragement. He didn't have a forgiving nature, she'd learned. Carole had shattered his trust in her. It was going to be difficult to win him back.

"Are you accustomed to my new look yet?"

"It's growing on me."

"There are differences," she remarked in an unsure voice.

"You look younger." He shot her a glance over his shoulder, then added beneath his breath, "Prettier."

Avery left the dressing table and moved toward him. She laid her hand on his arm and drew him around. "Really? Prettier?"

"Yeah."

"Prettier how? In what way?"

Just as she had learned the extent of his inability to forgive, she had also learned the extent of his ability to control his temper. She was waving a red flag at it now. Lightning was flashing in his eyes, but she didn't back down. She felt compelled to know the discernible differences he saw between her and his wife. Research, she assured herself.

He swore impatiently, raking a hand through his hair. "I don't know. You're just different. Maybe it's the makeup, the hairaI don't know. You look good, okay? Can we leave it at that? You look. . ."His eyes lowered to take in more than her face. They swept down her body, moved up again, looked away. "You look good."

He dug into his shirt pocket and produced a handwritten list. "Mom and I got the things you asked for." Nodding toward the shopping bags, he read off the items. " Ysatisspray perfume. They were out of the bath stuff you wanted."

"I'll get it later."

"Panty hose. Is that the color you had in mind? You said light beige."