"Did you ask Elaine to marry you?"

"Yeah." He didn't look happy.

"Did she say yes?"

He nodded. "Do you forgive me?"

"Nathan, forget about me. I'm not mad at you. Enjoy your engagement to Elaine. That's what you should be concentrating on now."

"You're right. I know you're right."

"I just wish you hadn't involved Bram's daughter in your wedding plans."

"Do you?"

"I thought I made that clear."

"But she's a wedding planner, Sophie. Why not use her?"

"Because she's Bram's daughter. Don't you get it? We need to separate our lives, not interweave them. There are tons of good wedding planners out there."

"Yeah, but I thought . . . I mean, since you and Elaine are good friends, and since her mother is gone now, I thought you'd want to help her with some of the planning. And if I hired Margie, it would only make it that much easier all the way around."

Where did he get these ideas? "Nathan, you've got to listen to me." She pulled him aside, away from the elevators. "Are you listening now? Really listening?"

"Don't treat me like a four-year-old."

He could be so exasperating sometimes. She might have found it endearing once, but she didn't anymore. "I love my husband, and it upsets him when my old boyfriend seems to be continually hovering around me. That's why we have to put a stop to it. We can't see each other, not even casually. I won't be eating at your restaurant again. And you can't stop by the Maxfield anymore, okay? Do you understand? You can't call. We have to live separate lives."

Grudgingly, he nodded.

Watching him, she had a chilling sense that this was all for show, that he was marrying Elaine not out of love, not with the intent to end his relationship with Sophie, but as a way to keep it going. Elaine was just a means to that end. "Do you really want to marry Elaine?"

"Sure."

"Nathan? Look at me."

He didn't seem to want to look her in the eye.

"What?" he mumbled.

"Why do you want to marry Elaine?"

"I care about her. She's a wonderful woman."

"Really?"

"You think I'm lying?"

Sophie wasn't sure anymore. "Are we clear on this? On our living separate lives?"

"You want me to fire Margie?"

"No." She sighed. "That would only cause more problems. But I won't be helping Elaine with your wedding. I wish you two only happiness, Nathan. You know that."

"Yeah, I do. You're the greatest person I've ever known. And don't worry. I'll make sure you and Bram get a wedding invitation. Maybe you two would like to sit at the head table with us."

For some reason, he wasn't tracking. He just didn't seem to get it. But standing here arguing with him wasn't doing any good. Sophie glanced at her watch. It was already after eleven. If she didn't get up to the auditorium on the fourth floor, she'd miss the meeting. "Nathan, I need to get upstairs."

"But . . . I was hoping you'd have time for a cup of coffee."

He hadn't heard a word she'd said.

"Don't look at me like that, Sophie. I understand. I was just hoping we could have a civil conversation. Just one last time."

"I've got a meeting."

"Okay. I suppose I should get back to the restaurant. I shouldn't have left, but I had to see you." He bent his head close to hers.

She backed up, but before she realized what was happening, he'd kissed her square on the lips.

"Nathan!"

"I'm a cad. What can I say?" He grinned and then took off out the glass front doors.

By the time Sophie reached the auditorium, it was standing room only. She pushed into the back and leaned her shoulder against the wall. With her diminutive height, there was no hope of being able to see over the tall shoulders in front of her, so she closed her eyes and listened. Andy was talking.

"Public speaking isn't one of my strong points, so I'm going to make this short and to the point. I know that a number of you have been worried about staff changes. I'll address that first. I don't plan to make any changes right now in the daily running of the paper, and that includes the staff. The Minneapolis Times Register is one of the finest daily papers in the country, and with your help, I hope to make sure it remains that way. I subscribe to the simple notion, If it ain't broke, don't fix it. I know that may be a little folksy for some of you, and I suppose I could find a more sophisticated way to phrase it, but that's the bottom line.

"As for Del Irazarian, I accepted his resignation yesterday afternoon. He is no longer employed by this paper, and I hope to God that no other newspaper in this country will ever employ him again. As you all know, we printed a series of retractions this morning concerning two of his series, as well as apologies. I was Del's editor when the stories were published. For the record, let me just say that although I've always discouraged the use of anonymous sources, sometimes it's the only way to get the story. In Mr. Irazarian's case, it was a judgment call. I believe my failure was in trusting a man I felt was not only scrupulously honest, but brilliant. The matter has been turned over to our legal department. Let me assure you, and I underscore this, that the only one who will take a bullet for this debacle is Mr. Irazarian himself. I'd like to tell you this will never happen again, but I suspect that, in the long run, newspapers are and will always remain at the mercy of clever liars."

From the rear of the audience, a man's voice shouted, "What about the rumor that federal prosecutors are considering filing criminal charges against Irazarian?"

Andy waited until the murmurs quieted down before answering. "To my knowledge, that hasn't happened, nor do I expect that it will."

A woman's voice rose, this time from the front of the crowd. "The New York Times appointed several ombudsmen to handle the fallout from the Jayson Blair scandal. Will you do the same?"

Andy quickly responded, "I've spoken with Dean Peterson. You all know and respect him. For a trial period of six months, he will serve as our new standards editor, a sort of internal ethics czar. As the new publisher, I plan to work closely with him in an effort to make sure this kind of scandal never happens again on my watch. I also plan to appoint a twelve-person committee to look into the atmosphere and attitudes in our newsroom. I realize that what Mr. Irazarian did to the paper will have some far-reaching effects. It's a shock to our system, to our morale, and to our reputation. But it also presents us with an opportunity to change old ways of doing business that no longer work. Mr. Peterson's door will always be open to you, as will mine. I intend to be a very hands-on publisher."

Sophie wondered if this comment was a veiled slam at Bob Fabian's management style, one that tended to spread out authority, not keep all power at the top.

"I realize that we may have some flawed structures and processes at the Times Register. Since I came to the paper two years ago, I've often heard people talk about editors' failure to communicate. I've also been told that staffers have felt intimidated, afraid to speak out. That's something I want to change."

The crowd broke into cheers and applause.

"We have an amazing amount of talent at this paper, and I want to use it, not stifle it."

More applause.

After a few parting comments, it was over. Sophie backed out of the doorway and stood to the side as people walked out. Everyone seemed pleased that Andy had come to them directly to discuss what had happened. In all Sophie's years at the paper, she'd never known Bob Fabian to call a meeting like this. Then again, he'd never been faced with this kind of scandal. Still, in Sophie's opinion, Andy had ignored some serious issues. He'd mentioned that Del Irazarian had used anonymous sources, but he never talked about the nonexistent studies Del had cited again and again-studies that, if Andy had taken the time to verify them, would have landed the articles in the trash. A big question mark still floated above Andy's head. Why had he let it happen? He certainly knew better. As owner of the paper, he would try to sweep his part in it under the rug now, but the taste would still remain. In many ways, Andy was as culpable as Irazarian, and everyone knew it. But he'd just been handed the keys to the kingdom. All power resided in him, so nobody would challenge him outright. The grumbling and anger would move underground.

Sophie looked for Rudy, but when she couldn't find him, she assumed he'd ducked out one of the side doors. She'd catch him later.

On her way back to her car, Sophie pushed out through the front doors just as Andy was about to get into a waiting limo.

"Sophie, hi," he said, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze. "What did you think?"

He'd put her on the spot. Just as everyone else probably had, she told him what he wanted to hear. "It was a good speech." It wasn't a lie, just not the entire story.

He nodded. "Thanks. Hey, since you're here, I should thank you for being understanding about Anika taking time off from her job at the Maxfield."

"Not a problem."

"Our lives have changed so much so fast. Actually, I'm not sure Anika will return. There's no reason now. We have more money than we'll ever need. Who would have thought, huh?"

"Life never runs in a straight line."

"No." His expression darkened. "If you read the St. Paul paper this morning, you'd probably find yourself wondering if I was the one who shot my brother."

"I read the story," said Sophie.

"But that 911 tape doesn't prove anything. Not really."

"No."

"I would never have hurt my brother. I respected and loved him probably more than anyone I've ever known."

"Did the police talk to you?"

"Yeah, the day after it happened. I was a basket case. But thankfully, Anika and I were together the night Bob died, so I had an alibi. It disgusts me to even think I needed one."

Sophie's ears pricked up. "You and Anika were together that entire night?" She knew it was a lie.

"Yup. Just think, I could have been out driving around with no alibi at all, and then where would I be?"

"Where indeed," said Sophie.

"Well, sorry to run off, but I've got a meeting down in Hastings. I don't want to be late."

"Give my love to Anika."

"I will. And thanks again, Sophie. You're a good friend."

17.

Bram stepped inside the Wackenhut room at the Rookery Club and looked around the empty bar. Backing out immediately, he nearly bumped into Sheldon Larr. Sheldon had just emerged from the kitchen carrying an extra-large vase of fresh-cut flowers for the table in the front foyer.

"I thought there was a board meeting this morning," said Bram, tucking a lily he'd inadvertently knocked sideways back into the mix.

"It's tomorrow," said Sheldon, limping his way toward the front table.

"Tomorrow," repeated Bram. How had he gotten that wrong? "Must have been a senior moment," he called to Sheldon's retreating back. Now what was he going to do? He had several hours before he had to be to the station and no particular plans. He stood for a few seconds and watched Sheldon set the vase in the center of the round, polished mahogany table, then adjust the bouquet, making sure every individual strand was perfect. Bram was so used to seeing Sheldon in his evening tux that it was strange to find him in a normal business suit and tie. Bram imagined that even with jeans and a T-shirt on, standing in a ditch digging a trench, Sheldon would look both immaculate and formal. He had a classic touch with clothes. This morning, he wore a pink rose in his lapel that exactly matched the color of his tie.

Looking up and seeing that Bram was watching him, Sheldon limped back toward the bar. "I understand your daughter is a wedding planner."

"That's right," said Bram, wondering how Sheldon had heard about it. Perhaps he'd talked to Margie last night. "It's just getting off the ground, but knowing my daughter, she'll make a success of it."

"She's stopping by this afternoon."

"She is?"

"One of our newest members, Nathan Buckridge, is getting married soon and he's reserved the Rookery for the event. Sometime in December I believe." He stroked his thin mustache.

Bram'd had no idea Nathan had become a member.

"Your daughter is coming by with Mr. Buckridge and his fiancee to look at the facilities."

Nathan was like a sticky piece of gum Bram just couldn't scrape off the sole of his shoe. He was sick to death of hearing his name, but he also knew he needed to resign himself to the fact that his daughter was about to plan the man's wedding. Things could be worse-he could still be chasing Sophie.

"Would you like a table?" asked Sheldon. "Breakfast is served until eleven thirty."

"No thanks," said Bram. He was hungry, but he usually liked to eat an early lunch. He wished Sheldon a good day and drifted back to the De Gustabus room. Glancing up at the sign above the door, he laughed to himself, thinking what a crazy bunch of guys Vince, Lyle, and Bob Fabian had been. No reservations required. It was a play on words, one that appealed to Bram's own eccentric sense of humor.

Vince was sitting at the table going over some papers when Bram entered.

"Baldric. How's the digestion?"

Bram grimaced. "After you guys tried to poison me last night, I guess the best thing I can say is, I'm still alive."

"Would I feed you something that could kill you?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

"Hey, speaking of culinary adventure, I've got some roasting camel eyeballs in the oven. Lyle's coming back tonight for dinner and I'm planning to serve them cold-as an appetizer on toast points. Want to taste one?"

The idea of gagging down a camel eyeball nearly sent Bram over the edge.

"You're looking a little green this morning, Baldric."

"I was fine before I came in here."

Vince smirked. "Have a seat. There's fresh coffee in the carafe."