Lowering his lids, he muttered, You sure you want me to answer that.

Lizzie swallowed hard and looked down at where she was touching him. When she didnt say anything, but she also didnt pull away, he leaned in and lifted her chin with his forefinger. Locking eyes on her lips, he kissed her in his mind, picturing himself dipping down and put- ting his mouth on hers. Pushing her back into that hard chair. Getting under her clothes as he knelt down between her legs with"

Oh . . . God, she whispered, her eyes avoiding his.

But still, she didnt turn away.

Lane licked his lips. Then he dropped his hand and eased out of { 165 }.

range. You need to go. Now. Or Im going to do something youll regret.

What about you? she whispered. Would you regret it?

Kissing you? Never. He shook his head, recognizing that his emo- tions were all over the place . . . as well as completely out of control. But I wont touch until you ask me to. That much I can promise.

After a moment, she got up with none of her usual grace, the chair shed been in skipping over the floor, her feet tripping. He gave her enough time to get out of the break room and go some distance down the hall before he went to leave himself.

Any closer and he was liable to grab her, put her up on the table and give them both the release they needed.

Because she did want him. He had seen it for himself just now.

Not that he could dwell on that.

He had to go get his father to pay the bail" it wasnt that Lane didnt have the money. He had plenty of poker winnings, and unlike his sister, he was thirty- six, so he had that first level of access to his trusts.

But William Baldwine had created this mess, and the fact that the man was out of town on business was going to make cutting the check and having it certified at the bank all the easier.

A minute later, Lane was at the controllers office and he didnt bother knocking, just went for the doorknob.

Locked.

Just as hed done on his fathers glass, he pounded on the stout oak"

with his uninjured hand.

Is she not in? Mr. Harris inquired from the doorway of his own suite.

Wheres the key to this door?

Im not permitted to open"

Lane wheeled around. You get the fucking key or Im going to break the goddamn thing down.

What do you know. A split second later, the butler came over with a heavy hunk of old brass. Allow me, Mr. Baldwine.

{ 166 }.

Except the key didnt get them anywhere. It went into the mecha- nism just fine, but there was no turning it.

Im terribly sorry, the butler said as he jimmied things around. It appears to have jammed.

Are you sure thats the right key?

It is marked here. The man flashed the little tag that hung off the ornate end. Perhaps she will be in shortly.

Let me try.

Lane moved the penguin suit out of the way, but got nowhere with the key, either. Losing his patience, he put his shoulder to the panels, and"

The crack of splintering wood drowned out his shout of rage, and he had to catch the panels as they bounced back at him"

What the hell! he barked as he pulled a Dracula and recoiled from the stench.

As Mr. Harris started to cough and had to tuck his face into the lapel of his jacket, someone else said, Oh, dear Lord, what is that"

Get everyone out of the hall, Lane ordered the butler. And make sure they stay away.

Yes, yes, of course, Mr. Baldwine.

Lane put his forearm back up and breathed into his shirt sleeve as he leaned inside. The office was impossibly dark, the heavy curtains having been pulled shut against the bright sunlight, the air- conditioning unit in one of the windows likewise turned off. Patting around the doorjamb with his free hand, he had a feeling about what he was going to find and couldnt believe it.

Click.

Rosalinda Freeland was sitting in the stuffed chair in the farthest corner, her face frozen in a gruesome smile, her gray fingers dug into the padded, chintz- covered cushions, her unblinking eyes staring straight ahead at whatever version of the afterlife had come upon her.

Jesus . . . Lane breathed.

Her professional suit and skirt were perfectly arranged, her reading glasses hanging from a gold chain on her silk blouse, her sensible salt- { 167 }.

and- pepper bob mostly arranged well. The shoes didnt make sense. No somber black leather flats, as she had always worn, but a pair of Nikes, as if she were about to go on a power walk.

Shit, he thought.

Jamming his hand into his pocket, he took out his phone and dialed the only person he could think to call. And as the sound of electronic ringing purred in his ear, he looked around the office. There was no clutter anywhere, which was what he could recall of the woman who had been working at Easterly for thirty years: The desk with its computer and its green- shaded lamp had nothing else on it, and the bookshelves that discreetly hid the other office equipment and files were tidy as a librarys.

" llo? came the voice on his cell phone.

Mitch, Lane said.

You coming down with a check for her bail?

I got a problem.

What can I do?

Lane closed his eyes and wondered how in the hell hed lucked out to have the guy on his side. Im staring at the dead body of my familys controller.

Instantly, the deputys voice dropped an octave. Where.

In her office at Easterly. I think she may have killed herself" I just busted through the door.

Have you called nine- one- one?

Not yet.

I want you to call it in now while I head your way" so its in the log properly and Metro Police can come. Theyll have jurisdiction.

Thanks, man.

Do not touch anything.

Only the light switch as I came in.

And do not let anyone enter the room. Ill be there in five.

As Lane ended the connection and dialed emergency services, his eyes traced those shelves and he thought of all the work that had been done by the woman in this little office.

{ 168 }.

Yes, my name is Lane Baldwine. Im calling from Easterly. The mansion didnt have a street number. Theres been a death in the house . . . yes, Im very sure she is no longer living.

He paced around as he answered a couple of questions, confirmed his phone number, and then hung up again.

Glancing over at the desk, he respected Mitchs orders, but he had to get the household checkbook. Dead body or no dead body, he still needed to free Gin from jail.

Taking out his handkerchief, he walked across the Oriental carpet.

He was about to pull open the flat drawer in the center when he frowned.

Sitting in the middle of the leather blotter, perfectly aligned as if set there with a ruler . . . was a USB drive.

Mr. Baldwine? Shall I do aught? Mr. Harris called to him.

Lane glanced over at the corpse. The police are on their way. They dont want anything disturbed in here so Im coming out now.

He picked up what Rosalinda had so obviously left for whoever found her. Then he opened that drawer and snagged the eight- and- a- half- by- eleven leather- bound checkbook, tucking it into the small of his back and covering the thing with his shirt.

He turned back to the controller. That expression on her face was like the Jokers, a horrible grimace that was going to show up in his nightmares for a long time.

What has my father done now, he whispered into the death- stained air.

{ 169 }.

NINETEEN.

L izzie was in the glass- walled conservatory, on the phone with the rental company, when she caught sight of a Wash- ington County Sheriffs SUV coming up Easterlys front drive.

Were they serving Chantal divorce papers already? Jeez"

Im sorry, she said, shaking herself back to attention. What was that?

The account is past due, the sales rep repeated. So no, we cant fill any more of the order.

Past due? That was as inconceivable as the White House not cov- ering its light bill. No, no, we paid for the tent in full yesterday. So we cant be"

Listen, yall are one of our best customers, we want to work with yall.

I didnt know the account was still past due until the owner told me. I shipped as much as I could, but hes shut it off until the balance is paid.

How much is owed?

Five thousand, seven hundred and eighty- five, fifty- two.

That wont be a problem. If I bring a check over now, can you"

{ 170 }.

Everythings been cleaned out. We got nothing left to rent, what with all the parties across the city this weekend. I called Rosalinda last week and left her three messages about the balance. She never called me back. I held the rest of the order as long as I was able cuz I was wanting yall to be taken care of. But I didnt hear anything and other orders had to be filled.

Lizzie took a deep breath. Listen, thank you. I dont know whats going on, but well make it work" and Ill make sure you get paid.

Im really sorry.

As she ended the call, she leaned in to the glass and tried to see the sheriffs vehicle.

" rental company say?

She turned back to Greta, who was spraying the finished bouquets with floral preservative. Im sorry, what" oh, its a billing issue.

So were going to get the extra five hundred champagne flutes?

No. She headed over to the door into the house. Im going to go talk to Rosalinda and then break the bad news to Mr. Harris. Hes going to be pissed" but at least we got the tents and the tables and chairs.

Glasses we can wash as they come in, and the familys got to have a hundred or so of their own.

Greta looked up through those tortoiseshell glasses of hers. There are close to seven hundred people coming. You really think we can keep up with that demand? With only five hundred flutes?

You are not helping.

Stepping out of the conservatory, she cut through the dining room and headed for the staff hallway. As she pushed her way inside, she stopped dead. Three maids in their gray and white uniforms were clus- tered together, talking with a great deal of animation but little volume" as if they were a TV show that had had its sound turned down.

Miss Aurora was beside them, arms crossed over her chest, and Beatrix Mollie, the head of housekeeping, was next to her. Mr. Harris was stand- ing in the center of the corridor, his diminutive body blocking the way to the kitchen.