"What?"

"It's sad to say, especially for two people about to embark on a lifetime of marital bliss," he smiled. "We have some trust issues. Nothing that can't be overcome. It's just ..."

The doorbell rang.

Jimmy blinked, as the grandfather clock started to chime, "It's Hector," he said, "it's ten o'clock. You mustn't say anything," he warned. "If you tell anyone, we'll know. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"If you tell Detective Hobbs, I have no doubt that your sister will die, and it won't be an easy death."

"Is she safe?"

"For now ... Here's the deal. Come tonight and come alone," he walked over to a mahogany hutch and picked up a thick cream colored envelope. He handed it to her. "Open it."

And for the second time, she stared at the engraved invitation to Jimmy's Carnegie Hall recital. Only on this one, there was a single change: James Cyrus Martin, IV

invites you to an evening of romance and music.

Place: Carnegie Hall/Weill Recital Hall

Time: 8:00 p.m.

Date: Sat.u.r.day, May 1

Cello: James Cyrus Martin, IV

Piano: Barrett Conyors

"Any deviation, any altering of the plan and your sister will be nothing but a memory. And as clever as you are, Dr. Conyors, we've been at this a much longer time. I'll know if we're being followed. I'll know if you're wearing a wire. I know all of your reindeer games." He laughed, "Perhaps one day as we're chatting to our grandchildren you'll understand how very old we really are."

The doorbell rang again. Jimmy blinked and went to answer it.

She followed and watched as Hector entered the foyer.

"Hey doc," he called to her. "You're still here."

"She was just leaving," Jimmy said, as he took the plastic medication box from the aide.

"You feeling okay?" the aide asked her.

"I'm fine," she mumbled.

"You look kind of green," he said.

"I must be coming down with something," she answered as her toe caught on the library threshold and she stumbled.

"You want me to call you a cab?"

"No, I'm fine," she straightened and looked through the open door at the park's shadowy canopy.

"Goodbye, Dr. Conyors," Jimmy said in the tone a child uses when responding to a teacher.

She looked back at him, his features arranged in a neutral and pleasant expression. For an instant she had the illusion that he was wearing a mask, and that beneath it she could see a different face, one with eyes that burned. "Goodbye, Jimmy," she turned on shaky legs, and grabbing the iron handrail, walked away.

TWENTY-SIX.

Fifty feet from the house, she stopped and stood weak-kneed on the sidewalk. She looked back at the park, as joggers looped around the carefully tended paths. Children played, and nannies, Russian au pairs, and parents chatted on gracefully scrolled ironwork benches.

"Barrett," a man's voice intruded into her thoughts.

She saw Hobbs coming toward her, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt.

"I just got your message, I was out with my girls," he blurted, "I came as fast as I ..."

She nearly screamed at the sound of a second voice-Jimmy's.

"Oh, Dr. Conyors," he sang out, from the top of his stoop. "You forgot your bag. Why, look who's here ... it's Detective Hobbs." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He shook his head. "Not getting off to a very good start, are we?"

She felt trapped, wanting to tell Hobbs everything. To have him pull out his service revolver right there and take Jimmy in or ... .But even as that fantasy sparked, it was answered by the horrible knowledge that if she did that, Justine would die. It was Jimmy's way. And just because he might be taken into custody, it wouldn't alter the outcome.

Jimmy bounded down the steps with her black bag and the manila envelope filled with newspaper clippings, "and I believe these are yours, as well," he said handing them over. He looked up and down the block and then back at Hector who was peeking out of the front door holding a protesting kitten in his arms. "It's such a beautiful day. I wonder if I might get permission to go for a walk."

"I could take you," Hector said, "we could do some shopping."

"That would be great," Jimmy replied. "I could use a few things. What is it they say?" he smiled at Barrett. "Today is the first day of the rest of our lives," and he scampered back up the stairs.

Hobbs stared up at the house and watched as the aide followed Jimmy back inside and closed the door. "What the h.e.l.l was that?"

"Don't say anything," she whispered. And then loud enough to be heard, "Here!" she thrust the envelope filled with clippings at him. "You forgot to tell me a few things," feigning anger.

Bewildered, Hobbs opened it. His expression darkened as he viewed the contents. "Look," he started.

She grabbed it from him, and with her back to the Martin house, she slipped in the announcement of the recital. "I don't ever want to see you again!" and she threw the envelope to the ground, turned and began to jog and then to run.

"Barrett, wait!" he shouted, the envelope on the sidewalk. "Wait!" He ran after her; he didn't catch her.

TWENTY-SEVEN.

"Always a bridesmaid, never a bride, Jimbo," Father cackled.

"You're wrong," Jimmy argued, struggling against the fear and the doubt that Father brought, like crows to a roadside kill.

"We'll see. Awfully convenient the way her c.o.c.k-of-the-walk stud just happens to be here. Like Prince f.u.c.king Charming."

"Stop it!"

"Can't ignore the facts, Jimbo. He wants her. She's a fine piece of a.s.s. Tell me, did you think about throwing her to the floor and peeling off those luscious tight pants. We'd like to know. Didn't think you had it in you."

"Shut up."

"That's right, you have a thing about not touching them. I wonder where that came from. But now you'll have years and years of free therapy."

"She said yes," Jimmy muttered, no longer interested in Father's twisted input.

"Was it really a yes, Jimbo? Let's not get too excited. You've got her arm twisted behind her back. What was she going to say? She might even have let you sneak a hand inside those tight little britches. That would have been tasty. But now ... missed opportunity."

"That's not what I want and you know it."

"You don't know what you want," Father spat back. "You're just a p.i.s.sant little punk who never grew up."

"Whose fault is that?"

"Fine, this is where the parents get blamed for everything. If your mother were only here ... although I bet you could dredge her up. Wouldn't that be fun? So you told her about the peepholes and Mommy's games. And now she's going to marry you. I don't think so, Jimbo."

"She loves me!" Jimmy said.

"No she doesn't. Right now she's out there thinking of ways to trick you."

"No!"

"She's sharing all your secrets with her big-d.i.c.ked stud."

"She won't do that," he stuck the tip of his thumb into his mouth. "She loves me."

"But what about ..."

Jimmy imagined a wall coming down inside his head, thick cement with tight seams and steel rebar, nothing could get through, not Father, not the vague and shadowy others that hung out well beyond the reaches of his probing thoughts. The important thing was she had said "Yes." She said "Yes." Proof that she loved him. There was so much that needed to be done, and chitchatting with Father was no help. They had a concert to give. He felt Father banging against the cement, wanting to make him doubt.

"No ... no," that wouldn't happen. She would come ... the past three weeks preparing ... so much work, but worth it, all worth it. And then he remembered something critical he'd forgotten.

He ran upstairs to Mother's room, walked into her closet, and opened the wall safe. He sat cross-legged on the floor and piled jewelry boxes in a wall around him. One by one he opened them.

Father pushed through a c.h.i.n.k in the wall, "Something old."

"Go away!" Jimmy muttered. Father was such a corny old b.u.g.g.e.r. He picked out all of the ring boxes. One by one he went through them, trying to find something suitable. He knew that he was down to the last hurdles, the tests of love.

He stared at great-great grandmother's sapphire and diamond art deco c.o.c.ktail ring. He picked up the jewel and held it in the dull light. The diamonds that surrounded the four-carat sapphire were water blue, large and flawless. There was a coldness about them, but just on the outside, as light sparkled and burst in rainbows from their depths. He remembered seeing Barrett's wedding picture and the flapper-style dress that she'd worn; she'd like this ring. He put it back in its satin-lined box, popped the lid closed, and dropped it into his pocket.

Next he opened a large Cartier box and stared at the glorious diamond and platinum set that included the swan-tear necklace. The stones blue-white, large and perfect. The earrings would dangle and glitter around her long, graceful neck. The necklace-that even fifty years ago had cost in the mid six figures-was fit for his princess, his queen. "Yes," they were beautiful, she was beautiful. And Father was wrong, she did love him; even Ellen could see that. And most importantly, she had said, "Yes."

Sitting cross-legged in Mother's climate-controlled closet, surrounded by couture gowns and chiffoniers filled with lingerie, he drifted into a world of possibility-a future with a beautiful wife, children, and music, glorious music. And in the center of it all, there he'd be, happy, free, and loved.

Father chortled and hissed through his vision, "Little Jimbo, happy at last."

TWENTY-EIGHT.