"It would seem that he positioned himself to be someone very special," Quincy agreed. "They dated for months. Mandy trusted him. Maybe she even fell in love."

"But the accident," Kimberly protested. "She'd been drinking, she was behind the wheel. She'd done that kind of thing before. What did it have to do with him?"

Rainie spoke up. "We think he was with her that night. According to one friend, Mandy may have started drinking early in the evening. I'm not sure I trust the 'friend,' however, so Mandy may have still been sober when she met up with her boyfriend, and he was the one who got her intoxicated. Either way, our mystery man tampered with her seat belt so it wouldn't work. Then, he got in the vehicle with her, strapped himself in so he'd be all right, and… and either let nature run its course or physically helped her hit the telephone pole."

"He was with her when she crashed?"

"Yes."

"Oh my God, he killed that old man!" Kimberly slapped a hand over her mouth in horror. She didn't know why, but somehow that was worse. Mandy was Mandy. She'd built an entire lifestyle on poor decisions and high-risk behavior. When her mother had called her the morning after the accident, Kimberly hadn't even been surprised. Instead, she remembered thinking, finally, as if part of her had been waiting for that phone call for years. Mandy was always on a course for heartbreak and disaster. That poor old man, however, had just been out walking his dog.

"She didn't die, though," Kimberly said after a moment, pulling herself together. "Mandy didn't actually die. Not then. Shouldn't that have panicked him?"

"Even if she came out of the coma, what would she know? What would she remember?" Rainie shrugged. "Her body might have recovered, but her brain…"

"So he was safe."

"I think things pretty much went as he planned."

"But what about Mom? I can see Mandy being sweet-talked, but not Mom. Definitely not Mom."

"Think of the circumstances," Rainie countered. "Bethie's just buried her older daughter. She's feeling lonely, struggling to cope. Then we have this man, Tristan Shandling, who dated your sister for months. Consider all the things he could have learned about your mother from Mandy in that amount of time. Her taste in music, food, clothes. Likes, dislikes. It becomes a pretty simple equation. Vulnerable, grieving mother. Well-informed, charming man. I doubt she had a chance."

"I think he went a step further to gain Bethie's trust," Quincy said. "I think… I think he might have pretended to have received an organ transplant. From Mandy."

"What?" Both Rainie and Kimberly stared at him.

"The last time I spoke with Bethie, she asked me about organ donation. Was there any chance the recipient received more than just tissue? Couldn't he maybe get some of the person's habits or feelings or soul? At the time, I dismissed it. It was only today when I had to wonder why she asked."

"My God," Rainie murmured. " Elizabeth gave permission to terminate her daughter's life just weeks ago, and now here comes this man, claiming to have part of Mandy inside of him."

"It's very clever," Quincy said.

"It's the domino theory," Kimberly declared. "He started with the weakest one – Mandy. Got to her, then used the trauma of her death to get to Mother and now… now – " She looked at her father and knew his grim face was a match for her own.

"Shit!" Rainie abruptly bolted off the sofa, staring at them both wildly. "The frame-up, Quincy. What we were talking about earlier. Even if it's not perfect, it doesn't matter – it still gets the job done. Think about it! Bethie's been murdered. As her ex-husband, you're already on the cops' radar screen, give them a few more lab results and you'll be their number one man. There you go. Mandy's death to access Bethie, Bethie's murder to lead to your arrest, and then boom – Kimberly's all alone. It's perfect!"

"But… but you can make bail, right?" Kimberly asked desperately.

Quincy was staring at Rainie. He looked stunned. "It doesn't matter," he whispered to his daughter. "Rainie's right. The minute I become a lead suspect, they'll notify the Bureau. And following standard protocol, the Bureau will place me on desk duty, ask for my creds and confiscate my weapon. Even if I stay out of jail, what will I be able to do to protect you? My God, he's done his homework."

"Who the fuck is this person?" Kimberly screamed.

Nobody had an answer.

Greenwich Village,New YorkCity

Things got worse. Quincy wanted his daughter shipped to Europe. Kimberly yelled that she wouldn't go. Quincy told her now was not the time to be arrogant. Kimberly started laughing, accused the pot of calling the kettle black, then her laughter dissolved into tears, which seemed to hurt Quincy more. He stood in the middle of the dingy TV room, looking stiff and uncomfortable while his daughter wept.

Finally, Rainie sent Quincy to bed. In the past forty-eight hours, he'd had four hours of sleep and he was no longer close to fully functional. Then she brewed a fresh pot of coffee and sat with Kimberly at the kitchen table. The girl was a chip off the old block; she took her caffeine jet black. Rainie found skim milk in the fridge, then a bowl of sugar.

"Don't laugh," she told Kimberly, as she added scoop after heaping scoop to the brew. "I hate for the caffeine to be alone in my bloodstream."

"Has my father seen you do that?"

"Couple of times."

"How disparaging were his remarks?"

"On a scale of one to ten, I'd rate them a twelve."

"Oh that's not bad. My grandfather's comments would've hit fifteen."

"Your grandfather's still alive?" Rainie was surprised. Quincy never spoke of his father. For that matter, he never mentioned his mother, though Rainie had a vague memory of him saying once that she'd died when he was young.

Kimberly was blowing clouds of steam off the top of her coffee. "He's still alive. At least technically. Alzheimer's. He was hospitalized when I was ten or eleven. We used to visit him several times a year, but we haven't even done that in a while. He doesn't recognize any of us anymore, not even Dad, and well… Let's just say Grandpa isn't that fond of strangers."

"That's gotta be hard. What was he like before?"

"Tough. Quiet. Funny in his own way. We used to drive up to Rhode Island to visit his farm. He had chickens and cows, horses, an apple orchard. Mandy and I loved it. Plenty of space to run around, plenty of things to get into."

"And your mother was okay with this?" Rainie asked skeptically.

Kimberly smiled. "I wouldn't say that. I remember one day this hot air balloon comes crashing down from the sky. Some tourist outing or something. And this little guy is yelling at the passengers to grab the branches to help brake as the balloon plows through the apple trees then plunks down in the middle of my grandfather's field. Mom comes rushing out, all excited. 'Oh my goodness, did you see that? Oh my goodness.' Then Grandpa comes out of the chicken coop, stands in front of the balloon holding five embarrassed people and gives them the complete up and down, never saying a word. The guide gets nervous. He holds out this bottle, going on and on about how sorry he is and the tracking vehicle will be here any minute and oh yeah, here's a bottle of wine for his trouble. Grandpa just looks at the guy. Finally, he says, 'It's God's country.' Then he walks back to the chicken coop. That's Grandpa."

"I like him." Rainie said it sincerely.

"He was a wonderful grandfather," Kimberly said. She added more astutely, "But I wouldn't have cared for him as a father."

They both returned to their coffee.

"Are you and Dad dating?" Kimberly asked after the silence had stretched on too long.