Does it matter? I'd camp out on the polar ice cap if Riley asked me to.

Uh, Carrie? The sound of dishes knocking around in the sink nearly drowned out Madeline's comments. I hate to point this out, but Riley is not technically your fiancй anymore. He hasn't been for over a year. And he didn't ask you to pull an all-nighter in your Volvo. Besides, don't you have to be at work soon?

Carrie could not believe what she'd just heard. After all she'd done for that woman! Apparently, Madeline Bowman had gotten a little taste of sweet success and had turned huffy on her. Carrie switched the cell phone to her other ear and smirked. So how's it working out with Matt?

What do you mean?

What I mean is, are you enjoying dating the second hottest man in all of Randolph County? And have you forgotten who got your business where it is today?

Hold on a second.

Carrie heard rustling, a door closing, and then silence. Madeline began hissing a loud whisper. God, Carrie! It's not my place to stop Riley from doing whatever he wants to do. He's a grown man and I'm just a B and B owner, not a prison guard!

Carrie looked heavenward, summoning patience. She was beginning to regret ever booking this ungrateful cow's inn for the last year's rural health luncheon.

And I know you encouraged Matt to ask me out after my divorce, but really, it's not like you introduced usour mothers did that at the sandbox when we were toddlers!

Carrie gazed out the windshield at the row of adorable little craftsman-style houses, all built before the depression, when the coal mine was in full swing. It was admirable the way the owners had meticulously restored the homes and fixed up the yards.

Besides, Matt hasn't asked me out in months. He's moved on.

That's too bad. Carrie had grown tired of this conversation. Where are you right now, Madeline?

In the pantry. The couple staying in the Silver Birch minisuite is already in the dining room, waiting like hyenas for me to finish setting up for breakfast. I didn't want them to hear me.

I see.

Can we finish this conversation later?

Carrie's mouth fell open at what she was seeing. Her breath began to come fast and hard. Unbelievable! The teen sleaze queen herself had just bounced out of Cherry Hill's front doors, sporting a pair of black yoga pants, a very chic little jacket, and a postcoital grin. Oh, it was Kat Cavanaugh, all right. Carrie had seen pictures of the junior jezebel in Riley's old photo albums. She must have stumbled into money somewhere.

Maybe she was a call girl. Carrie made a mental note to warn Riley that he was in the clutches of a professional.

Carrie?

What?

I really have to go.

Did I tell you that I'm setting up a regional health-care conference for the spring? I plan to present my study results at the new clinic's community center.

Really?

Yes.

That's nice, I guess. I'll talk to you after As always, you are failing to see the bigger picture, Maddie. The conference will go an entire week. As Carrie spoke into the cell phone, she watched Kat Cavanaugh turn the corner. She was pretty. She had a nice body and a quality haircut. Carrie hated her. She wanted her dead.

A whole week?

Every room in your place will be booked every night. Carrie allowed her target to get a half a block up Main Street, then put the car in drive to follow her, making sure to pull to the curb every couple blocks to stay inconspicuous. I have guest speakers coming in from all over the East Coast. You could get some valuable exposure.

Carrie checked her watch. She would have to call Alice and let her know that she wouldn't be in until after lunch, and that they needed to look into the possibility of throwing together some kind of small conference around the time her study results were released.

All right, Carrie. Madeline sounded defeated. What do you want?

Just the tiniest little favor. It's so small, it's almost nothing, really.

Kat pulled her jacket across her chest, tucking her hands beneath her arms to stay warm. Though the sun was out, she'd forgotten how chilly early autumn mornings could be up in the mountains.

She walked at a steady pace, letting her eyes take in Persuasion's Main Street district, a place at once familiar and exotic. Most of Kat's life had taken place in only two geographic locations: this small Appalachian town and the working-class streets of Baltimore. Her only vacations had been the annual jaunts she took with Phyllis and Aidan to the boardwalk at Ocean City and the lone lost weekend spent with Nola back in 1991 in Virginia Beach, where Nola had met the man who would become her first and shortest-lived husband.

After a quickie wedding and an even quicker divorce, Nola made this request of Kat: Promise me that no matter how ass-kickin' hot he may be, you will never again allow me to fall for a man with a beer can collection.

Kat hugged herself, taking in the changes of her hometown. It seemed that several of the old brick storefronts had been torn down, and most everything that remained had been spruced up. The old Rialto movie theater was still in business, advertising a teen slasher flick and a romantic comedy. The five-and-dime appeared to be going strong, though it now referred to itself as a dollar store. There were coffeehouses and bookstores where there used to be pharmacies and insurance offices, a yoga and Pilates studio where there'd once been a candy store, and a bustling copy and express-shipping business in the building that used to house Millhouse Fashions. That's where Kat stopped.

She stared into the plate-glass windows, remembering the day her mother brought her here. They'd come to buy the red wool dress coat with the black velvet Peter Pan collar that Kat would wear from third to fifth grades. She'd loved that coat, and it wasn't due to the style, because it was insanely old-fashioned. It was what it representedone of the few days she'd ever spent alone in her mother's company, with her full attention. On that day, Kat felt treasured, for no other reason than she was her mother's daughter.

Kat closed her eyes to hold on to the memory. But it slipped away, immediately replaced by the dull ache of loss. Today was the first day she'd woken up knowing with certainty that she'd never see her mother again.

Kat glanced up at the sound of laughter. Three college girls were headed her way, all with long straight hair parted down the middle, heads held high, walking the walk of brazen confidence. Kat smiled at them. Good morning, she said.

Good morning!

She looked over her shoulder to watch them head into the coffee shop. In Kat's opinion, the single redeeming feature of Persuasion had always been the campus of Mountain Laurel College, and it pleased her to see that the regular influx of young people had kept the blood pumping in this town for the twenty years she'd been away.

Kat continued on for a moment, then stopped in her tracks. In the display window of Wilson's Gallery of Fine Art, between a hand-woven shawl and a selection of pottery, was a style of sculpture she'd recognize anywhere. A small white card propped against the figure read: /Untitled No. 236, alpha gypsum and polymers, V. L. Cavanaugh, 2007./ She leaned her forehead against the cold glass and stared. Had her mother died just before he did this? Or had he come back from visiting her in the hospital and headed right to his studio? Either way, Kat could see the pain in the sculpture of a man's hands reaching upward and bursting into flames. As always, she wondered who would buy such a thing and place it somewhere to be admired. A Satan worshipper? Some aging hippie who remembered her dad's place in the Andy Warhol days of the New York art scene?

Kat cupped a hand around her eyes and peered inside, seeing a dozen or more of her father's bizarre creations displayed at various intervals through the gallery. If nothing else, it seemed her father's career was still in full swing.