By the fifth time, Robin was back by my side, with a murmured apology that I didn't quite catch. I was bored, hot, and ready to leave, and I was none too happy with being dumped and reloaded by Robin so unceremoniously. As I whispered my own deliberately unintelligible farewell, my nose was probably as high in the air as Celia's when she did her "pert" sentence.

"I'll call you," he promised. He still seemed distracted. "I think tomorrow we're doing street scenes."

Well, the heck with him, I thought, making my path through the confusing tangle of cables and equipment. I was determined to reach my car and make my getaway. Just as I cleared the edges of the scene and stepped through the tape that held back onlookers, I heard a breathless voice call my name.

"Miss Teagarden!" The caller had a husky, sexy voice, and I turned to find Starlet Two hurrying after me.

"Yes?" I tried to sound more civil than I felt.

"Please, Miss Teagarden, I'm Meredith Askew." She waited a moment, hoping I'd recognize the name. She gave a resigned little sigh when I didn't. "Celia was hoping you could eat dinner with her tonight?" As though this were a great favor.

I bit back my first response, which was, "For God's sake, why?" "No, thanks," I told the girl. It sounded lumpishly ungracious, even to me.

"Oh, but..." Meredith Askew looked disconcerted and unhappy. I looked up at her with more attention. I'd believe this one was twenty-six, or twenty-one, for that matter. "Celia really wants to talk to you."

"What about?"

"Well, about the script, I guess."

"I don't know anything about the script," I observed.

"She'd like to know what you felt when your mother opened the chocolate box and almost ate one. And it was poisoned."

"What do you think I felt?" I asked incredulously.

"Oh, please come," Meredith said pleadingly.

She was an actress herself, so I should've known better. This not-too-subtle show of terrified innocence, intended to convey that the seasoned and ruthless older actress would torture Meredith if she didn't produce me, couldn't be real. But, I admit, I was beginning to wonder what all this was really about. Besides, what else did I have on my schedule, besides another evening at home with Madeleine?

"All right," I said, sounding as grumpy as I surely was. "Where?"

"We made reservations in Atlanta at Heavenly Barbecue," Meredith said, relaxing openly. "We heard that was the best place to get a taste of the South." I had to keep reminding myself that she was an actress, and that relaxing openly would be the reaction she selected, not necessarily her true feeling. "You can drive over there with us in one of the Range Rovers. We'll leave at eight."

That seemed mighty late to eat, but I nodded shortly and agreed to meet them at the Ramada right off the interstate, where most of the cast and crew were staying. "Though Joel's renting his own house," Meredith said, trying not to sound too envious.

I'd turned to leave when a sudden thought rambled through my head. "Meredith," I called. The young woman turned to look at me, forcing her features into Concerned. "Will Barrett be coming?" I asked. She scanned my face to pick the answer I wanted.

"No," Meredith said, finally. I was quite unsure if she were telling the truth or lying. Lying, I thought, and sighed as I thought of an evening of awkwardness. I'd accepted, though, and I would keep my word. Meredith turned away to go back to her business, whatever it was, and I plotted my route back to my car.

With some difficulty, I picked my way among the cables, trailers, and people. The fringe of the set was becoming heavily populated with Lawrencetonians who had nothing better to do, and I had to stop to meet and greet five or six people who had a thousand questions.

After staggering along the street for two blocks, I had to admit I'd lost my car. I pressed the Open button on my keypad, which would make the lights blink. I looked from side to side. Nothing.

Okay, time to drag out the big guns. I hit the red Panic button, and just like a charm, I heard Honk! Honk! Honk! just out of sight. A middle-aged couple turned to stare, and a dog began barking frantically. I just didn't care. I flew down the sidewalk to pass a clump of sesanquas, and there was my car, honking away faithfully. I pressed the Panic button again to silence the horn. Within seconds, I was buckled up and maneuvering the car out of the space I'd wedged it in, thinking all the while about the evening's excursion with the movie people. I was relieved they wouldn't be eating anywhere in town—but Heavenly Barbecue, a huge and popular place on the outskirts of the Lawrenceton side of Atlanta, was often as warm with locals.

Through a haze of misgiving, I couldn't shake a certain sense of anticipation. I felt like I'd agreed to a date with a rough, sexy guy from the wrong side of the tracks.

It had been a long time since I'd had plans for the evening beyond a dinner with my mother and her new family, or renting a move to watch with Sally or the Youngbloods. As I worked at the library that afternoon, directing patrons to the right section of the stacks or dealing with the copier (which was at the stage of having to be nursed through every encounter with the public), I thought about my invitation from the movie people much too often. I just had time to shower and change when I left work.

I had to resist the temptation to buy more new clothes. I refused to spend more than five minutes deciding what to put on that evening, but I did check over my chosen shirt and slacks to decide if they needed ironing. As I was frowning at a little crease in my khakis, the telephone rang.

"Uh-huh?" I said into the receiver, my mind a thousand miles away.

"Ms. Teagarden?" The crisp voice could only belong to Patricia Bledsoe, Sam derrick's secretary. Patricia the Paragon, as Perry Allison had taken to calling her after she'd found a mistake in his paycheck that cost him money.

"Yes, who's calling?" I didn't want to sound too sure. Why on earth would the woman phone me?

"This is Mrs. Bledsoe," she said, sounding as surprised to be calling as I was to be called.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, trying to modify my voice so my words wouldn't sound abrupt. I'd been at work for seven hours. Why hadn't she taken the opportunity to talk to me then?

"My son Jerome really wants to see the film crew on the job," she said carefully. "Mr. Allison just now told me that you had visited the set this morning. So I was hoping that you could tell me where they are working now."

Patricia Bledsoe also didn't like to use contractions.

I told her the crew had been working at the Episcopalian church that morning, and she checked the address to be sure she knew where that was (there are many, many churches in Lawrenceton, and I am sorry to say there is little racial mixing on Sundays). "But I don't know about tomorrow," I said firmly. "I believe my friend said something about street scenes."

"So they are not likely to be coming to the library?" she asked. I had the odd feeling that Patricia Bledsoe could see the surprised expression on my face, because she added hastily, "That would be so convenient, you see, if he could just come here."

"I have no idea what streets they're going to use," I told her. "I suppose if they wanted to film at the library they would've already asked Sam, either directly or through the City Council."

"That's true," she said. She sounded quite annoyed that she hadn't thought of that herself. "Yes, thank you," she said briskly, and I knew that Patricia was regretting she'd called me at all. "I'm sorry I bothered you, just go back to whatever you were doing," she continued, trying to sound chipper. "Forget I even called."

I thought, She wishes.