The memory of Christmas night dinner was still fresh in her mind, how she had sat there and listened to them talk. All the pettiness, bitterness, jealousy disguised as wit. The subtle put-downs as they questioned her about how far she wanted to pursue this career thing, about remarrying and giving them grandchildren so they could keep up with their old friends the Andersons who now had three. She'd never seen it before, but these few months with Rafe had opened her eyes.

Depressing. And infuriating.

Lisl asked herself what these two people had ever really done for her as parents. They had fed her, clothed her, put a roof over her head—and she supposed there was something to be said for those benefits since not all parents did even that much for their children—but beyond the necessities of life, what had they given her? What had they passed on to her?

She'd realized with a shock that her life had no center. She'd been raised and sent out into the world without a compass. And unless she did something on her own to remedy that, she would remain emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually adrift.

The day after Christmas she had fled back to Pendleton. She'd been overjoyed to find Rafe waiting for her.

"All right," Rafe now said as they stood on the sidewalk down the street from Ball's Jewelry. They'd just completed their twenty-second shoplifting spree. "Who is the lucky passerby to receive our largess?"

Lisl scanned the faces of the post-Christmas shoppers and gift-returners as they flowed past. Then she glanced down at the gold butterfly pin in her hand, lifted from a counter in Ball's only moments before. She was enchanted by the delicate filigree of its wings.

"No one," she said.

Rafe turned to her, his eyebrows raised. "Oh?"

"I like this. I think I'll keep it."

The words shocked her. They seemed to have taken on a life of their own and escaped independent of her will. But they were the truth. She did want to keep this pin.

A slow smile spread across Rafe's face.

"No guilt? No remorse?"

Lisl searched within herself. No. She could find no guilt. The thefts had become routine, actually. More of a chore—an errand, almost—than anything else.

"No," she said, shaking her head and looking down at the gold butterfly. "And that frightens me."

"Don't be frightened."

Rafe took the pin from her, opened her coat, and pinned it on her sweater.

"Why not?" she said.

"Because this is a watershed, a cause for celebration."

"I feel like I've developed a callus on my soul."

"You' ve done nothing of the sort. That's the kind of thinking that holds you back. Negative imagery. It's not a matter of calluses. It's breaking free from your childhood shackles."

"I don't feel free."

"Because only one of those chains has fallen away. There are still more. Many more."

"I don't know if I want to hear this."

"Trust me."

Rafe took her arm and they began walking along Conway Street.

"Up till now," he said, "we've been engaging in faceless acts of liberation."

"Faceless? What's been faceless? There've been plenty of faces involved here."

"Not really. We've been stealing from stores. Faceless corporations that do not feel even the slightest prickle of discomfort from what we've done."

"You're not going to turn Marxist on me now, are you?"

Rafe's expression was disdainful. "Please don't insult my intelligence. No. What I mean is that from now on we're going to get personal."

Lisl didn't like the sound of that.

"What do you mean?"

"Not what—who. I'd rather show you than tell you. And I wish to do a little research first. Tomorrow will be soon enough." He opened the passenger door to his Maserati and bowed her toward the seat. "Your carriage awaits."

A small, cold lump formed in Lisl's stomach as she got in. Her relief that the thefts would stop was undercut by a growing unease about what would replace them.

TWELVE

The following day Lisl opened her apartment door and was startled to find a seedy-looking stranger standing outside. She'd been expecting Rafe. He was due within the hour and when she heard the bell she figured he was showing up early.

"Can I help you?" she said.

He was thin, haggard-looking, but clean-shaven and smelling of a spicy after-shave. A bulky overcoat rounded off the sharp edges of his wiry frame.

"You can if you're Miss Lisa Whitman."

"Lisl. That's me. Who are you?"

He fished a black leather folder from within his coat and flashed a badge at her.

"Detective Augustino, Miss Whitman. State Police."

She caught a fleeting glimpse of a blue and gold shield before the flap covered it again, then the folder was on its way back inside the coat.

A sudden surge of panic lanced through Lisl.

Police! They know about the stealing!

She glanced down at her sweater where the gold butterfly with the filigree wings was pinned. She had an urge to cover it with her hand—but that would be like pointing it out to him, wouldn't it?

This was it: shame, disgrace, a criminal record, the end of her career.

"What…" Her mouth was dry. "What do you want with me?"

"Are you the lady who made the complaint about a crank phone call on December sixteenth?"

Crank phone call? December 16th? What on earth was he—?

"Oh, the party! The call at the party! Oh, that's right! Ohmigod, I thought you were—" She cut herself off.

"Thought I was what, Miss Whitman?"

"Nothing! Nothing!" Lisl fought an insane urge to burst out laughing. "Nothing at all!"

"May I come in, Miss Whitman?"

"Yes! Come on in!" she said, opening the door wider and stepping back. She was so weak with relief she had to sit down. "And call me Lisl."

He glanced at the notepad in his hand.

"So it really is Lisl, with an '1' on the end? I thought it was a misprint."

"No. My mother was Scandinavian."

Lisl realized with a shock that she had referred to her mother in the past tense, as if she were dead. After that trip home for Christmas last week, maybe she was dead, in a sense. She brushed the thought away.

"Have a seat, Detective…?"

"Augustino. Sergeant Augustino."

As he sat on her tiny couch and took out a pen, Lisl tried to pin down his accent. There was something strange about the way he talked.

"Now, about that phone call—" he began.

"Why are the police involved?" Lisl said. "I reported it to the phone company."

"Yes, but there's been more than one incident like yours. Southern Bell felt it was serious enough to refer it to the State Police."

Lisl remembered the terror in that child's voice.

"I'm glad they did. It was awful."

"I'm sure it was. Could you describe to me exactly what happened, including the surrounding events? In detail?"

"I already gave that information to the phone company."

"I know, but their report is vague. I need your firsthand account to be sure this is the same. Start at the beginning, please."

Lisl shrank from the thought of reliving that call, but if it would help track down the twisted mind that would pull such a sick stunt, she was all for it.

She told Augustino about the party at Rafe's place, the crowded living room, about the strange endless ring that had set everyone's teeth on edge. She watched him leaning farther and farther forward as she spoke. He was so intent that he wasn't taking any notes.

"And since no one else seemed to want to do it," she said, "I picked up the phone. And that's when I heard that voice." She paused, shivering. "How can I describe the terror in that child's voice?"

Lisl glanced at Sergeant Augustino and knew immediately that she didn't have to describe the voice to him. She saw it in his eyes—the look. Almost like the look she caught in Will Ryerson's eyes every so often.