“Pregnancy is making you bold,” said Emma.

Jane shrugged modestly. “What about you? Did you come up with anything on Annabel?”

She groaned. “I went to Janeane Proust.”

“No!” I exclaimed, aghast. “I am so sorry, Em. I didn’t realize that’s what you were planning to do.”

“Who’s Janeane Proust?” asked Hilary.

“More like what. It’s unadulterated torture disguised as an exercise class,” Emma said. “But another Manhattan institution, and very popular with the lunching ladies crowd. Not that any of them actually lunch. It would counteract all of the time and money they spend at Janeane Proust. And on liposuction.”

“Sounds like fun,” said Jane.

“I think there’s a good chance I may not be able to walk tomorrow-I barely made it home. You owe me an extended session with a qualified masseur, Rach.” I reached for the pitcher and topped off her drink instead.

“Does it work?” asked Luisa.

“Anything that hurts this much has to work.”

“You look really toned already,” Hilary said.

“I did two classes in a row, just to talk to as many women as possible. And it was awful, like my mother’s address book come to life, combined with intense physical anguish. By the way, when did the double air kiss give way to the triple air kiss?” Emma was usually on the quiet side. The pain and the margaritas had loosened her tongue considerably.

“I haven’t even mastered the single air kiss,” said Jane.

“Does Annabel go there? To Janeane Proust?” Luisa asked.

“Of course. Everybody who’s anybody may not go, but everybody who wants to be somebody considers it a must. However, the word is that she’s been slacking off of late.”

“Slacking off at Janeane Proust?” I said. “Quel scandal.”

“There’s been a ton of gossip about her,” Emma continued. “First, she spent a fortune on that new apartment, and the word on the street is that her husband wasn’t pleased.”

“Which street would that be?” Luisa asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Fifth, obviously,” said Emma,“and selected stretches of Park, darling. Also, even though she’s been skipping class, everyone says she’s looking very well-that she’s glowing. And you know what that means.”

“She’s pregnant?” asked Jane.

“She has a good facialist?” asked Luisa.

“No. That’s code for having regular-and satisfying-sex.”

“That you have to add the satisfying part is really sad,” said Hilary.

“Presumably not with her husband?” asked Luisa.

“That’s the implication.”

“Maybe she’s been seeing an ex-boyfriend on the side,” Hilary suggested pointedly. Everyone looked at me.

“I didn’t pick up on that vibe,” I said. “She and Jake together…they really looked like they were friends and nothing more. I had more physical contact with him than she did.”

“I’ve saved the best part for last,” said Emma, thankfully before either Hilary or Luisa could make any of the responses I’d inadvertently set myself up for with my last comment.

“Which part is that?” asked Jane.

“The part about the divorce lawyer. Actually, lawyers. Annabel’s been asking around for recommendations. Discreetly, of course, but none of these people are discreet. And the wife of Gallagher’s own divorce lawyer is a Janeane Proust addict. And a few weeks ago she started talking about renovating their Hamptons house.”

While everything Jane and Emma had learned strengthened the argument that both Naomi and Annabel should be considered more seriously as suspects, we seemed to be the only people who were looking in any direction that didn’t include me.

“I made some calls,” said Hilary, as we lingered over the remains of the enchiladas. “I even dropped by the offices of a few crime reporters I know, and it sounds like the press coverage is going to heat up. The case against you is entirely circumstantial, but there are a lot of little things that look pretty convincing when you add them all up. And the bad news is that the investigating detectives are focusing all of their efforts on adding up those little things and on finding you. You were probably right to run, but that only confirms your guilt in their eyes.”

“What’s the good news?” I asked, trying not to sound as bleak as I felt.

“I bought an extra bottle of tequila, just in case one wasn’t enough?”

“Matthew talked to Peter,” said Emma. “And he didn’t have anything else to report on things the police found. So that’s good, right?” But she was reaching, and even she knew it.

“We just need to do more work,” said Jane, striving for a confident tone. “I’ll talk to Naomi, and Emma will get more dirt on Annabel.”

“And maybe there’s something on those DVDs,” said Luisa. “We can start watching right now. Or as soon as I’ve had a cigarette.” She took her case and lighter in hand.

“I’ll contact some business reporters, too. To see if there’s anything on Perry and Gallagher to follow up on,” offered Hilary.

“Great,” I said, but my voice sounded hollow. The gossip about Naomi and Annabel had been interesting, but it didn’t change the fact that my situation wasn’t good and appeared to be getting worse. The key that would unlock the answers to this puzzle was nowhere in sight. I tried to take comfort by reminding myself that at least I was safe here at Emma’s, and at least I had the support of my friends.

“Oh, no,” said Luisa from the window.

“Out of smokes?” asked Hilary.

“I’m afraid it’s more serious than that,” she answered.

We all turned to look. Flashing red-and-blue lights streamed through the window, illuminating Luisa’s olive skin.

And then the downstairs buzzer sounded, long and loud.

W e wasted precious seconds gaping at each other in horror. A moment later, we could hear footsteps on the stairs.

“That stupid outside door,” said Emma. “It never locks properly.”

“Let’s meet them on the stairs, and see if we can stall them for a minute,” Jane said to her.

Hilary tossed me the small duffel bag we’d prepared for this possibility, and we raced to the back of the loft, to the bedroom.

“I’m really not a big fan of heights,” I said as Luisa threw open the window to the fire escape.

“You might have mentioned that when we were devising your contingency plans,” she answered.

“Don’t be a wuss,” said Hilary.

The fire escape hadn’t looked so flimsy when we’d examined it the previous evening.

“Come on, Rachel,” Luisa urged. We could hear voices on the stairwell, and more footsteps.

I took a deep breath and stepped through the window and onto the rusty platform. Behind me, they eased the sash down.

The fire escape faced out on an alley and the backs of the buildings that lined Vestry Street to the north. I knew that if I thought any more about it, I wouldn’t be able to actually move, so I hoisted myself onto the ladder that snaked down the side of Emma’s building and scampered the four stories to the ground.

I quickly realized that I was not the alley’s only scamperer, but I really didn’t want to think about what, exactly, the other scamperers might be. The hammer that we’d packed in my duffel bag did an admirable job of shattering the window in the back door of the building directly across from Emma’s. The crunch of the breaking glass sounded tremendously loud, and I waited, frozen, for an alarm to go off. Miraculously, none did-at least, not an audible one-and the breaking glass didn’t seem to attract notice, either.

I stood on tiptoe and pointed the small penlight we’d also packed in my duffel bag down the inside of the door, using the sleeve of my coat to protect my hand and arm from any remaining shards sticking from the window frame. In movies, people always just reached through the door and turned the knob, but in real life, this presupposed very long arms and easy or absent locks. I could see a dead bolt as well as another lock above the knob, but my own arms were too short to reach either.