to film a shampoo ad in my shop: The door flew open, and suddenly the place was full of

shiny bouncy hair, bright eyes, bright smiles, bright voices. All that was missing was the

kicky soundtrack.

“We have to talk to you about the engagement party,” said Nancy – no, Natasha.

Natasha?

“What engagement party?”

They laughed merrily at that – all of them, including the kid – although I didn’t get

what was so funny.

“No, but seriously,” I said. “Isn’t that kind of thing for first weddings and…well,

younger couples?”

“Now you sound like Daddy,” chided Lauren, which shut me up. She spread a selection

of embossed cream and white cards on the counter like a Vegas dealer fanning the deck.

“What do you think?”

I stared at the elegant assortment of invites. “But…I was under the impression that we

had to…stall. That you couldn’t pull off a wedding so close to the holidays.”

Lauren nodded as though this was a good point from one who didn’t have all the facts.

“You have to look at this from Lisa’s point of view,” she said kindly.

Well, yeah. When did one not? Did they honestly think they had to explain the center

of the universe to Galileo?

They continued to stare at me expectantly. I realized I was expected to cast a vote for

stationery.

I pointed at a crisp white card with crisp black writing. Lauren’s fawn-colored

eyebrows drew together infinitesimally. Natasha bit her lip. Emma – initial test results

continuing to prove promising – had wandered off to explore.

“Whatever you think is fine,” I declared.

They looked relieved.

“So here’s the plan,” said Lauren. She proceeded to outline the festivities for a small

intimate gathering of one hundred and eighty of the prospective bride and groom’s nearest

and dearest.

“How many people are invited to the wedding?” I asked faintly.

Lauren shrugged dismissingly. “Three hundred or so, I believe.”

I blinked.

They burst out laughing at my expression. “I’m teasing ,” said Lauren. “The wedding is

going to be very small. Private. Family and close friends.”

“But very elegant,” vouchsafed Natasha.

I was still trying to assimilate that as they detailed the engagement party plans which

included the Mondrian SkyBar, ice sculptures, scented candles, champagne cocktails, and

1940s Big Band music. So bizarre. I still had the images of the night before buzzing in the

back of my brain like flies, and they were talking party favors.

I think I had blanked to the Indian Head test pattern when I heard a voice pipe,

“Sooooo, what do you think?”

“Wow,” I said.

They laughed delightedly. Were they always like this, bubbly as champagne, talking all

at once, finishing each other’s sentences, laughing at each other’s jokes in a kind of silvery

harmony? Could they maybe be on some kind of medication?

The shop bells jangled, the door opened. In walked Jake and a lanky scarecrow of a

man who had to be another plainclothes cop. They stopped short at what might have

appeared to be an in-progress fashion shoot. The scarecrow brightened, scoping out my

sisters-to-be.

Jake looked as tired as I felt. His eyes found mine. “Hello again, Mr. English,” he said

formally. “Detective Rossini and I were hoping you would answer a few questions in

connection with the Angus Gordon case.”

The Dauten Gang never moved a muscle, but you could feel the shock wave bouncing

off the safety shield of their poise. They didn’t so much as exchange glances, yet I knew they

were communicating telepathically, a la Village of the Damned .

“If it’s not too inconvenient,” Rossini said. He appeared to be talking to Lauren’s

breasts.

“Sure,” I said. Not in front of the womenfolk, though. I turned to Lauren. “Sorry about

this. Maybe we can finalize details later.”

She didn’t respond.

Emma appeared at my elbow with a tattered copy of The Mystery of Lilac Inn. “How

much is this?”

“Five dollars,” I said automatically. “But for you, ten.”

She giggled, happily oblivious to the electricity snapping in the air.

I took the book, handed it across the counter to Velvet, who watched us like a favorite

TV show. She looked blank. “Put it in a bag for her,” I muttered.

“Oh. Sure. Right.” She took the book belatedly.

I glanced over my shoulder. Lauren seemed to be trying the telepathy with me. I

wasn’t getting the message. Jake’s message, on the other hand, was coming through loud and

clear; I didn’t have to meet his eyes.

“We’re done here, right?” I said to Lauren, resorting to old-fashioned speech.

“Are we?” Natasha said ominously. Was she concerned about the police presence, or

did she suspect me of trying to skip out on my share of picking hors d’oeuvres?

“Is everything all right, officers?” Lauren inquired evenly.

I wondered what Lisa had told them that led them to conclude that I might need

protecting from the fuzz.

“Everything’s fine,” I said quickly. “I’ll call you. But really, whatever you guys – girls –

ladies –”

They laughed, though their laughter was no longer so silvery sweet. Rossini and Jake

stared in fascination.

“I’m fine with whatever you work out.”

“What about the book?” inquired Emma, gazing seriously up at me with those big blue

eyes.

“It’s a gift,” I said. “A before-Christmas gift.”

“Adrien,” Lauren said quietly, “do we need to call Daddy?”

“Caaa –” I sounded like Michael Palin in A Fish Called Wanda. “No. Seriously.”

Naturally I couldn’t say aloud, And don’t tell my mother! But I telepathed for all my life was

worth.

They looked unconvinced. I couldn’t look at the cops. Then Natasha exclaimed,

“Christmas! We haven’t talked about Christmas yet!”

“Oh, my gosh!” Lauren responded without missing a beat.

Ad lib or did they rehearse this stuff?

“We’ll talk,” I assured them. They were making protesting noises as I grabbed the book

bag from Velvet, pushed it into Emma’s hands. I gestured for the coppers to follow me.

They followed, unspeaking, footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. I led them into the

backroom, shut the office door firmly.