“It’s amazing you didn’t turn to a life of crime.” Clayton grinned down at her. Rachael never ceased to surprise him.

“Well, I wasn’t quite that good,” Rachael admitted with a giggle. “But I know I can pick the flimsy padlock on that gardening shed.”

The gardening shed ran the width of the garage and Clayton watched while Rachael examined the lock. “It’s the same kind of padlock my foster brother had on his bike. If I remember correctly, I just twisted to the left while I poked a hairpin halfway in and . . . I did it, Clay!”

Rachael stepped to the side while Clayton opened the door and switched on the lights. There was a whole shelf of potting soil and they each grabbed two bags. “Anything else we need before I lock it back up again?”

“I don’t think so.” Clayton headed for the door. “Don’t trip on those suitcases, Rachael.”

Rachael looked puzzled. “What are suitcases doing in here? We’ve got individual storage bins for things like that.”

“Good question. Do you suppose they belonged to our gardener?”

Rachael put down the potting soil. “There’s only one way to tell.”

“I’m not sure we should . . .” Clayton stopped in midsentence as Rachael unzipped the little carry-on bag. It was too late to protest and he was just as curious as she was.

“Passports!” Rachael held up the distinctive folders and began to flip through them. “Look at this, Clay. They’re issued in different names, but they all have Johnny Day’s picture on them! Why would Johnny have fake passports?”

“Got me . . . but we’d better take them with us. And I’m definitely calling the authorities as soon as our phones start working again!”

Rachael stuffed the passports in her pocket, grabbed the bags of potting soil, and followed Clayton to the elevator. She didn’t bother to relock the door since they’d be coming back down in the morning to show the others.

When they got back to their own apartment, Clayton went out to pour the potting soil around the rose tree while she sat down on the couch to examine their find. Four different passports with Johnny’s picture, issued to Joe Perrino, Ramone Bertoni, Frederic Sorrento, and Johnny Day.

“I think we saved the Marshall Golds.” Clayton was smiling when he came in, but he quickly sobered when he saw her face. “What is it?”

“This passport’s got Johnny’s real name on it.” Rachael held it out to him. “He couldn’t have left the country without it, could he?”

“Of course he could. He probably used another fake one. Still, it’s definitely another piece of the puzzle. We’ll discuss it with the others in the morning. How about a nightcap before we turn in?”

“That would be nice.” Rachael smiled at him. Clayton always suggested a nightcap when he wanted to make love to her. It had become one of their private rituals, a small glass of sherry preceding an enjoyable interlude in bed.

When they’d finished their sherry, Rachael rinsed out the glasses while Clayton showered, and then she hurried to her dressing room to put on Clayton’s favorite negligee, a floor-length wisp of rosy pink lace. She creamed her face, brushed her hair, and sighed as she took her toothbrush out of the holder. She didn’t feel like going through the whole routine tonight with the plaque rinse and the brushing and the flossing, but she had an appointment with her dentist next week and he’d go through the roof if he knew she hadn’t followed his instructions.

While Rachael rushed through her prescribed dental hygiene program, she thought about the passports again. Now she wished she’d taken the time to open the other suitcases. Were there more passports inside? Or did they contain something even more interesting, like smuggled jewels or contraband drugs? If Clayton was still in the shower when she got through, she’d slip on a robe and run down to the gardener’s shed to check.

Clayton was waiting for her when she emerged from her bathroom. He was wearing nothing but a towel and it was obvious that he’d been thinking about her. When he switched out the lights and put his arms around her, Rachael decided that the suitcases could definitely wait.

Betty smiled at her secret friend and took another piece of candy. She was getting very sleepy, but that was all right. Her friend had told her to go to sleep anytime she wanted and he’d even covered her with her favorite blanket. She felt warm and happy, just knowing that he was taking care of her. He was much nicer than Nurse.

They were watching a movie on forbidden channel five, but it wasn’t very interesting. The actor and the actress were in bed and the man had just switched on the light. He was reaching for a glass of water when Betty’s secret friend began to smile. Perhaps this was a comedy and she’d missed something. She thought she’d nodded off a few minutes ago, but she wasn’t sure. Her head felt as light as the pink fluff from the carnival. What was it called? Cotton candy, those were the words.

Betty was proud of herself. She’d remembered something. She wished she could tell the man called Jack, but he had gone to the hospital. She’d try to remember to tell him when he came back all about the comedy that wasn’t very funny and the candy cotton and how her secret friend had smiled.

Clayton woke up to reach for the water glass and poured in the packet of bromo he kept by his side of the bed. Despite Rachael’s warning, he’d eaten some of her hot salsa. His stomach was still on fire and the corn chips had made him terribly thirsty.

He glanced over at Rachael’s side of the bed and noticed that her water glass was empty. She must have been thirsty, too.

“Rachael? Do you want me to get you more water?” Clayton waited for a moment, but Rachael was sound asleep. He knew that filling her glass would be the gentlemanly thing to do, but he was so tired, he couldn’t face the thought of walking all the way to the bathroom and back. If Rachael wanted more water in the middle of the night, she’d just have to get it herself. Wasn’t that what women’s lib had been all about?

He frowned as he settled back against the pillow. The water had a bitter aftertaste. Perhaps the avalanche had loosened some rust in the pipes.

There was a burning sensation in Clayton’s chest and he wished the bromo would work faster. He was utterly exhausted, and it had nothing to do with the packing they’d done for Johnny or repotting Darby’s Marshall Golds. He was a middle-aged man, in good shape of course, but he’d acted like a randy teenager today. He’d made love to Rachael twice, once before the avalanche and again tonight.

A smile spread across Clayton’s face as he remembered what they’d done. He considered rolling over, waking Rachael, and doing it again, but he didn’t have the energy. He was so tired that he had no feeling at all in his legs and when he tried to reach out to adjust his covers, he could barely manage to wiggle his finger. His entire body felt numb and there was a horrible taste in his mouth. His last waking thought before the deep night closed in was that they really ought to order bottled water. Just as soon as their phone was working again, he’d call to find out how much it cost.

Betty was awake again and the television was still on. The movie on the forbidden channel five was still running. She glanced at the chair, but her secret friend was gone. The clock by the side of the bed had the big hand on the six and the little hand halfway between the two and the three. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she knew it was nighttime outside. Her friend had left before the movie was over. Betty reached out to slip a blank disk in the machine. She would record the ending and if he wanted to watch it, she could play it for him. She’d try to remember to tell him the next time he came.