Jake Perkins studied Jean's expression as she passed him. She's worried, he thought. Could it be because Laura Wilcox didn't show up? My God, is it possible that she's missing? He pulled out his own cell phone, dialed the Glen-Ridge House, and asked for the front desk. "I have a flower delivery for Ms. Laura Wilcox," he said, "but I was asked to make sure that she hadn't checked out."

"No, she hasn't checked out," the clerk told him, "but she didn't stay here last night, so I'm not sure when she'll be back to pick up her bags."

"Was she planning to stay through the weekend?" Jake asked, trying to sound indifferent.

"She was supposed to check out by two. She ordered a car to take her to the airport at two-fifteen, so I don't know what to tell you about your flowers, sonny."

"I guess I'll check with my customer. Thanks."

Jake turned off his cell phone and slipped it back into his pocket. I know exactly where I'm going to be at two o'clock, he thought-I'll be in the lobby of the Glen-Ridge, waiting to see if Laura Wilcox is there to check out.

He started to walk back down the corridor to the auditorium. Suppose she never does show up, he thought. Suppose she just disappears. If she does… He felt a thrill of nervous anticipation shoot through him. He understood what it was-a newsman's nose for a hot story. It's too big for the Stonecroft Academy Gazette, Jake thought. But the New York Post would love it. I'll get the lunch table picture enlarged and have it ready to run with the story. He could see the headline: "Hard Luck Class Claims Another Victim." Pretty good.

Or maybe even, "And Then There Was One." Even better!

I took a couple of really good pictures of Dr. Sheridan, he thought. I'll have them ready to show the Post as well.

As he opened the door of the auditorium, the first lines of the school song were being sung by the assembled guests. "We hail thee, dear Stonecroft; the place of our dreams…"

The reunion of the twentieth-anniversary graduates was over at last.

"I guess this is good-bye, Jean. It's been good to see you again." Mark Fleischman was holding his card in his hand. "I'll give you mine if you'll give me yours," he said, smiling.

"Of course." Jean dug into her bag and pulled a card out of her wallet. "I'm glad you were able to make the brunch after all."

"I am, too. When do you leave?"

"I'm staying at the hotel for a few days more. A little research project." Jean tried to sound casual.

"I tape some shows in Boston tomorrow. Otherwise I'd stay and ask you to join me for a quiet dinner tonight." He hesitated, then bent down and kissed her cheek. "Again, as people say, it's been good to see you."

"Good-bye, Mark." Jean caught herself before adding, "Give me a call if you plan to be in Washington." For an instant their hands lingered together, then he was gone.

Carter Stewart and Gordon Amory were standing together, saying final good-byes to the dispersing classmates. Jean walked over to them. Before she could speak, Gordon asked, "Have you heard from Laura?"

"Not yet."

"Laura's unreliable. That's another reason her career has tanked.

She has a history of keeping people waiting, but Alison had been moving heaven and earth to get her a job. Too bad that Laura couldn't remember that today."

"Well…" Jean decided not to agree or disagree. She turned to Carter Stewart. "Are you heading back to New York, Carter?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm not. I'm checking out of the Glen-Ridge and into the Hudson Valley Hotel across town. Pierce Ellison is directing my new play. He lives only ten minutes away in Highland Falls. We need to go over the script together, and he suggested we could work quietly at his place if I stayed over a few days. I'm not staying at the Glen-Ridge, though. They haven't spent a nickel on improvements at that place in fifty years."

"I can vouch for that," Amory agreed. "I have too many memories of being a busboy and then a room-service waiter there. I'm heading over to the country club. Some of my people are coming in. We're looking for a corporate headquarters in this area."

"Talk to Jack Emerson," Stewart said sarcastically.

"Anyone but him. My people have lined up some places for me to see."

"Then this may not be good-bye," Jean said. "We may be bumping into one another in town. Whether or not, it's been good to be with you."

She did not see Robby Brent or Jack Emerson, but didn't want to wait any longer. She had agreed to meet Sam Deegan at Alice Sommers' home at two o'clock, and it was nearly that time now.

With a final smile and a murmured good-bye to the classmates she passed on the way out, she walked quickly to the parking lot. As she got into her car, she looked across the school grounds to the cemetery. The unreality of Alison's death hit her again. It seemed so strange to leave her here on this cold, wet day. I used to tell Alison that she should have been born in California, Jean thought as she turned the key in the ignition. She hated the cold. Her idea of heaven was to get out of bed in the morning, open the door, and go for a swim.

That was what Alison was doing the morning she died.

It was the thought that accompanied Jean as she drove to Alice Sommers' home.

Carter Stewart had reserved a suite at the new Hudson Valley Hotel near Storm King State Park. Perched on the side of the mountain overlooking the Hudson, with its center building and twin towers, it reminded him of an eagle with outstretched wings.

The eagle, symbol of life and light and power and majesty.

The tentative title for his new play was The Eagle and the Owl.

The owl. Symbol of darkness and death. Bird of prey. Pierce Ellison, his director, liked the title. I'm not sure, Stewart thought, as he pulled up at the entrance of the hotel and stepped out of the car. I'm just not sure.

Is it too obvious? Symbols are meant to be noted by the profound thinker, not served on a platter to the Wednesday matinee bridge club. Not that that group rushed to buy tickets to his plays.

"We'll take care of your bags, sir."

Carter Stewart pressed a five-dollar bill into the doorman's hand. At least he didn't say, "Welcome home," he thought.

Five minutes later, a scotch from the mini-bar in his hand, he was standing at a window in his suite. The Hudson was brooding and restless. Only mid-afternoon in October and there was already a winter feel in the air. But at least, thank God, the reunion was over. I even quite liked seeing a few of those people again, Carter thought, if only to remind me of how far I've come since I left there.

Pierce Ellison felt that they needed to strengthen the character of Gwendolyn in the play. "Get someone who really is a ditsy blonde," he'd been urging. "Not an actress playing a ditsy blonde."

Carter Stewart chuckled aloud as he thought of Laura. "My, my, how she would have fit the bill," he said aloud. "I'll drink to that, even though in one hundred thousand years it would never have happened."