She took me through the hall and into the older part of the house. We came into a room that had served as a large entry; a grand curving staircase and balcony overlooked its marbled floor. Elinor was recounting bits and pieces of the family history associated with various parts of the house. We came to a large dining room that had paintings of her ancestors adorning the walls. “Terribly old-fashioned of me, I know, to have the old curmudgeons staring down at us over dinner. They don’t look a very happy lot, do they?”

She was right. Most of the people in the paintings looked like their underwear was on too tight. But my Irish ancestors probably would have looked even less comfortable-if anyone had ever wanted peasants to sit for portraits.

“I make up for this room in Andrew’s office,” she went on, “which is quite modern. We’ll skip the kitchen, which is over there to the right, as the chef will never forgive me if I interrupt his preparations. The house even has a basement, can you believe it? There’s a small storage room and a pantry. We’ll skip all of that; the only entry is through the kitchen. Do you exercise?”

I shifted conversational gears and said, “Yes, I try to. This last week hasn’t been very normal in terms of those kinds of routines.”

“Well, I just wanted to make sure you could manage the stairs. They’re rather steep. You should do all right if you’ve stayed in shape.” As we wandered through a maze of hallways she asked me about being a reporter, where I had worked, how long I had known O’Connor, and so on. When we reached a doorway at the end of a hall, she said, “It will be easier if we take off our shoes.” And, to my shock, she reached down and took off her heels. I took mine off as well, quite happy to be out of them for a few minutes, and smiling at the idea that Elinor and I were about to run around the Sheffield Estate in our stocking feet. She saw me smile and said, “I know, can you imagine how fast my grandmother is spinning in her grave?” She laughed and opened the door. We were in the tower. A long spiral staircase wound its way overhead. We set our shoes down at the bottom of the stairs and started our climb.

Now, I’m in pretty good shape, but this woman, who was about fifteen years older than me, was hauling her buns up the stairs at a good clip. She was enjoying watching me try to keep up with her. I didn’t want to work up a sweat in my formal wear. Fortunately, she stopped between the second and third floors to allow me to admire the view.

It was magnificent. The ocean, the lights, the party below. “It’s beautiful,” I said. “I appreciate your taking time out from your other guests to show me around.”

“Nonsense. I’m enjoying this immensely, hearing all about the newspaper. And I seldom meet women who can keep up with me on the staircase.” She laughed softly. “Are you ready to continue?”

“Lead on,” I said, and we made our way up the last flight. Here the stairway came into a large room that took up the entire top floor, with the exception of a small bathroom at the back. That shows foresight, I thought. I could hardly imagine what it would be like if you had to run down those stairs to relieve yourself. The room had close to a 360-degree view. It put the one from one flight below to shame.

“Wow,” I said. “Your grandfather knew what he was doing with this room.”

“Yes, it isn’t easy to get to, but it’s so lovely once you’re here, it’s hard to leave. Andrew uses this portion of it as an office,” she said, as we strolled past a desk with a computer on it. On the wall near the desk were framed degrees. There was the fine scroll of the Harvard Law School degree. I was interested to see that Elinor had a degree in biology.

“You went to Stanford?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said distractedly, moving toward the windows.

I had just glanced at the degree below hers, Andrew’s undergraduate degree, when Elinor said, “Now who on earth could that be?”

I went over to the window and stood next to her. I could see the road, a chain of lights with dark patches between. Below us and to the right was the guardhouse, and a car had pulled up in front of it. “Well, I’ll be,” I muttered.

“You know the car?” she asked.

“Yes, it belongs to a homicide detective on the Las Piernas Police Department. His name is Pete Baird. He’s keeping an eye on me.”

“Really?” She smiled. “You’re not a suspect, are you?”

“Oh, no, I mean that he’s trying to make sure I’m safe. Protecting me.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who needs protecting, Irene. Am I wrong?”

“Until this week, the answer would have been, ‘No, I don’t need to be looked after by anyone.’ But I have to admit my confidence has been shaken. I don’t know. I’m trying to be realistic, and after all that’s happened, I guess I have to say nothing is as it was a week ago.”

“No, I suppose not,” she said. There was a chirping from the telephone on the desk. “Excuse me.”

She lifted the receiver. “Yes, Markham?”

She listened for a moment. “Yes,” she said, looking over at me, “I know. A message for Miss Kelly? Well, certainly, let him in. Tell Detective Baird to meet us on the side patio.”

She pressed the receiver down and then pressed a couple of buttons on the phone. “Mary? Would it be possible for you to get a couple of sandwiches and a thermos of coffee together without sending Henri into a fit? Thank you, my dear, I know you’re taking your life into your hands on my behalf.”

She hung up. “Shall we go downstairs? Mr. Baird has told my guard that he would like to speak to you.”

“I’m sorry to cause you all of this trouble.”

“You must learn to stop apologizing to me, my dear. It’s unbecoming. Besides, I never do anything I don’t want to do.” She smiled, and moved to the stairway.

We made our way down the stairs in silence. I couldn’t figure out what Pete was up to. If this was his idea of a way to keep tabs on me for Frank’s sake, I was going to be pissed.

At the bottom of the stairs, Elinor said, “I suppose we should put our shoes back on. Detective Baird may wonder why we are running around in our stocking feet.” I reluctantly got back into my heels. When I’ve gone a few months without wearing high heels, the next time I get into them I look like someone who’s on ice skates for the first time. She beckoned me to follow her through a different door from the one we had entered by and I wobbled out after her.

The door opened onto a short hallway that ran between the kitchen and the stairs to the basement. I peered down into the basement while we waited there a moment. From what I could see, it was a small room that housed some gardening equipment, old newspapers, and a couple of spare propane tanks of the kind used for barbecues.

A stout, elderly lady in a blue housecoat opened a door opposite the one to the basement. Behind her, I caught a glimpse of the enormous kitchen, a hive of activity in which tonight’s banquet was being prepared. She closed the door behind her and winked at Elinor as she stepped into the hall. “There you are, Miss Elinor,” she said, handing over a thermos and two large wrapped sandwiches. “And don’t you worry about Henri. He knows better than to fuss at me.”

“You’re a wonder, Mary. This is Irene Kelly. Irene, this is Mary O’Brien, who has been with our family for many years.”

“Kelly,” said Mary, “that’s a good name.”

“O’Brien’s not half bad either,” I said, and we smiled and shook hands.

Elinor thanked her and we stepped outside onto a small lighted patio. The patio held two large gas barbecues and some white patio furniture. It was surrounded by a low hedge. Pete was standing to one side, pulling nervously at his collar. I shot him a “this-had-better-be-good” look.

“Elinor Sheffield Hollingsworth, this is Detective Pete Baird.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Baird. I’ve brought you some sandwiches and coffee. It’s not quite the fare Miss Kelly will be dining on this evening, but I supposed it would be better than waiting for her on an empty stomach.”