Dora spent almost an hour inspecting jewelry in showcases and silver, crystal, and china on open display. All price tags were turned facedown or tucked discreetly beneath the items. But Dora knew she could never afford the things she liked-except, perhaps, a sterling silver barrette in the shape of a dolphin.

She arrived at Helene Pierce's apartment house a little before noon. It was a shiny new high-rise on Second Avenue, all glass and rosy brick with a gourmet food shop and a designer's boutique on the street level. The doorman wore a plumed shako and military cape of crimson wool. Inside, the concierge behind a marble counter wore a swallowtail of white silk. Dora was impressed and wondered what kind of rent Helene Pierce was paying. Even if the apartments were co-ops or condos, she figured the maintenance would be stiff; plumed shakos and silk swallowtails cost. And so do elevators lined with ebony panels and antiqued mirrors.

The woman who opened the door of the 16th-floor apartment looked to be ten years younger than Dora, six inches taller, and thirty pounds lighter. She had the masklike features of a high-fashion model, her smile distant. She was wearing a cognac-colored jumpsuit belted with what seemed to be a silver bicycle chain. Her long feet were bare.

"Dora Conti?" she asked, voice flat and drawly.

"Yes, Miss Pierce. Thank you for seeing me. I promise not to take too much of your time."

"Come on in. My brother should be along any minute."

The apartment was not as lavish as Dora expected. The rugs and furnishings were attractive, but hardly luxurious. The living room had a curiously unlived-in look, as if it might be a model room in a department store. Dora got the feeling of impermanence, the occupant a transient just passing through.

They sat at opposite ends of a couch covered with beige linen and both half-turned to face each other.

"What a lovely building," Dora said. "The lobby is quite unusual."

Helene's smile was mocking. "A little garish," she said. "I would have preferred something a bit more subdued, a bit more elegant. But apparently people like it; all the apartments have been sold."

"It's a co-op?"

"That's correct."

"How long have you lived here, Miss Pierce?"

"Oh… let me see… It's been a little over a year now."

"I hope you don't mind my saying, but you don't talk like a New Yorker. The Midwest, I'd guess."

Helene stared at her, then reached for a pack of cigarettes on the end table. "Would you like one?" she asked.

"No, thank you."

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Not at all."

Dora watched her light up slowly, wondering if this lovely, self-possessed young woman was stalling.

"Yes, you're quite right," Helene said with a short laugh. "The Midwest it is."

"Oh?" Dora said, trying to keep her prying light and casual. "Where?"

"Kansas City."

"Which one? Missouri or Kansas?"

"Missouri. Does it show?"

"Only in your voice," Dora said. "Believe me, your looks are pure Manhattan."

"I hope that's a compliment."

"It is. Have you ever modeled, Miss Pierce?"

"No. I've been asked to, but-" There was a knock at the hallway door. "That must be my brother. Excuse me a moment."

The man who followed Helene back into the living room was wearing a mink-collared cashmere topcoat slung carelessly over his shoulders like a cape. There was a hint of swagger in his walk, and when he leaned down to shake Dora's hand, she caught a whiff of something else. Cigar smoke, she guessed. Or perhaps brandy.

"Miss Conti," he said, smiling. "A pleasure. What's this? My sister didn't offer you a drink?"

"Sorry about that," Helene said. "Would you like something-hard or soft?"

"Nothing, thank you," Dora said. "I'll just ask a few questions and then be on my way."

The Pierces agreed they had attended a small cocktail party at the Starrett apartment the night Lewis had been killed. And no, neither knew of any enemies who might have wished the older Starrett dead. It was true he was sometimes a difficult man to get along with, but his occasional nastiness was hardly a reason for murder.

"How long have you known the Starretts?" Dora asked, addressing Turner.

"Oh… perhaps two years," he replied. "Maybe a little longer. It began as a business relationship when I landed Starrett Jewelry as a client. Then Helene and I met the entire family, and we became friends."

"What kind of business are you in, Mr. Pierce?"

"I'm a management consultant. It's really a one-man operation. I specialize in computer systems, analyzing a client's needs and devising the most efficient setup to meet those needs. Or sometimes I recommend changing or upgrading a client's existing hardware."

"And that's the kind of work you did for Starrett?"

"Yes. Their new state-of-the-art systems integration is just coming on-line now. I think it will make a big difference in back-room efficiency and give Starrett executives the tools to improve their management skills."

That sounded like a sales pitch to Dora, but she said politely, "Fascinating."

"I haven't the slightest idea what my brother is talking about," Helene said. "Computers are as mysterious to me as the engine in my car. Do you use computers in your work, Miss Conti?"

"Oh yes. The insurance business would be lost without them. I'd like to ask both of you an additional question, but first I want to assure you that your replies will be held in strictest confidence. Has either of you, or both, ever noticed any signs of discord between members of the Starrett family? Any arguments, for instance, or other evidence of hostility?"

The Pierces looked at each other a brief moment.

"I can't recall anything like that," Turner said slowly. "Can you, sis?"

She shook her head. "They seem a very happy family. No arguments that I can remember. Sometimes Lewis Starrett would get angry with Father Brian Callaway, but of course the Father is not a member of the family."

"And even then Lewis was just letting off steam," Turner put in swiftly. "I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it. It was just his way."

"What was he angry about?" Dora said.

Turner rose from his armchair. "May I have one of your cigarettes, sis?" he asked.

Dora watched him light up, thinking these two used the same shtick to give themselves time to frame their replies.

Turner Pierce was a tall man, slender and graceful as a fencer. His complexion was dark, almost olive, and he sported a wide black mustache, so sleek it might have been painted. He had the same negligent manner as Helene, but behind his casual attention, Dora imagined, was something else: a streak of uncaring cruelty, as if the opinions or even the suffering of others were a bore, and only his own gratification mattered.

"I believe," he said carefully, "it concerned the contributions Olivia was making to Father Callaway's church. It was nonsense, of course. The Starretts have all the money in the world, and the Father's church does many worthwhile things for the poor and homeless."

Dora nodded. "And I understand Mrs. Eleanor is quite active in charity benefits. It seems to me the Starrett women are very generous to the less fortunate."

"Yes," he said shortly, "they are."

"Felicia Starrett as well?" she asked suddenly.

"Oh, Felicia has her private charities," Helene said in her flat drawl. "She does a lot of good, doesn't she, Turner?"

"Oh yes," he said, "a lot."

They didn't smile, but Dora was conscious of an inside joke there, a private joke, and she didn't like it.

"Thank you both very much," she said rising. "I appreciate your kind cooperation."

Turner stood up, helped her on with her bulky anorak. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, ma'am," he said. "If there's anything more you need, my sister and I will be delighted to help."