Dora smiled shyly. "You don't have to do that, Mr. Rush-kin."

"I know I don't have to," he said, "but I want to. If you ever tire of your job and decide to relocate to New York, please let me know. I can promise you that your investigative talents will be well rewarded here."

"Thank you, sir," she said. "I'll keep it in mind."

Out on Fifth Avenue, in a frigid drizzle, she wondered why she was grinning and walking with a bouncy step. Then she realized it was because her professional performance had been praised and she had been offered a job. That did wonders for the old ego and supplied confidence for the meeting with Mike Trevalyan in Hartford the following day. That tete-a-tete, she knew, would be a brannigan.

Just for the hell of it, she walked over to Park Avenue. As Rushkin had said, the flagship store of Starrett Fine Jewelry was shuttered. The display windows were stripped of gems, and a sign proclaimed: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. But Dora was amused to note it didn't deter a mink-swathed matron who was shading her eyes to peer within and furiously rattling the knob of the locked door.

She bused up Madison Avenue, then walked over to the Starrett apartment on Fifth. Charles, looking as funereal as ever, let her enter and left her standing in the foyer while he shuffled away to announce her arrival.

Mrs. Olivia Starrett was sharing the chubby love seat with a diminutive man swaddled in a voluminous white djellaba. He popped to his feet when Dora entered, his robe swung briefly open, and she caught a quick glimpse of skinny shins half-covered with black socks suspended from old-fashioned garters.

"Dora!" Olivia said. "I'm so happy to see you, dear. I want you to meet the Maharishi Ziggy Gupta, a very wise man who is teaching me the spiritual truths of the Sacred Harmony."

The little man grinned and bobbed his head at Dora. She nodded in return.

"Pliz," he said, "forgive my language, but I am mostly happy to be making your-your-" He turned to Olivia for help.

"Acquaintance," she suggested.

"Yiss," the Maharishi said. "Your acquaintance."

Dora smiled and nodded again. "Mrs. Starrett," she said, "I just wanted to stop by to offer my sympathy. I know the events of the past few days must be a terrible burden. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"How sweet of you," Olivia said. "But with Ziggy's instruction I am learning to endure. Think of life as a great symphony, and all of us are but individual notes. To know the Sacred Harmony we must contribute our personal sorrows and joys so that the holy music rises to heaven and is pleasing to God."

"Iss so," the guru said, grinning. "For He is the Great Conductor who leads us with His stick."

"Baton," Olivia said. "I can't tell you what a comfort the Maharishi has been to me. He has come from Bombay to bring America his inspiring message of hope and redemption. We were just discussing how we might set up a school in New York, The Academy of the Sacred Harmony, so more pilgrims may achieve spiritual tranquillity by learning how each of us can add to the symphonic universe."

"Yes," Dora said, dazed. "Well, I must be going. I'm happy to see you in good spirits, Mrs. Starrett."

"I am contributing my note," Olivia said with a beatific smile. "To the chords that shall become part of the exalted rhapsody. Did I say that right, Ziggy?"

"Eggsactly," he said, grinning.

Dora fled, found her parka in the foyer closet, and left that apartment. She refused to laugh at Olivia's hopeless hope. That long-suffering woman was entitled to any solace she could find.

When she exited from the elevator, she saw Eleanor Starrett come striding across the lobby, gripping a furled umbrella as if she'd like to wring its neck. She spotted Dora, rushed up, squeezed her arm tightly.

"Did you just see Olivia?" she demanded.

Dora nodded.

"Is she up and about?"

"She's doing fine."

"Thank God!" Eleanor cried. "She's got to give me some money. Did you hear about Clayton?"

"Yes, I heard."

"They can fry that moron in the electric chair for all I care," Eleanor said angrily, "but what about me? My lawyer says the government will claim there was a pattern of racketeering, and if he's convicted Clay will be subject to RICO penalties. Do you know what that means? I'll tell you what it means-that they can take everything he's got: money, cars, real estate, jewelry, the fillings in his teeth. So where does that leave me? What kind of a settlement am I going to get if the government strips that imbecile down to his Jockey shorts? You know what it makes me? A bag lady rooting in garbage cans for my dejeuner."

Dora stared at her in astonishment, then noted the Starrett pearl choker at her throat, the Starrett gold brooch on her lapel, the Starrett tennis bracelet of two-carat diamonds, the several Starrett rings of emeralds, sapphires, rubies.

"Boohoo," Dora said mockingly, turned, and walked away.

She took special pains with her grooming that evening, brushing her hair until it gleamed, snugging on her "good" dress, adding the bracelet Mario had given her for Christmas. Finally she dabbed on a wee drop of Obsession-and wondered why she was tarting herself up. She hadn't been so nervous since her first prom, and breaking a fingernail did nothing to calm her down.

Wenden had wanted to pick her up at the hotel, but not knowing how their dinner-date might end, Dora thought it wiser to have her own transportation. So she drove over to Vito's in the Escort-and then had to park two blocks away and walk back.

John was already there, seated at a small bar just inside the door. He, too, had obviously made efforts to spruce up. His suit was pressed, shoes shined, shirt fresh, tie unstained, and he even had a clean white handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket. Dora thought he looked quite handsome.

They had extra-dry martinis at the bar, then carried refills to the back of the dining room. The detective was on his best behavior, anxious that she was satisfied with their table, holding the chair for her, asking if the room was too cold. Too hot? Too bright? Too noisy?

"John," she said, smiling, "it's just fine. I like it, I really do."

The waiter brought menus, and with no hesitation they both ordered broiled veal chops, pasta with salsa piccante, and a salad of arugula and endive. The wine list was left at Wenden's elbow, but Dora said she'd settle for a glass.

"Or two," she said. "I've got to get up early, and I have a long drive ahead of me. John, what's happening with Clayton Starrett?"

"Singing like a birdie," he said. "Ortiz thinks we're really going to nail Ramon Schnabl this time. He's already been charged, but he's out on bond. The judge made him turn in his passport, but Terry is keeping an eye on him just in case."

"What about Helene Pierce?"

"She came in voluntarily for questioning and wouldn't even admit she was at Turner's apartment the night he was offed. I'd love to get a few of her hairs to see if they match up with the ones we found at the Loftus scene, but I don't know how to do it."

"Does she have a cleaning woman?"

Wenden looked at her. "I don't know. Why?"

"Maybe a cleaning woman could get you a few hairs from Helene's brush."

He laughed. "Your brain never stops clicking, does it, Red. Well, it's worth a try. Ah, here's our salad. Wine now?"

"A glass of white with the salad," Dora said, "and a glass of red with the veal. And that's it. Definitely."

They started on their salads, along with chunks of hot garlic toast from a napkined basket. They were both hungry and didn't talk much while they were eating. John did say, "You look very attractive tonight," and Dora said, "Thank you. So do you," and they both laughed and reached for more garlic toast.