A thick layer of dust had accumulated on the screen of her high-definition television set. He knew this because he'd run his finger across it.

"Quinn!"

"Yep."

"Are you ready?"

"Yep. Have been."

"Do me a favor-do you see a pair of bone pumps out there somewhere?"

Bone pumps were either medical devices or women's shoes, Quinn thought. "You mean shoes?"

"Yes, shoes! Look in the dining room and toss them back here when you find them, would you please?"

Quinn headed into the formal dining area, another room strewn with newspapers and odd bits of debris. He saw the shoes sticking out from beneath a sleek modern sideboard-blond maple, he thought. As he looped his fingers inside the shoes and stood up, he saw a few family photos on display. Like everything else, they were sprinkled with dust.

He took a second to examine them-and his eyes fell on one group shot in particular. There was Audie-fourteen maybe-gangly and wearing braces and suffering from a fatal case of Big Hair, standing as if someone were holding a gun to her head. Quinn laughed at the angry look in her eyes until he saw that her brother possessed the same expression. They must have been fighting.

Audie's father looked absolutely lost, standing off to the side a bit, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his suit trousers.

In the center was Helen, beaming into the camera like she had with Margaret Thatcher and Nancy Reagan, her hand resting on Audie's shoulder. It didn't seem to be out of affection as much as control.

And who was that? A younger, quite beautiful version of Marjorie Stoddard, standing with a protective hand on Drew's arm, holding the leash to a regal-looking standard poodle with a pompadour and a pompom tail.

Dear God. Out of the lot of them, Quinn decided the poodle looked the happiest.

"Did you find them?"

He straightened up at the faint sound of her shout and headed toward the other end of the apartment. A man could get a blister on his heel walking from one end of this place to the other.

"Whoa!" Quinn pulled back as Audie ran into the hallway outside her bedroom.

"Sorry. Thanks."

Quinn watched her balance one hand on the door frame, bend at the waist, and skip her feet into the shoes one at a time.

She looked elegant, refined, and professional. She'd chosen a simple pale pink sheath dress and wore pearls at her throat and ears. Her hair was twisted back in some complicated shape that left those little tendrils loose at the nape of her neck again. She smelled faintly of flowers and spice.

"You're lovely, Audie."

She straightened up, and her breath caught. "God, you clean up good, Stacey. You look downright… I don't know… Protestant!"

As Quinn laughed, she checked out his lightweight gray suit, simply cut, nicely fitted, and the starched white collar and a tie of watery blues and grays. The man was dazzling.

"I'm late. Let's go," she said.

Quinn couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed being in a library this much. It was a decent crowd, mostly after-work types and a few older retirees. He scanned the faces, looking for anything that might catch his eye-a little too much adoration or anger or resentment, anything that didn't fit.

"Perhaps I'm just bitter."

He couldn't get that sentence out of his head. There was something intimate in those words. He looked around the room again-was there bitterness in anyone's face here tonight? He didn't see it. These people were polite, excited, starstruck, and, at worst, a bit impatient that they had to wait in line for Audie's autograph.

But whoever was sending her those notes wasn't here tonight. Quinn was sure of it.

He moved around the large hall, watching her from every possible angle. He'd listened earlier as she stood at the podium to chat about the column and answer questions. He laughed to himself when he realized that most of her answers involved the use of club soda, baking soda, or white vinegar.

She was good, Quinn had to admit. She smiled pleasantly as she rattled off facts and tricks. She looked perfectly in control. She looked as if she enjoyed herself.

It was only when Audie stepped down from the podium that the spell had been broken. She tripped on a microphone cord and nearly fell on her face before the library director grabbed her arm.

About an hour had passed since then, and Audie sat at a long wooden table, her legs crossed daintily at the ankles, writing and smiling and nodding. At one point she raised her head, blinked, and looked around the room until she found him.

Quinn watched something pass over her face-relief, maybe. Whatever it was, it was just for him, and it made him smile.

The smile abruptly faded. Quinn felt the hard, cold stare of unfriendly eyes on him and turned in time to see a man disappear around the double doors of the hall. After a quick look Audie's way, Quinn followed.

He found nothing. No one. But he wasn't about to leave Audie alone to go chase after the guy. Besides, he had an appointment with him in a few days.

An appointment with Vice Mayor Tim Burke.

"I've got to eat something." Audie leaned back in the car seat, closed her eyes, and sighed. She flipped off her shoes. "I thought I'd never get out of there!"

Quinn was driving the Porsche north on La Salle Street. "I'll take you somewhere."

"I'm too tired to go anywhere."

"Then I'll take you nowhere."

"Perfect."

They drove in silence for most of the way as Quinn headed west on Division and north on Clybourn. He pulled into an alley off of Southport. In the dark, Audie had no idea where they were-until they whipped into a small parking space adjacent to someone's neatly landscaped backyard.

She turned to him, too tired and hungry to put up much of a fight. "Is the food here any good?"

"Always."

The first thing she noticed was how clean his floors were-shiny, flawless oak strips that ran the narrow length of the house, not a scatter rug to be seen in the whole place.

The next thing she noticed was that Quinn's house immediately put her at ease. There were big, overstuffed chairs, a soft-looking couch, photographs on the walls, and a nice old fireplace. She saw lots of green thriving plants near the windows and the bookcases filled with rows of books arranged by height.

"Make yourself at home," Quinn said, hanging his suit jacket in the hall closet. "Wine?"

She nodded. "Bathroom?"

He pointed up the set of stairs. "Down the hall and to the left."

When she finished in the bathroom, she ripped off her panty hose and balled them up in her hand. Wearing panty hose in the summer in Chicago was masochistic, and she sighed with relief to feel the air on her legs.

Audie caught the smell of onions and hot butter and headed toward the stairs, as if pulled by the rich and pungent scent.

But suddenly she stopped, blinked, and stared at the wall of framed photographs beside her-portraits, candids, baby pictures, weddings, communions, landscapes, cityscapes, graduations-all along the upstairs hallway from the chair rail nearly to the ceiling. The faces! So many faces!

The pictures made her smile. Quinn and two other boys in hockey uniforms, one boy missing a front tooth. Scruffy-looking mutts. Fishing trips. First cars.

Her eye moved to one picture, a wedding portrait from what looked like the early 1900s. The man stood stiffly in a suit that didn't quite fit, one large hand clutching a cap against his leg and a sweet, shy smile plastered across his broad face.

His other hand rested hesitantly on the tufted parlor chair that held his bride. Her thick, dark hair was piled loosely on top of her head. Her light eyes danced in the camera flash. The bodice of her gown fit snugly against her tidy figure.