He chuckled softly and heard himself say, "I could hug you like this till we both dry up and blow away."

She pulled back and examined his face. There was no self-satisfied look in his eye-just surprise. Apparently this was something out of the ordinary for him as well.

The destruction was complete.

"What are you doing to me, Quinn?" she breathed.

The smile started small and spread slowly but eventually engulfed his whole handsome, sunburned face. "I'm not sure, but I hope to God it's something like what you're doing to me."

He kissed her again, and this time she threw her arms around his neck with enthusiasm. Quinn hugged her so tight that her feet lifted off the deck.

From his second-story bedroom window, Drew stared down the sloping lawn to the dock, where he watched his clueless sister throw herself at Mister Chicago's Finest. He took another sip of his Tanqueray and tonic.

"Jesus Christ, Audie," he muttered, spinning the ice cubes around with the rotation of his wrist. "We sure know how to pick 'em, don't we?"

He raised his glass to his sister and her latest beau, gleaming and giggling under the boathouse lights. "Two weeks, tops," he said, throwing back the rest of his drink.

"Do you have dinner plans for next Sunday?" Quinn could barely see Audie as they continued their walk up the dock in the darkness.

"No. Why?"

"I'd like to take you someplace real special."

She shook her head slowly. "You don't need to spend your money taking me to some fancy restaurant, Quinn. I thought you were getting to know me a little. I don't even like-"

"Audie."

"What?"

"I want to take you to Beverly for Little Pat's birthday party."

"You do?"

"I do. And you might want to wear something washable."

September 10

Dear Homey Helen:

I've been thinking. September 22 is a dreadfully long way off. Could we possibly reschedule? I've tried to be patient-you have no idea how I've tried-but my patience is wearing thin.

I just don't think I can wait another moment for you to be dead. It's not like you'll leave behind a grieving family, now, is it? Why don't we just get to it?

– Your most loyal fan

PS: I thought your column on top fifty uses for transparent tape was to die for!

Her hands started to shake, and she felt a cold flash of panic race through her bloodstream. She handed the note back to Griffin very slowly, careful not to touch any part but the edges of the paper-careful not to meet his eye as she turned toward her office door.

"Audie?" Griffin placed the letter back on the reception desk, watching her walk away. "Shit."

Marjorie was shaking her head.

"Do you think I should talk with her?"

Marjorie wiped tears off her cheek with a trembling hand and sighed. "I honestly don't know what to do at this point. Why don't you go in with her for a minute while I call those detectives, and then I'll try to talk with her, OK?"

Griffin nodded. "Are you all right, Marjorie?"

She pulled her mouth tight. "It makes me very emotional. I see these notes and Audie's sadness and everything that happened with Helen comes back to me like it was yesterday. I get so damn angry, Griffin! I feel so-God, I don't know-helpless, I suppose."

"I hear you," Griffin said softly. He patted the top of her hand and headed into Audie's office. He heard Marjorie sigh and pick up the phone.

Audie was sitting on top of the credenza near the window, surrounded by tall stacks of newspapers and file folders, hugging her legs tight and resting her chin on her knees. Griffin closed the door and leaned on the wall.

"Hey, girl. Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head. "Just call Quinn and Stanny-O."

"Marjorie is doing that now. Anything else?"

"No."

"Do you want to be alone?"

"No."

"Would you like a hug?"

"No. But thanks."

Griffin sighed. This was an all-too-familiar state for him-not knowing exactly what Autumn Adams wanted or needed. It had always been this way with them, as a couple and as friends. When she pulled away like this he felt useless, the same as Marjorie. It was as if Audie wanted him but didn't want him; as if she needed something, but she wouldn't take anything.

She told him once that she believed she was missing some basic part of her heart-she just didn't know how to deal with people who wanted to comfort her, love her. She'd never had much experience with that sort of thing, she explained.

Griffin waited with her for many quiet minutes, watching her stare out the windows. "I'm sorry, Audie," he exhaled, letting his shoulders slump. "I wish there was something I could do to help you."

She nodded, and Griffin saw her jaw tremble and her shoulders shake.

"Oh, please don't cry."

The tears made his worthlessness complete. Griffin scanned the room for a box of tissues but didn't see one, though it could certainly be lurking beneath the layers of junk in there.

Just then, Marjorie tapped on the door and she stepped in, carrying a tray of hot tea, a boxof Kleenex, and a slice of her German chocolate cake.

Griffin would just go out and wait for the detectives. Audie was obviously in competent hands.

"We should place a patrol officer here in the office and have one at her apartment when we're not around," Stanny-O said.

Quinn nodded silently, still balancing the latest letter between his fingertips, still reading, still thinking.

He glanced over at Griffin, draped across Marjorie's desk chair looking quite surly. His expression didn't go with the festive tie-dyed T-shirt and billowy cargo pants he was wearing.

The guy may have questionable taste in clothing, but Quinn and Stanny-O agreed-there was no question that Griffin cared for Audie, that he would do anything for her. Griffin Nash wasn't sending these notes.

"So, Griffin, what's your take on this?"

Griffin 's head popped up, his eyes darting from Quinn to Stanny-O and back. "My take is I wish to hell you two would find out who's doing this. This one really ripped her up."

Quinn's stomach clenched, and a little painful surge moved through him at the thought that she was hurting. Then the inside of his skull began to throb at the thought that Timmy Burke may have done this to her.

He glanced at the closed door to Audie's office. He hadn't heard any crying from in there for a good long while, so maybe Marjorie had been able to calm her down.

"So? Any leads, mon?" Griffin stood up and moved in front of the desk.

Stanny-O and Quinn looked at each other briefly before Quinn answered him.

"Nothing new."

"Do you think it's Drew?"

Quinn and Stanny-O stared at him.

"You think it's her brother?" Stanny-O asked. "What's your insight into Andrew Adams?"

Griffin laughed, crossing his ankles casually as he leaned against the reception desk.

"We're not close. He didn't exactly welcome me to the family, if you know what I mean. So what I tell you, you got to realize doesn't come from an objective source, right?"

"Right." Stanny-O smiled.

"Andrew Adams is a spoiled, elitist, lazy, pussy-assed rich boy who hates anyone who doesn't belong to the Chicago Yacht Club. He drinks more than any man should be allowed. He doesn't give a shit about Audie or anyone but himself, for that matter. That about sums it up."