“What do you need, then?” Dirk asked. His face was still handsome, Sarah noticed, although the signs of dissipation were starting to show. The flesh beneath his attractive blue eyes was pouched from too many late-night drinking parties, and his skin was sallow and unhealthy. He was even developing a slight thickening around the waist that would turn to fat in a few years if he wasn’t careful.

“I need to go back to Coney Island with someone who is familiar with the place.”

He seemed surprised. Fortunately, he was also intrigued. “What on earth for?”

“Because I’m looking for a murderer.”

Dirk looked even more shocked than she would have expected. His face actually paled, and he stared at her for a long moment, as if looking for the answer to some question he dared not ask aloud. Most likely, he had never heard a well-bred woman even utter the word “murderer,” which would more than account for his reaction.

Thus far, their whispered conversation had the attention of everyone in the room, and clearly, they would need more privacy to continue. Dirk visibly collected himself. “It’s awfully warm in here,” he said so everyone could hear, setting the photograph back on the sideboard. “Perhaps you’ll stroll with me in the garden for a bit, Sarah.”

“That sounds lovely,” Sarah agreed. “If you’ll excuse us,” she added to her mother, who nodded her consent. She looked so pleased that Dirk was performing to her expectations that Sarah actually felt guilty for deceiving her.

Dirk offered his arm, and they stepped out through the French doors leading to the fenced enclosure that passed for a “garden” in the city. It was much larger than Sarah’s small backyard, and the flowers had been professionally tended. The shade was cool, and the scents fragrant, but most important, no one could overhear them.

They’d walked a ways from the house before Dirk spoke. “Surely, I misunderstood you, Sarah. You could not possibly have said you were looking for a murderer.”

“But I did. I know it’s hard for you to understand how I could be involved in such a thing, but a young girl I know was murdered recently. Her family has asked me to help in the investigation,” she explained, stretching the truth a bit.

“Why would they ask you to do such a thing?” He looked horrified, or at least that’s how Sarah read his expression. He certainly seemed upset, although he was using all his formal training to conceal any unseemly emotions.

“As you know, I have a friend who is a police detective.”

“Ah, yes, the charming Mr. Malloy. Surely, he doesn’t need your help finding criminals, though. Why, the police hardly bother doing that themselves!”

Sarah ignored the insulting remark. It was, unfortunately, too true. “I have been of some use to him in that respect in the past,” she admitted with a trace of pride.

Plainly, Dirk didn’t believe that for a moment. “Sarah, I’m afraid you haven’t learned much of the world, for all your independence from your family, if you believe for one moment this Malloy fellow has any interest in you aside from seduction.”

Sarah was hard-pressed not to laugh out loud at such a ridiculous notion. If Malloy wanted to seduce her, he was certainly adept at concealing his intentions. He was also the world’s most patient-and inept!-seducer. “Is it so difficult to believe a woman could help solve a crime?”

“Quite frankly, yes,” Dirk said, his smile condescending.

Sarah wanted to wipe that smile off his face. She wanted to tell him she had helped solve a murder only a few short months ago. She had been of so much help that Malloy had told her she would have made a good detective, if the police hired women, which they didn’t. But she really wasn’t at liberty to reveal the details of the case, and besides, she doubted Dirk would believe her anyway.

“Well, then,” she tried, “perhaps you will indulge me in my delusions. I would dearly love to return to Coney Island and learn more about it, but Mr. Malloy refuses to accompany me.”

“More fool he,” Dirk said, his grin flirtatious. Sarah wondered who might be watching them from the house. She hoped it looked as if they were having a romantic tête-à-tête. Her mother would be pleased.

“Since you obviously know a lot about the area, I was hoping I could convince you to escort me and show me some things I might have missed on my first visit there.”

His smile was mocking. “Do you think I can point out potential killers to you?”

Sarah gritted her teeth at his tone, but she managed to maintain her facade of congeniality. “I am hoping you can help me understand the place. The dead girl met her killer there, you see.”

This instantly wiped the smirk off his face. “How do you know that?”

“He bought her a gift there right before she died. At least we suspect the man who bought the gift was her killer.”

“And what, exactly, was the gift in question?”

Sarah felt silly saying it aloud. “A pair of red shoes.”

Something flickered deep in his eyes, something Sarah couldn’t decipher, but then he was smiling. It was a dazzling smile, a delighted smile. “Oh, Sarah, what could be more pleasant than helping you discover who killed a young lady of such abominable taste?”

He didn’t have to respect her, she reminded herself. He didn’t have to take her seriously or even believe her. He only had to go with her and show her around. “Are you free this Sunday?” she asked, and they set the date for the day after tomorrow.

NOBODY KNEW ANYTHING more about the mysterious man named Will than the ones Sarah Brandt had spoken with. Frank had questioned all the girls who knew the four victims well enough to tell him anything. After days of tracking the girls down and interrogating them again, he knew no more than he’d known the first day.

The fellow had been careful not to reveal his last name or to give any indication of where he lived. Uptown was Frank’s guess. By all accounts, he always had a lot of money to spend. Even those who had never seen him knew that much. His reputation was excellent among those who judged a man’s worthiness by how many times he treated a young lady to a beer or an amusement-park ride. He couldn’t have been an average workingman, not if the girls Frank had spoken with were accurate in their estimates of the amount of money he spent on the girls he found attractive. His clothes and his manners, by all accounts, had also indicated he was upper class.

A few of the girls had been more than treated by him, too, if Frank was any judge. They didn’t admit it, of course. Why should they? Even if this Will had murdered their friends, they were still alive and had to live here. Destroying their reputations wouldn’t bring their friends back, would it? And if he hadn’t killed them when he had the chance, he wasn’t likely to do it now, was he?

Frank was beginning to wonder why Sarah Brandt was so desperate to avenge the deaths of these girls. He was so annoyed with them, he was beginning to sympathize with the killer.

Frank was bone weary when he climbed the steps to his flat that evening. He hadn’t been home in two days, and when he opened the door, he found his mother knitting in her rocker by the front window. Brian was playing on the floor, carefully building a tower of wooden blocks so he could knock it over and build it again.

When he caught sight of Frank, however, he scrambled to his knees, smashing the tower in his haste as he crawled over to greet his father. His mother said something by way of greeting, but Frank hardly heard and didn’t even acknowledge her. He was, he realized, really seeing the boy for the first time.

For three years Frank had been torn by the existence of his son. The boy’s birth had killed Kathleen, the only good thing that had ever come into Frank’s life. If Kathleen had lived, Frank could have borne any disappointment in the child because she would have made it right. She would have loved the boy no matter what was wrong with him, and she would have made Frank love him, too.