Jake smiled as he pulled the tickets out of his shirt pocket and handed them to the young man at the turnstile.

“Have fun in there,” the ticket-taker said. He was wearing a red-and-black T-shirt, the car show logo across his chest in a speedy-looking type font with racing stripes, Jake thinking he’d get a couple of those for the boys.

“Thank you. Plan to,” Hadley replied, holding his kids’ hands as they jumped up and down, about to pull his arms out of their sockets.

Air-conditioning, soupy music, and the indescribably delicious smell of car wax and new leather enveloped them as they entered the glittering automobile extravaganza.

Where to look first?

Concept cars rotated on platforms. Pretty girls in tight-fitting skirt suits and prim shirts, and showing a little too much leg, the ultimate blend of sex and money, performed their sales pitches.

Lights and music coming from everywhere.

Directly ahead, very attractive women with badges sat behind long tables, handed out glossy car brochures.

“If we get separated for any reason, this is Hadley Family Central,” Jake said, stooping to the height of his six-year-olds. “Look around. Get a fix on this place, because this is where I’ll come to find you.”

“Okay, Dad,” Stevie said. “Byeeee!” Then he broke free, running ahead toward the European cars in the main hall.

“He wants to see the Ferraris,” Michael explained to his dad, “and the Monstarotties, too.”

Jake laughed as he and Michael followed Stevie, the vast space filling up quickly as the crowd surged in like the tide.

Jake lost sight of Stevie for a moment; then he saw his boy on a carpeted platform as the salesmen pulled the cover from the sleek, silver 2007 Ferrari coupe.

Jake called out over the noise of the crowd. “Steven. Get down. You’re not allowed to stand up there, son.”

When Stevie turned, Jake saw a stricken look on his boy’s face. A pang of fear seized Jake even though his son was in plain sight.

He gripped Michael’s small hand.

“Come on, now, Stevie, get down —”

“The lady in the car, Dad. Something’s wrong with the lady in the car.”

Jake Hadley started to tell his son that the model in the front seat wasn’t real, but as he came closer, peered inside, his heartbeat quickened—then it began to race.

The girl’s open eyes were dulled, her pretty face tipped at an unnatural angle. He saw what appeared to be a wide purple shadow around her neck. She was wearing some kind of evening gown.

What the hell was this?

“Steven!” he yelled at his son, grasping the boy’s arm. “I said, come down, now.”

By now, others had seen the girl, too, her limbs frozen in a waxy parody of a mannequin—stone-dead in the two-hundred-thousand-dollar car.