“Cut,” Dean called out, once he’d gotten the shot. “That’s a wrap, everybody. We got it in just one shot.”

The real third graders took their cue from their teacher and the whole class applauded. Hannah could tell that they were very excited about being in a movie.

Dean caught Andrea’s arm as she moved to pass him, and he bent down to address Tracey. “That was perfect, Sweetheart. You’re a fine little actress. And Mommy?” Dean straightened up and took Andrea’s hand. “You were every bit as wonderful as I knew you’d be. Now don’t forget what I told you, all right?”

“I won’t forget,” Andrea said, leading Tracey from the room with Hannah following in her wake.

“What did he mean by that?” Hannah asked, as soon as they’d cleared the doorway. “What did he tell you?”

Andrea gave an elaborate shrug, but she didn’t meet Hannah’s eyes. “Nothing, really. He just said he thought I’d be perfect in that scene as Tracey’s mother.”

“Because you are Tracey’s mother?”

“Maybe,” Andrea said, leaning forward to re-tie the bow in Tracey’s hair. “Okay, honey. Say goodbye to Aunt Hannah. We’ve got to get you home so we can take off that makeup.”

Once Tracey and Andrea had left, Hannah walked back to The Cookie Jar. Andrea had left in such a hurry she’d forgotten she’d promised to give Hannah a ride. That was odd, and so was the comment Dean Lawrence had made as they’d exited the classroom. Could Andrea’s doubts about Bill’s fidelity have driven her into another man’s arms? Hannah didn’t think so. She was positive that Andrea loved Bill. But jealousy and doubt could be taking its toll, and a real womanizer would attempt to capitalize on that. The voice she’d heard when she’d delivered Dean’s cheesecake this morning sounded a lot like her sister’s voice. But certainly she must be mistaken about that.

Hannah put her suspicions firmly out of mind as she passed the park with its empty play equipment. The chains on the swings hung straight down like suspenders holding up a pair of pants, and the gleaming metal slide had a puddle of melted snow at the bend. Tracey’s favorite, the Flying Dutchman, Merry-Go-Round, or Whirl-A-Whirl, whatever you cared to call the large circular platform with metal handholds that the children rode as it spun around and around, was perfectly motionless and surrounded by melting bits of snow. The area beneath it, scraped clear of grass by children’s feet, was beginning to turn muddy in the noonday sun.