“I’m so sorry, Hud,” said Betsy, “but Lars’s car broke down this afternoon and Jill’s is in the shop, too, so I said you wouldn’t mind giving them a lift.”

Hud looked for a moment as if he did mind, but then he shrugged and said, “Sure, why not.” He was wearing a beautifully cut tuxedo—or perhaps it fit so well because he was the shape the designer had in mind.

Jill had said the dance was “dressy,” and turned up in a short cocktail dress of ice-blue silk, her escort in a dark suit and tie. So Betsy felt right in her little black dress and the garnet earrings and necklace her mother had left her.

“How ‘dressy’ is this dance?” asked Betsy. “I mean, am I all right?”

“You look wonderful,” said Hud sincerely, so she let him wrap her in her black silk coat and followed him down the stairs.

Hud put Jill and Lars into the big back seat of the Rolls and pushed a button that rolled up a window between it and the front seat—which sent the two of them into gales of laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Betsy asked Hud.

“Beats me.” He handed her into the car and they started off.

The drive to the club was along a back road that wound among the bays of Lake Minnetonka, through small towns and past modest cottages and the beautiful new mansions that were quietly replacing them, all set in rolling land covered with big old trees. The sun was a glowing red ball—Betsy caught herself trying to decide which shade of perle cotton would be closest and decided she was carrying this needlework business too far.

The Rolls was big and comfortable, and as smooth to ride in as Hud had said it was. “Yeah, I really lucked out with this car,” said Hud when she remarked on that, and on the powerful but quiet engine.

“You said you bought it at a police auction?” asked Betsy. “How did that happen?”