Jessica shrugs. “I suppose I don’t have many friends, but I do have the Gable last name. So when I send out an invitation it gets read. And when I announce that the fund-raiser is a black-tie affair, the wives start nagging their husbands to take them. Even within our circle there are really only so many opportunities to pull out your best full-length evening gown.” She sighs and shakes her head. “People simply don’t dress up anymore. We’ve become a culture of jeans and T-shirts. It’s really rather objectionable, don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely,” I lie.

“I mean, there’s no reason we have to dress like factory workers or schoolteachers, is there?” she continues. “Personally, I’ll be wearing Gucci. And my girl at Stuart Weitzman called to tell me about a new pair of metallic silver heeled sandals they got in. They’re accented with Swarovski crystal. Of course I had her bring them right over and when I tried them on I felt . . . transformed. They’re works of art, really.”

“I’d love to see them.” You’d think she was describing a new level of spiritual enlightenment.

Jessica jumps to her feet. “They’re divine,” she says. I detect a note of giddiness in her voice as she starts to lead me out of the room. I’ve never heard Jessica sound happy before, let alone giddy. These new pills must be good.

But we don’t quite make it out of the room before my cell phone rings. I’d ignore it, but it’s the special ringtone I assigned to Travis.

He’s not calling his home phone, or Jessica’s phone . . . he’s calling me.

Maybe he’s doing that to hurt Jessica.

Or maybe he’s doing that because he’s talked to Micah.

Renewed anxiety begins to trickle through my heart. I don’t know exactly what Travis’s connection is to Micah. I don’t have any guarantee that Micah will remain quiet about his suspicions, no matter what he promised me.

This call could be nothing.

Or it could be the end of everything.

I do my best to give Jessica a calm and apologetic smile as I answer the phone and press it to my ear without a word.

“How are you, Bell?”

His voice scratches at every nerve in my body.

“I’m fine, Mr. Gable,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. Jessica gives me a sharp look and I make a show of rolling my eyes, letting her know that the last thing I want is to be talking to her husband. She smiles weakly, and after a second of uncertainty, goes back to her chair and picks up a magazine. Even the careful way she turns the pages broadcasts her discomfort.

“I was just watching that tape again,” he says.