“Of course.” She slipped on her hostess mask. “You know, I feel this is your party as much as mine. You and Jasper have become such good friends.”

“And we’re fond of you, too. Come over this way, so I can introduce you.” Keeping Mel’s hand in hers, Linda began weaving through the guests. “I’ll bring her back,” she said, laughing. “I just need to steal her a moment. Ah, here you are, Harriet. Harriet dear, I want you to meet your hostess and my friend, Mary Ellen Ryan. Mary Ellen, Harriet Breezeport.”

“How do you do?” Mel took the slim, pale hand gently. The woman was well into her sixties and had a fragile air that was accented by her snow-white hair and half glasses.

“Delighted to meet you. So kind of you to invite us.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Linda told me how charming you are. This is my son, Ethan.”

He was nearly as pale as his mother, and wire-thin. His handshake was brisk, and his eyes were as black as a bird’s. “Lovely party.”

“Thank you. Why don’t I find you a chair, Mrs. Breezeport? And something to drink?”

“Oh, I would dearly love a little wine.” The woman smiled wispily. “I don’t want to be any bother.”

“Not at all.” Mel took her arm and led her to a chair. “What can I get you?”

“Oh, Ethan will take care of it. Won’t you, Ethan?”

“Of course. Excuse me.”

“A good boy,” Harriet said as her son walked off to the buffet table. “Takes such good care of me.” She smiled up at Mel. “Linda tells me you’ve recently moved to Tahoe.”

“Yes, my husband and I moved from Seattle. It’s quite a change.”

“Indeed, indeed. Ethan and I sometimes vacation here. We keep a nice little condo.”

They chatted while Ethan brought back a plate with a few choice canapés and a small glass of wine. Linda had already slipped off when Mel glanced over and saw Sebastian approaching.

“This is my husband.” Mel slipped a hand through his arm. “Donovan, this is Harriet and Ethan Breezeport.”

“Linda said you were a dashing figure.” Harriet offered a hand. “I’m afraid I’ve been monopolizing your charming wife.”

“I’m often guilty of that myself. In fact, I have to steal her for a moment. A small problem in the kitchen. Enjoy yourselves.”

He nudged Mel along and then, finding no private spot, ducked with her into a closet.

“Donovan, for God’s sake …”

“Shh.” In the dim light, his eyes were very bright. “It’s her,” he said quietly.

“Who’s her, and why are we standing in the closet?”

“The old woman. She’s the one.”

“The one?” Mel’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me, do you expect me to believe that that fragile old lady is the head of a babynapping ring?”