I passed the corner where I usually turned to see Mary Ann. It had been almost a week since I last stopped by and I felt guilty for driving past. “Tomorrow,” I said aloud, tomorrow, after practice, after the pizza I’d promised the team.

I had a nagging feeling that there was something else I could have done while I was south, but I gave up trying to think about it, gave up on the whole South Side, indulging myself with a CD of old divas, singing along with Rosa Ponselle on “Tu che invoco,” a favorite concert aria of my mother’s.

Even with stopping at my own place to walk the dogs and collect some wine, I managed to make it to Morrell’s by six o’clock. It felt luxurious to have a free evening ahead of me. Morrell had promised to make dinner. We’d lounge in front of a fire, not letting the break-in or Marcena’s injuries worry us. Maybe we’d even toast marshmallows.

My romantic fantasies crashed to the ground when I got to Morrell’s: his editor had flown in from New York to see Marcena. When Don Strzepek and Morrell had met in the Peace Corps, Marcena had been there also, a university student traveling around the world, seeking out danger spots with the idea of doing a book. Morrell apparently had called Don yesterday to tell him about Marcena’s injuries, and Don wanted to see her in person; he’d arrived ten minutes ago.

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you know, darling.” Morrell didn’t sound very penitent.

Don kissed my cheek. “You know what they say—forgiveness is easier to get than permission.”

I forced myself to laugh: Don and I had clashed a couple of years ago, and we still tread warily around each other.

He and Morrell were going to drive down to Cook County as soon as we’d eaten, although Morrell had been to the hospital this afternoon. Marcena still lay in a coma, but the doctors were encouraged by her vital signs and thought they might start waking her up over the weekend.

“Where are her parents?” Don asked.

“I’ve called,” Morrell said. “They’re in India, on vacation. Her father’s secretary promised to track them down—I’m sure they’ll be here as soon as they get the word.”

I was glad to know Marcena’s vital signs looked good. “No one bothered you while you were out?” I asked Morrell.

“Bothered you?” Don asked.

Morrell explained about the break-in and the theft of Marcena’s computer. “So it’s good you’re staying here, Strzepek, because we need someone able-bodied around the house.”

“Vic can fight twice her weight in charging rhinos,” Don said.

“When she’s fit—she’s taken a few knocks of her own lately.”