Another knock sounded on her door, a knock that was purely ceremonial because her neighbor Jen let herself in without waiting for an invitation. She was still dressed for work in a sleeveless emerald-green sheath that fit her slim body perfectly. Her dark hair swung to her shoulders, and her makeup hadn’t moved since she’d applied it early that morning.

“Scattered showers tomorrow,” she said glumly. “We need the rain, so that’s good, but the ragweed count is going to be a bitch.” She sniffed, as if she were already suffering. Nineteen years ago, Jennifer MacLeish had been Chicago’s hot new television meteorologist, but she was forty-two now, no longer a fresh-faced girl, and she was convinced the recently appointed station manager was about to replace her with a younger model.

“Howard had a lot of trouble with ragweed,” Berni said. “I wonder if he still does.”

Jen exchanged a look with Piper, then made her way to the couch, her nude-colored pumps clicking on the hardwood floor. “Sweetie, Howard is gone. We understand how much you miss him, but—”

Berni shook her off. “I know you both think he’s dead, but he’s not. I told you. I saw him last week, right in the middle of Lincoln Square. He was wearing one of those foam cheeseheads. But Howard hated Green Bay, and I can’t think why he’d be wearing a cheesehead.”

Jen looked toward Piper for help. They’d heard the cheesehead story several times now, but since both of them had attended Howard Berkovitz’s funeral, they were disinclined to believe he’d resurrected—let alone as a Green Bay Packers fan.

As Piper poured the last of the Stoli for Jen, there was another rap on the door, this one tentative. Berni sighed. “It’s her.”

“Come in, Amber,” Piper called out. And why not? If her friends weren’t here, all she’d do was brood.

Amber Kwan, her downstairs neighbor, entered the apartment tentatively. “Is it okay? I wasn’t invited, but...”

“Neither were they,” Piper pointed out. Amber was a slightly overweight twenty-seven-year-old with porcelain skin, shiny black hair, and an insecurity that vanished only when she took the stage as a permanent member of Chicago’s Lyric Opera chorus. Most of Piper’s childhood friends had moved out of the city, and she was grateful to have these three in her life.

“Hello, Mrs.Berkovitz. How are you feeling?”

Berni gave her a tight-lipped nod. Berni didn’t like Amber because she was Korean, but since Amber believed Berni’s age gave her a pass for racial prejudice, she wouldn’t let Piper or Jen confront Berni about it.

“I’m out of vodka,” Piper said. “Beer?”