• • •

Hammer’s personal car was a Mercedes, but not new and with only one airbag, on the driver’s side. Panesa would not ride in anything that did not have a passenger’s side airbag, and this had been made clear up front. Hammer, too, was rushing home early from the office. Seth was working in the garden, weeding and fertilizing. He had made cookies, and Hammer smelled the baked butter and sugar. She noted the telltale traces of flour on the counter. Seth waved a handful of wild onions at her as she peered out the kitchen window at him. He was civil enough.

She was in a hurry as she headed to her bedroom. God, the image staring back at her in the mirror was frightening. She washed her face, squirted nonalcohol styling gel into her hands and riffled through her hair. She started all over again with makeup. Black-tie affairs were always a problem. Men owned one tux and wore it to everything, or they rented. What were women supposed to do? She hadn’t given any thought to what she might put on until she was walking into a house that smelled like a bakery. She pulled out a black satin skirt, a gold and black beaded short-waisted jacket, and a black silk blouse with spaghetti straps.

The truth was, Hammer had gained four pounds since she had worn this ensemble last at a Jaycee’s fundraiser in Pineville about a year ago, if memory served her well. She managed to button her skirt but was not happy about it. Her bosom was more out front than usual, and she did not like drawing attention to what she normally kept to herself. She irritably yanked her beaded jacket around her, muttering, wondering if dry-cleaning might have shrunk anything and the fault, therefore, not hers. Changing earrings to simple diamond posts with screw-backs was always troublesome when she was rushed and out of sorts.

“Darn,” she said, closing the drain just in time before a gold back sailed down the sink.

Panesa did not need a personal shopper, had no weight concerns, and could wear whatever he wished whenever he wished. He was an officer in the Knight-Ridder newspaper chain, and preferred black-label Giorgio Armani that he did not get in Charlotte. Hornets fans had priorities other than draping themselves in two-thousand-dollar foreign suits, it seemed, and shopping remained a difficulty in the Queen City. Panesa was as it turned out dazzling in a tuxedo with satin lapels and trousers with stripes. His was black silk, and he wore a matte-finished gold watch and black lizard shoes.

“So tell me,” Panesa said when Hammer climbed into the Volvo. “What’s your secret?”

“What secret?” Hammer had no idea what this was about as she fastened her shoulder harness.

“You look stunning.”

“Of course I don’t,” Hammer said.

Panesa backed out of the driveway, checking his mirrors, noticing the fat man working on geraniums. The fat man was watching them leave, and Panesa pretended not to notice as he adjusted the air conditioning.