The night guard on his hourly patrol around the mansion stopped and looked through the French doors. He saw his boss lying on the floor, the empty Jim Beam bottle next to him. He grimaced. As far as he knew, the boss never drank. He debated if he should enter the premises, but negated the idea almost immediately. He hated the man, as did the other guards, but it was a cushy job and paid three times what he would or could make elsewhere in the private sector. The job also provided good health benefits. He turned around and kept on with his hourly patrol.

The gang always loved Sunday brunch at Pinewood, where Charles outdid himself with a tremendous buffet. Today, they were eating in the dining room because that was the only room that could seat everyone at the same time, and the buffet could be set up on the sideboard.

It was noon, and everyone had arrived. The talk, as everyone knew, would be about the First Lady’s gala and how it all went down.

“We’re going to talk and eat at the same time, Charles, just so you know,” Myra announced. Charles nodded. He hadn’t expected anything else. Sometimes, like now, it simply did not pay to argue.

The conversation flowed freely as the group ate, laughed, and talked about how exciting it was to meet the President and First Lady even though no one at the table had voted for Gabriel Knight either time he ran for the office of President. There was much ado about Annie’s upcoming luncheon with the First Lady and her having been instructed to wear her tiara.

Through it all, Dennis and Rosalee could have been on another planet because they were totally oblivious to everyone else. And they didn’t seem to care.

Amalie and Jack Sparrow sat side by side, and while they weren’t obvious about it, their attraction was there for all to see. Right off the bat, Sparrow had announced to one and all that Amalie had gone home with him to Georgetown and had slept in the guest room. They smiled at each other a lot. It was clear to everyone that their friendship would continue somehow, some way.

The rest of the afternoon was spent indoors because the day was overcast and so humid it was difficult to breathe outdoors.

When the clock struck five, everyone but the girls left. No one asked questions. The minute the electronic gate closed behind the last car, the women hurried to the living room, where Myra pressed the ornate rose that would open the secret door to the dungeons below the house.

“It will be nice and quiet now that Jane Petrie is gone,” Nikki said. “That young woman sure had a set of lungs on her. I hope wherever she ends up that she puts those lungs to good use.”