"Yes, they are. Trinity and I are both widowed now and live in the old family home."

Both our plates were full. "Tell you what," I said, "why don't we just take our food and mosey out to the terrace? It's so nice out there." Also no one out there was wearing a yellow suit.

"Fine," Meg agreed.

Mary Alice had been telling the truth; Fred was in deep conversation with a cute young blonde. Since my hands were full, I nudged him gently in the leg with the toe of my shoe. There was no reason for him to say, "Ow," and jump like he had been shot. I suggested later that maybe the champagne had lowered his pain threshold, but he said that wasn't it, that I had kicked him hard as a son-of-a-bitch.

Be that as it may, and it's my word against his, Meg Bryan and I were introduced to Kelly Stuart, a manufacturer's rep who called on Fred and who—big smile with Nancy Kerrigan teeth—just loved doing business with him.

"Oh, my, what wonderful-looking food, Mrs. Hol-lowell," Kelly said. "I think I'll have to go get some before I faint dead away. I'm famished. You want me to bring you a plate, Fred?"

"No thanks," Fred smirked, remembering to move his leg just in time. "I'll get something after a while."

"I'll see you later, then." She gave us a little wave.

"What does she sell?" I asked. Fred owns a small metal fabricating plant, not the kind of place where

Two

you would picture a pretty and flirty Kelly.

"Nuts and bolts. You know." At least he had the decency to look sheepish.

"You want some food?" I asked, taking pity.

He reached over and took a quiche from my plate. "That's good."

"Why don't we go sit on the wall? We can share."

"Do you mind if we sit at one of the tables?" Meg asked. "Heights bother me."

"Sure." Several of the wrought iron tables were empty, since most of the guests were still milling about. We settled at one of them and relaxed in the sun.

"This is some fancy reception," Fred said.

"Sister says she may have to get married again to pay for it."

Fred and I laughed comfortably, but I realized that Meg Bryan didn't know why.

"She's had three husbands," I explained. "All of them were at least twenty-eight years older than she was and rich as Croesus. She has to worry about money like she does a hole in her head."

"And Debbie's father?"

"He was the middle one, Philip Nachman. She had a child by each one. Marilyn, the oldest, is Will Alec Sullivan's child. And Ray belongs to Roger Crane. Ray's not here today. He's in Bora Bora or Pago Pago, one of those double-named places. He just bought a dive ship. That's why Philip Nachman gave Debbie away. Not the daddy Philip, but the nephew. Cousin. Am I confusing you?"

"No."