She pulled off her apron, then cursed. She wasn’t going over to Del’s to face this situation all sweaty and mussed. Cleaning up didn’t equal fussing.

She took the back stairs, slipped into her own wing to shower off the day. Putting makeup on wasn’t fussing either. It was just basic grooming. And she liked wearing earrings. She was entitled to wear earrings and a nice top, wasn’t she? It wasn’t a crime to want to look her best, whatever the circumstances.

Refusing to argue with herself any longer, she took the back steps again with the idea of getting out without being seen. She’d be home, she assured herself, before anyone noticed she was gone.

“Where are you off to?”

Busted. “Ah.” She turned to see Mrs. Grady in the kitchen garden. “I just have something to do. A little something to do.”

“Well, I guess you’d better go do it. That’s a new shirt isn’t it?”

“No.Yes. Sort of.” She hated feeling the heat of guilt creeping up the back of her neck. “There’s no point in buying a shirt and not wearing it.”

“None at all,” Mrs. Grady said placidly. “Run along then, and have fun.”

“I’m not going to ... Never mind. I won’t be long.” She circled around the house toward her car. An hour, tops, then she’d—

“Hi. Heading out?”

Oh, for Christ’s sake, it was like having a community of parents. She worked up a smile for Carter. “Yeah. I just have a thing. I’m coming right back.”

“Okay. I’m going to beg a casserole from Mrs. G. We’ll be defrosting later, if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, but I grabbed a salad before. Enjoy.”

“We will.You look nice.”

“So what?” She shook her head. “Sorry, sorry Distracted. Gotta go.” She jumped in the car before she ran into anyone else.

As she sped away, it occurred to her she should’ve gone to Del’s during the day, when he’d be gone. She knew where the spare key was hidden, and had his alarm code. Except he probably changed it regularly, as that was the safe thing to do. Still, she could’ve risked it, and gotten inside, found her shoes. Left him a note, she thought. Now that would’ve been clever.

Too late now But he might not be home, she considered. He had an active social life—friends, clients, dates. Seven thirty on a pretty summer evening? Yes, he probably had a hot date—drinks, dinner, debauchery. She could get in, find the shoes, leave him a funny note.

Dear shoenapper: We escaped and have informed the FBI. A tactical team is on the way. The Pradas.

He’d laugh, she decided. He didn’t like to lose—who did?—but he’d laugh. And that would be the end of that.