In a matter of minutes the closet was empty—except for one item. It was hanging in the back, right where Carrie knew it would be. She reached in and carefully took out a beige chiffon evening gown. The bodice was cut like a shirtwaist, buttoned up to the neck, and it had long sleeves and a beige satin collar and cuffs. The skirt was full, with two layers of chiffon that swept the floor. The gown was the kind of classic garment that had never gone out of style because it had never really been in; Rose had purchased it in the early eighties and she had worn it for the next two and a half decades whenever she had to attend a black-tie outing. She had disliked the balls and glittery events at which the wealthy rewarded themselves for doing good works. “They could just donate the cash,” she complained. “It would be cheaper for them and a lot less time-consuming for us.” But the charity party circuit couldn't be avoided. So she'd bought her one gown and worn it season after season. And, as with everything she did, the gown became a part of her walking-the-walk image. The press took pictures of Rose in her vintage dress, and somehow her nobility seemed to rub off on everyone in the room. As Zoe once said, “That gown has gravitas.” It hadn't hurt that Rose looked fabulous in beige.

Carrie held up the gown so the hem wouldn't pick up any dust from the carpet. “It looks as if it's never been worn, doesn't it?” she said to Zoe. “After twenty-five years, how the hell did she do that?”

When Zoe answered, her voice sounded a little strange. “Uh … Carrie,” she said, “you might want to come here and look at something.” Carrie put the gown back in the closet and hurried over. Zoe had taken something out of the trunk, something that was carefully wrapped in tissue paper so it wouldn't wrinkle. Carrie pushed the tissue aside and saw a beige chiffon gown cut like a shirtwaist with long sleeves, a floor-length skirt, and satin collar and cuffs. She took it out of the paper and shook it out.

“It's a clone,” she said.

Zoe nodded.

“She had the gown reproduced.”

“Several times,” said Zoe. “There are two others in the trunk.”

“That's how she kept it looking so good. It was her signature getup, so she had it copied. Everyone thought she had just one …”

“There's something else,” Zoe said.

“If you're going to tell me she wore mascara and lip gloss, I already knew that,” Carrie snapped. She couldn't seem to take her eyes off the clone gown.

“Here,” Zoe said, and shoved something at her. It was a book with a fake white leather cover that looked like an album—or a scrapbook. Carrie dropped the gown on the floor and took it. It was full of press clippings. Rose Manning's press clippings.