“What’s she doing in Santa Fe?”

“I have no idea.”

—

FAITH MACKEY was small and wiry, with short blond hair, somewhere in the mid-range between forty and sixty; she’d had some work done. When Laurence answered the door she shook his hand and talked quickly. He introduced her to Theresa. “Okay, L-a-u-r-e-n-c-e, am I spelling it right?”

“Yes.”

“I pretty much know your story, but tell it to me in your own words in three minutes, so I can fill in the chinks.”

“Chinks?”

“The empty places in your story.” She beckoned with both hands. “Let’s have it, we’re short of time.”

Laurence started from the beginning and talked as fast as he could.

“Great, stop. Got it. Have you got booze in the house?”

“Of course, would you like a drink?”

“No, you’re giving a little cocktail party at five o’clock, maybe a dozen, fifteen people.”

“Do I make canapés?” Theresa asked.

“Yeah, it’s not enough people for a caterer. Cheese and crackers are okay, anything else you’ve got on hand.” She looked around. “That’s a relief.”

“What’s a relief?” Laurence asked.

“It’s nice—I won’t have to stage it. Maybe I’ll move a couple things around. Dress casual, a little on the Western side, if you’ve got it.”

“I have a fringed skirt and some boots I bought yesterday,” Theresa said.

“Perfect.”

“Everything I’ve got is Ralph Lauren,” Laurence said.

“Ah, yes, courtesy of Miss Theresa, your personal shopper.”

“Former personal shopper,” Theresa said. “I resigned yesterday.”

“I’m a former English schoolmaster,” Laurence said. “I resigned, too.”

“I don’t blame you. You won, what? Six hundred million?”

“And change. Would you like some lunch?”

“I’ve got a sandwich in my purse. Where can I eat?”

28

FAITH MACKEY ATE with one hand and phoned with the other, never stopping either, while Laurence and Theresa watched from the kitchen. Finally, she finished her sandwich, drank her water, and beckoned them outside.

“Okay,” she said, looking at her notes on a steno pad. “Laurence, I’ve got somebody coming over with some clothes for you and some hair.”

“Hair?”

“There’s a previous photograph of you with longer hair and a beard. We want to keep you looking the same—you’ll be less likely to be hassled in public.”

“Okay.”

“Who plays the grand piano?”

“I do,” Laurence said.

“Can you do standard cocktail stuff?”

“Yes.”

“Then I want you playing when your guests arrive. It’ll give you a chance to look them over, and they’ll think you’re the hired help until I introduce you. Now, when did you buy the house?”

“Four days ago.”

“And moved in the same day?”

“Right.”

“They’ll already know that. Whose name is the house in?”

“Theresa’s.”

“You’re going to want to get that changed to a corporate name or a trust.”