Alice was in her room, lying across the foot of her bed, a book she wasn’t reading, had no intention of reading, open in front of her in case anyone unexpectedly popped in. She was waiting for Charlie, Maggie, and Richard to leave, almost beside herself with eagerness to have the house to herself. So eager, in fact, that she forgot to be mad at Charlie for acting like a turncoat and going to the club, just wanted Charlie to hustle everyone out the door. As soon as she heard the latch click, Alice jumped up, ran to the window. There they were, the three of them, in blindingly white athletic gear, chattering animatedly back and forth, hauling tennis racquets and golf clubs into the back of the Mercedes, looking like a Ralph Lauren ad come to life. Well, except for Charlie’s tough-cookie, wrong-side-of-the-tracks angel’s-wing tattoo, which flashed every time she bent over or raised her arms—the scene’s only spoiler. Alice ignored the pang of jealousy that suddenly rose up in her chest, jammed it down.

Hearing the car’s engine start to purr, Alice ran into the hall, glancing over the staircase banister to make sure that Fernanda was still cleaning downstairs. (Fernanda didn’t usually make it upstairs until ten thirty, earliest.) Last night’s exploring had yielded zip, but she had a feeling that she’d have better luck this morning. Richard’s office and his and her mom’s bedroom she expected to be veritable treasure troves of Martha and, more importantly, Camilla memorabilia. And with everyone gone, she could explore them to her heart’s content.