“Just wait and see.” John leaned forward and wiped an imaginary bread crumb from the corner of Caroline’s mouth, felt her startle and then relax. She had a slow smile, even a timid one, and it was hard work coaxing one out of her.

She started to say something, and then her gaze fixed on an old Chevy parked at an angle in the driveway.

“Uncle Bruce is here.”

“I would guess so,” John said. “It’s his sister’s birthday, after all.”

“You’re not hearing me,” said Caroline. “Uncle Bruce and the boys. Here, together.”

“Oh,” said John. “Well, lead on. I’m prepared for anything.”

Established in the shade in the gardens at Old Roses with her third glass of wine, Angie concluded that the Roses would have made an interesting subject on their own if Tied to the Tracks didn’t already have Miss Zula to deal with.

Old Roses was a huge Victorian-era house of brick and stucco surrounded by live oaks, azaleas, and magnolia trees. The garden, as large as it was, seemed hardly big enough to contain the entire Rose clan. In addition to cousins and friends, Harriet Darling and three of her four sisters were here with their families. The husbands grazed the far end of the lawn, where a grill sat on a concrete apron; the sisters had retired to the opposite end of the garden, where they had a good view of what their sons and husbands were up to, although it seemed the pile of bridal magazines on the table between them had most of their attention.

Angie was content to watch. She raised her wineglass—empty again—to Tony, who saluted and then went back to his viewfinder. He was wandering around the property with cameras slung around his neck and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, too involved in work for once to get into trouble. And still Angie had the idea that when the stills were developed a large proportion would turn out to feature Harriet Darling, who was holding up a full-color spread of a wedding cake frosted with purple roses for her sisters to see.

Far more important than Tony and his cameras was the fact that Rivera was sitting a few yards away between Miss Zula and Miss Junie in the middle of a crowd of older women, her sleek dark head swiveling back and forth. Old ladies liked Rivera; she was just irreverent enough to keep them on their toes, but her interest in their stories was real.