"Wardrobe consultant?" said M. J. in surprise. "But all I really need right now is a pair of jeans and a change of underwear."

"You needn't take the consultant's advice," said Thomas. "Although…" He glanced at her bathrobe. "I'm certain she'll have a number of, er, helpful suggestions."

M. J. laughed and pushed back from the table. "Bring her on, then. I guess I need to wear something."

"When you've made your selections, Dr. Novak," said Thomas, "just leave the bathrobe with me. I'll see that it's properly taken care of."

"Whatever you say," said M. J.

"Very good," said Thomas and he turned to leave. As he walked out of the room, he muttered with undisguised glee, "Because I'm going to burn it."

Protection was what they needed in South Lexington. And when it came to hostile territory, M. J. decided, the best to be had was from the natives. So it was to Papa Earl's apartment they went first, to have a talk with his grandson, Anthony. The boy might not hold any real power in the Projects, but he'd know how to reach those who did.

They found the boy slouched in his undershirt, watching Days of Our Lives in the living room.

"Anthony," said Papa Earl. "Mariana wants to talk to you."

Anthony raised the remote control and changed the channel to Jeopardy.

"You listening, boy?" barked Papa Earl.

"What?"

"Mariana and her friend, they come to see you."

M. J. moved in front of the TV, deliberately blocking Anthony's view. He looked up at her with sullen dark eyes. It was heartbreaking to see how little was left of the child she used to baby-sit. In his place was a tinder-box of rage.

"We want to ask the big man a favor," said M. J.

"What big man you talking about?"

"We're willing to pay up front. Safe passage, that's all we ask. And maybe a friend or two to watch our backs. No cops involved, we swear it."

"What you want safe passage for?"

"Just to talk to some people. About Nicos and Xenia." She paused and added, "And you can tell Maeve we're not after her."

Anthony twitched and looked away. So he was the one who had warned her, she decided.

Anthony was trying in vain to look past her, at the TV. "How much?" he asked.

"A hundred."

"And how much does the big man get?"

The kid was sharp. "Another hundred."

Anthony thought about it a moment. Then he said, "Move outta the way." M. J. stepped aside. He pointed the remote control and switched off the TV. "Wait here," he said. He stood up and walked out of the apartment.

"What do you think?" asked Adam.

"He's either going to come back with our bodyguards," said M. J., "or a hit squad."

"Don't know what I'm gonna do 'bout that boy," said Papa Earl. "I just don't know."

Ten minutes passed. They all sat in the kitchen, where Bella banged pots and pans on the stove. The smell of old cooking grease, of frying sausages and simmering pinto beans, was almost enough to drive them out. Those smells brought back too many memories for M. J., of stifling summer evenings when the smells from her mother's stove would kill whatever appetite she had, when the heat from the kitchen seemed to suck the air out of every room. Now, as she watched young Bella, she saw the ghost of her own mother, squinting into the haze of hot oil.

A door banged shut. Adam and M. J. turned to see Anthony come into the kitchen. With him were two other boys, both about sixteen, both with the cold, flat expressions of foot soldiers.

"You got it," said Anthony. "Just this one day. You want to come back again, you pay again. They'll watch your backs." He collected his two hundred dollars from Adam. "So where do you want to go first?"

"The Biagi flat," said M. J.

Anthony looked at the boys. "Okay. Take 'em there."

10

Nicos was a good boy, insisted Mr. and Mrs. Biagi. It seemed to be a universal mantra of parents in South Lexington-he was a good boy. A kid could pick up a gun and commit mass murder, and that refrain would still pop out of his parents' mouths.

The Biagis had no idea what Nicos had been doing with that needle and tourniquet. He had not been a drug addict. He had been a student at Louis French Junior College and had worked nights as a stockboy in the Big E supermarket in Bellemeade. He had bought a new car, paid for his own clothes.

And his own drugs , M. J. thought.

After an hour, she and Adam gave up trying to break through that wall of parental denial. Yes, Nicos must truly have been a saint, they agreed, and left the apartment.

Their two bodyguards were lolling on the front steps, watching a little girl skip rope.

"… Mama called the doctor and the doctor said,

"Feel the rhythm of the heart, ding dong,

"Feel the rhythm of the heart…"

As M. J. and Adam came outside, the girl stopped her chant and looked up at them.

"We're through here," said M. J. "Didn't learn a damn thing."

The two boys glanced at each other with a wry look of We coulda told you that.

The girl was still staring at them.

"Okay, let's try Xenia Vargas," said Adam. "Do you know where she lived?"

"Two blocks over," piped up the girl with the jump rope. "But she's dead."

For the first time, M. J. focused on the child. She was about eight years old, small and wiry, with a tangled bird's nest of hair. Her smock dress had been patched so many times it was hard to make out the pattern of the original fabric.

"Get outta here, Celeste," said one of the boys. "Your mama's callin' you."

"I don't hear nothing."

"Well, she's callin'."

"Can't be. She's workin' till seven. So there."

M. J. crouched down beside the girl. "Did you know Xenia?" she asked.

The girl swiped at her runny nose and looked at her. "Sure. I seen her around all the time."

"Where?"

"All over. She'd hang out at the Laundromat."

"Anyone else hang out with her?"

"Sometimes. The boys, they liked talkin' to Xenia."

"Ain't all they liked doin' to Xenia," one of the bodyguards said with a snicker.

Celeste fixed him with a dirty look. "Yeah, I seen those boys 'round your sister too, Leland."

Leland's snicker died. He gave Celeste an equally dirty look. The girl smiled back.

"She ever hang out with Nicos Biagi?" asked Adam.

"Sometimes."

"What about this lady?" M. J. asked. She took out the morgue photo of Jane Doe. For a second, she hesitated to show it to the child, then decided she had to.

Celested glanced at the picture with a clinical eye. "Dead, huh?" M. J. nodded. "Yeah," said Celeste. "I don't know her name, 'xactly, but I seen her with Xenia. She's not a regular."

"A regular?" inquired Adam.

"She doesn't live here. She just visits."

"Oh. A tourist."

"Yeah, like you."

"Celeste," said Leland. "Scram."

The girl didn't move.

They started up the street. A block away, M. J. glanced back and saw the little figure still watching them, the jump rope trailing from her hand.

"She's all by herself," said M. J. "Doesn't anyone look after her?"

"Everyone here knows her," said Leland. "Hell, they can't get rid of the brat."

Celeste was skipping rope again, her quick steps bringing her along the sidewalk in undisguised pursuit.

They ignored her and walked two blocks to Building Three. Leland directed them to the sixth floor. M. J. knocked at the door.

A woman answered-a girl, really-with makeup thick as putty and plucked eyebrows reduced to two unevenly drawn black slashes. Heavy earrings jangled as she looked first at M. J., then-much longer-at Adam. "Yeah?"