"Just why are you telling me this?"

"Because there are so many things you don't know about him."

M. J. let out a breath. "That's true. Not that it makes a difference."

Isabel cocked her head. "Doesn't it?"

"If you're telling me all this because you feel threatened, Isabel, don't bother. With me, what you see is what you get. No blue blood, no pedigree." She laughed. "Definitely no class."

"I didn't mean to put you down," said Isabel hastily. "I simply thought I could clear up a few things about Adam."

"Such as?"

"Oh, I don't know…" Isabel shrugged one lustrous white shoulder. "Aspects of his life you may not be familiar with. It must seem quite disorienting. Being thrust into this huge old house. All these portraits of strangers hanging on the walls. And then there's a whole circle of his friends you've never met."

"I guess you know them all."

"We grew up in that same circle, Adam and I.I knew Georgina. I watched the whole sad affair. And I was there when he needed a friend." She paused, and added significantly, "I'm still here." And I'll be here long after you're gone, was the unspoken message. Isabel took a sip of tea and set the cup and saucer back down on the end table. "I just wanted you to know that."

"Why?"

"I care about Adam. All his friends do. And we'd hate to see him… unhappy."

M. J.'s chin shot up. "Meaning what?"

"Adam needs someone who can hold her own. In this house, at the club. At the dozens of social functions a man in his position has to attend. It's only fair that you know what to expect."

M. J. laughed. "Hey, I'm not after the job of lady of the house. He's just putting me up for awhile. And we needed each other's help."

"And do you still need each other's help?"

M. J. paused. The truth was that they didn't. Esterhaus was dead. There was nothing to hide from now, nothing to keep her there.

Except this crazy hope that things could still work out between us.

Isabel rose. "Just a few things to consider," she said. "Think about it."

M. J. did think about it. She thought about it as Isabel walked out the front door, as the Mercedes drove down the driveway. She thought about the gap between Surry Heights and South Lexington-a distance measured not in miles but in universes. She thought about country clubs and back alleys, picket fences and barbed wire.

And she thought about her heart, recently healed, and how long it takes to put the pieces back together when once it's broken.

She went upstairs, collected her toothbrush and underwear, and came back down again.

Thomas, carrying a tray of fresh tea and biscuits, met her in the foyer. "Dr. Novak," he said. "I was just bringing this in to you."

"Thanks. But I'm on my way out."

He frowned when he saw the car keys she'd already removed from her purse. "When shall I tell Mr. Q. you'll be returning?"

"Tell him… tell him I'll be in touch," she said, and walked out of the house.

"But, Dr. Novak-"

She got into her car and started the engine. "You've been great, Thomas!" she called through the car window. "Don't let Miss Calderwood push you around." As she drove off, she could see him in her rearview mirror, still staring after her in puzzlement.

The stone pillars lay ahead. She was in such a hurry to get away, she almost careened into Adam's Volvo, driving in through the gate. He skidded to a stop at the side of the road.

"M. J.?" he yelled. "Where are you going?"

"I'll call you!" she yelled back, and kept on driving.

A half mile later, she glanced in her mirror and saw, through a film of tears, that the road behind her was empty. He hadn't followed her. She blinked the tears away and gripped the steering wheel more tightly.

She drove on, toward the city.

Away from Adam.

I'll call you . What the hell did that mean?

Adam watched M. J.'s taillights disappear into the dusk and wondered when she'd be back. Had there been a call from the morgue? Some urgent reason for her to rush to work? An emergency autopsy? he thought with a laugh. Right.

He pulled in front of the house and parked. Even before he'd climbed the front steps, Thomas had appeared in the doorway.

"Mr. Q.!"

"Evening, Thomas. What's up?"

"I was about to ask you. Dr. Novak just left."

"Yes, I passed her at the gate."

"No, I mean she's left. Taken her things with her."

"What?" Adam turned and stared up the driveway. By now, she would be a good mile or more away, perhaps already turning onto the freeway. He'd never be able to catch up with her in time.

He looked back at Thomas. "Did she say why was leaving?"

Thomas shrugged. "Not a word."

"Did she say anything?"

"I never had the opportunity to speak with her. She and Miss Calderwood were taking tea, and-"

"Isabel was here?"

"Why, yes. She left a short time before Dr. Novak did."

At once, Adam turned and headed to his car.

"Mr. Q.! Where are you going?"

"Isabel's house!" he snapped.

"Will you be there for the evening?"

"Just a few minutes!" Adam gunned the engine and roared out of the driveway. "Just long enough," he added under his breath, "to wring her neck."

Isabel was home. He saw her Mercedes parked in the garage, the groundsman busy polishing the flanks to a gleaming finish. Adam took the front steps two at a time. He didn't bother to knock; he just walked in the door and yelled: "Isabel!"

She appeared, smiling, at the top of the stairs. "Why, Adam. How unexpected-"

"What did you say to her?"

Isabel shook her head innocently. "To whom?"

"M. J."

"Ah." With new comprehension in her gaze, Isabel glided down the stairs. "We spoke," she admitted. "But nothing of earth-shattering significance."

"What did you say?"

She came to a stop on the bottom step. The crystal chandelier above spilled its pool of sparkling light onto her hair. "I only told her that I understood the difficulties she must be having. The transition to a large house. A new circle of friends. She's not having an easy time of it, Adam."

"Not with friends like you."

Her chin jutted up. "I was only offering her my advice. And sympathy."

"Isabel." He sighed. "I've known you a long time. We've shared some… reasonably enjoyable moments together. But I've never known you to be, in any way, shape, or form, sympathetic to anyone. Except maybe yourself."

She reacted with a wounded look. "What's gotten into you, Adam? I hardly know you anymore. It scares me, the way you've changed."

"Does it?" He turned and reached for the door. "Then I guess the truth is frightening."

"Adam! Look at who she is, where she comes from! I'm telling you this as a friend. I don't want to see you make a mistake."

"The only mistake I ever made," he said, walking out of the house, "was calling you a friend." He slammed the door shut behind him, got back in his car, and drove home.

He spent all evening trying to locate M. J. He called the city morgue. He called Lou Beamis. He even called Ed Novak. No one knew where she'd gone, where she was spending the night. Or, if they knew, they weren't telling him.

At well past midnight, he went up to bed in frustration. There, lying in the darkness, Isabel's words came back to assail him. Look at who she is, where she comes from. He asked himself over and over if it made a difference to him.

And the honest answer was: Hell, no.

He'd already had a "proper" marriage, to a proper woman. Georgina was everything the social register required: blue-blooded, wealthy, well-glossed by finishing school. Together they were, by the standards of their social set, the perfect couple.

They had been miserable.