"He's still in New York?"

"Oh, he comes home now and then-he was here for a week at Thanksgiving-but for the most part, he's gone. New.York, Boston, London. He spent a year in Italy and swears he's going back. Much as I love him, he's a waste of time. I don't think he's ever going to get his act together. Of course, Lance was that way for years. They're both smart enough, but they always partied hard and Lance had a few scrapes with the law. It drove Daddy up the wall."

The clams arrived. Each of us was presented with a plate piled high with small, perfect shells, swaddled in cloth to keep the broth piping hot. She speared a tender button of clam flesh and placed it on her tongue, her eyes closing in a near-swoon as she swallowed. I watched her butter a crescent of French bread and dip it in the bowl, sopping up clam liquor. As she bit into it, she made a little sound low in her throat like something out of an X-rated video.

"Your lunch okay?" I asked dryly.

"Fine," she said. "Good." She realized belatedly that I was teasing her and she smiled, her cheeks tinted becom-ingly with pink. "Someone asked me once which I'd rather have-sex or a warm chocolate-chip cookie. I still can't decide."

"Go for the cookies. You can bake 'em yourself."

She wiped her mouth and took a sip of wine. "Anyway, about the last six or seven years, Lance took hold, more or less, and started showing an interest in the business. Daddy was thrilled. Wood/Warren was Daddy's life. He loved us, but he couldn't manage us the way he did the business. By the time Bass came along, the last in line, Daddy'd pretty much given up any hopes for a successor."

"What about Ebony?"

"Oh, she's been passionate about the company since she was a kid, but she didn't believe Daddy'd ever let her have a hand in it. He was old-fashioned. A man leaves his business to his oldest son. Period. He knew Ebony was smart, but he didn't think she was tough enough, and he-didn't think she'd stay with it. Women get married and have babies and spend money. That was his attitude. Women join the country club and play tennis and golf. They don't go head-to-head with chemical engineers and systems analysts. She even went off to Cal Poly and started working on an engineering degree, but Daddy made it clear it wouldn't help her cause, so she went to Europe and got married instead."

"Thus fulfilling his prophecy," I said.

"That's right. Of course, at that point, Daddy did a turnaround and swore he'd have left her the company if she'd stuck it out. She hated him for that, and I didn't blame her a bit. He was a real shit sometimes." "She's back now, isn't she?"

"Right. She got home in August, minus Julian, which is no big loss. He was a dud if I ever saw one. A real bore. I don't know how she put up with him."

"Lance says she wants to take over."

"I've heard that, too, though it's not anything she talks to me about. I get along with Ebony, but we're not real close."

"What about Olive? Is she interested?"

"Peripherally, I guess. She married one of the chemi-cal engineers who worked for Daddy. He's vice-president now, but they met when she was still in college and he'd just hired on."

"Is that Terry Kohler?"

She nodded. "You met him?"

"When I was out there. What's he like?"

"Oh, I don't know. Smart. Moody. Intense. Pleasant enough, but sort of humorless. Good at what he does. Crazy about her, I must say. He worships the ground she walks on. 'Slavish' is the word."

"Lucky girl. Is he ambitious?"

"He used to be. He wanted to go out on his own at one point and form his own company, but I guess it didn't work out. He kind of lost heart after that, and I don't know… being married to the boss's daughter probably takes the heat off."

"How does he get along with Lance?"

"They clash now and then. Terry's easily offended. You know the type. He gets his nose bent out of shape at the least little thing."

"What about John Salkowitz?"

"He's a sweetie. He's what Daddy wanted Lance to be."

"You said Lance had a couple of scrapes with the law. What was that about?"

"He stole some things from the plant."

"Really. When was this?"

"In high school. He came up with a scheme to make some money, but it didn't work out. It was part of an economics class and I guess his grade depended on how well he did. When he realized his little enterprise was failing, he stole some equipment-nothing big-but he tried to sell it to a fence. The guy got uneasy and called the cops."

"Not too smart."

"That's what pissed Daddy off, I suspect."

"Did he press charges?"

"Are you kidding? Of course. He said that was the only way Lance would ever learn."

"And did he?"

"Well, he got in trouble again, if that's what you mean. Lots of times. Daddy finally threw his hands up and sent him off to boarding school."

The subject veered off. We finished lunch, chatting about other things. At two, Ash glanced at her watch. "Oh Lord. I've got to go. I promised Mother I'd take her shop-ping this afternoon. Come along if you like. I know she'd love to see you." She signaled for the check.

"I better take care of some other business first, but I do want to talk to her."

"Give us a call and come up to the house."

"Are you living there now?"

"Temporarily. I just bought a place of my own and I'm having some work done. I'll be staying with Mother for another six weeks."

When the check arrived, I reached for my handbag, but she waved me off. "I'll take care of it. I'll claim it as a business lunch and charge it off to the company. It's the least I can do with the bind you're in."

"Thanks," I said. I got Ebony's personal telephone number from her and we walked out together. I was re-lieved that the valet service brought her car first. I watched her pull away in a little red Alfa-Romeo. My car appeared. I tipped the fellow more than I should have and got in with care, humping myself onto the seat to avoid snagging my panty hose behind the knee. The valet slammed the door and I turned the key. Honest to God, it started right up and I felt a surge of pride. The damn thing is paid for and only costs me ten bucks a week in gas.

I drove home and let myself in the gate, steadfastly disregarding the yawning air of emptiness about the place. The winter grass seemed ragged and the dead heads on the zinnias and marigolds had multiplied. Henry's house stood silent, his back door looking blank. Usually the scent of yeast or cinnamon lies on the air like a heady perfume. Henry's a retired commercial baker who can't quite give up his passion for kneading dough and proofing bread. If he isn't in the kitchen, I can usually find him on the patio, weeding the flower beds or stretched out on a chaise in-venting crossword puzzles filled with convoluted puns.

I let myself into my apartment and changed back into jeans, my whole body sighing with relief. I hauled the mower out of the toolshed and had a run at the yard, and then I got down on my hands and knees and clipped all the dead blossoms from the beds. This was very boring. I put the lawn mower away. I went inside and typed up my notes. As long as I was investigating in my own behalf, I decided to do it properly. This was boring, too.

Since Rosie's was closed, I ate dinner at home, prepar-ing a cheese-and-pickle sandwich, which entertained me no end.

I'd finished the Len Deighton and I didn't have any-thing else in the house to read, so I switched on my little portable television set.

Sometimes I wonder if my personal resources aren't wearing a little thin.