"How many kids fell between Stolley and Tucci in the eighth grade at Rock Glen Junior High?"

Tess visualized the page. The photos had been small, in order to accommodate five across and eight down, forty in all. Linda had been in the middle of the page. Rock Glen was a big school, there were probably plenty of eighth graders between ST and TU. Still it was possible-plausible, even.

"So if Tucci thinks that page is hidden somewhere…"

"He might be interested in getting it back. And even if we're wrong about his class photo falling on that page, if we're vague enough, he might think there's another page cut from the book, which does show his photograph, in some club or something."

Tess practically held her breath as Sterling picked up his phone, asked information for the number to the Tuccis' import-export business, then dialed.

"Paul Tucci, please," he said, after what must have been eight or nine rings. "I'm sure he'll want to take this call. Tell him it's'…someone from the yearbook committee at his old school. His real old school."

Now, this is a man after my own heart, Tess thought happily.

"Mr. Tucci, I have the yearbook page I think you've been looking for. No, I'm sure you know exactly what I'm talking about. I'd like to make this available to you, for a price. Why don't we meet and discuss this, sooner rather than later? At the tennis courts in Leakin Park, in an hour. Come alone, Mr. Tucci. You may rest assured, however, that I won't be alone and I won't have the page with me, not tonight. It's in a safe place." He paused, let Tucci have his say. "Tonight, Mr. Tucci. No second chances."

He hung up the phone and Tess could tell he was pleased with himself.

"I'll have Lionel call Detective Tull and tell him what we're up to," he said. "But not until the last possible minute."

"And Feeney," Tess said. "You should alert him, so he can be in on the story from the first."

"No, I'm afraid the police would frown on that. Besides, how would you explain it to Tucci? Feeney will have plenty of time to follow the story. After all, I'm sure at least two of the primary sources will cooperate. Now let me go tell Lionel what we're up to, and give him Detective Tull's number."

"Sure," Tess said, studying her wrist the way Lea Wynkowski had, although she had no golden bracelet to twist. It didn't seem right for Feeney to miss out on this. As soon as Sterling was out of sight, she sat down at his computer, signed on, and sent Feeney a message:

This is Tess typing. Leakin Park in 30 minutes for the story of your life. SERIOUSLY!!!!!!!!

The message went through, indicating Feeney's computer at the courthouse was on, but he didn't reply. Maybe there was time to page him-

"Hacking again? I hope you're not sending messages out under my user name," Sterling said from the door. His voice was sharp, but he laughed when she jumped.

"N-no, no messages at all. I was checking the forecast, seeing how bad it's not going to be."

"Just teasing you. Look, Lionel thinks our plan is a little unorthodox, but he's going to back us up. Says he'll call the police at the appointed hour. Now, are you a McDonald's woman, or a Burger King loyalist?"

"Roy Rogers, pardner."

Only a few light flakes had started falling when they pulled into the gravel parking lot off Windsor Mill Road, but that hadn't kept other drivers from acting as if a fullscale blizzard was laying siege to the city. Roy Rogers had run out of buns-plenty of roast beef and ground beef patties, just no buns to put them on-and Tess had ended up making do with potato salad, while Sterling had settled for baked beans. It wasn't a half-bad dinner, but her stomach was doing nervous flip-flops, wondering how angry Sterling would be when Feeney showed up. If Feeney showed up-she couldn't be sure he had seen her message.

"Let's have our picnic in the snow," Tess said, getting out and then climbing up on the trunk of Sterling's car, a new-looking Honda Accord. She was conscious of testing him, checking to see if he was fussy about his car. She considered that a bad sign in a man.

Sterling rummaged through the glove compartment, then perched next to her on the trunk.

"Something to warm you up?" he asked, holding out a small bottle of amber-colored whiskey and a pewter Jefferson cup, the collapsible kind that came in fancy picnic baskets. She and Whitney had used them and a thermos to smuggle mint juleps into the Hunt Cup one year.

"You drive around with this in your car? I'm shocked, Mr. Sterling, shocked."

"You've heard of the old newspaper editor with a bottle in his desk? Well, I have bottles secreted everywhere. My nod to tradition."

Tess laughed, reaching for the bottle and cup, silver in the moonlight. Make new friends, but keep the old. Sterling was rubbing his wrist the way he did because of his bouts with carpal tunnel. For some reason, it reminded her of Lea and the way she touched her bracelet, as if it were an amulet that could protect her from harm. One is silver, but the other's gold. You're golden, Wink. So Wink had been gold and Tucci was silver. Well, maybe silver plate. It was a stretch to see him as sterling.

Sterling. He was a good guy. She felt guilty now about ignoring his instructions. What would he say if Feeney did show up? "Look, about Feeney-"

Sterling tapped the cell phone he kept in his breast pocket, beneath his camel's hair coat. "Don't worry, I won't let him miss the big story. I always put the paper first."

Always? Abruptly, Tess dropped the cup and bottle, spilling the drink in her lap while the bottle skittered under the Honda, spilling out the rest of the bourbon before Sterling could retrieve it.

"Dammit," he said angrily, then softened his tone. "I'm sorry, it's just that I tore the knee of my pants leg crawling around on this gravel. And I admit, I was hoping for a little of this, too."

"I guess I'm a little nervous. My hands are shaking."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of you." He opened up his arms as if to embrace her.

"How do you mean that, exactly?"

Sterling looked at her strangely.

"Never mind." She glanced back at the road to see if there was any traffic-deserted, but there was an apartment complex on the other side, not even 100 yards away.

"You know, I bet he's not coming," she said. "If he's not here in fifteen minutes, let's bag this meeting and try it again tomorrow. What do you say?"

"You are a smart girl," Sterling said. He reached out and caressed her cheek with his gloved hand, then leaned closer, as if to kiss her.

"Look, Sterling-" she began. He punched her so hard in the stomach she bent double and fell to the ground, the gravel tearing and scraping her palms.

"Jesus." She wasn't sure if she had spoken out loud, or only cried out in her mind. She tried to rise to all fours, but Sterling kicked her in the ribs, flattening her. On the proper foot, a Bass Weejun could feel like a blackjack.

"But-I-didn't-drink," she panted. And if you didn't drink the drug-laden drink, you didn't pass out, and if you didn't pass out, Jack Sterling couldn't put you in a running car or toss you from a balcony, then page his star reporter. She had figured that much out. So why was she down on the ground, feeling as if there were small fires burning all over her body-in her knees, on her palms, in her side, on her face?

"The Jack Daniels did have a little something in it, to slow you down, but three suicides would have been over-kill-if you'll forgive the expression," Sterling said, straddling her, digging his heels into her waist as if she were a horse he was trying to break.

"However, it is plausible you'd be found murdered, Tess. After all, you had that nasty run-in with those kidnappers. It was even written up in the paper, remember? I told you how worried I was that one might come back. I mentioned my fears to others, too-Feeney, Whitney, even Lionel. Lionel couldn't help noticing how fond I was becoming of you." He kicked her again in the ribs, then bent down and grabbed the collar of her coat, jerking her head back so hard she thought she might have whiplash.