In a moment, Glitsky would turn and nod to Wessin and the routines would begin. He tried to imagine some other way it could have gone, something he might have done differently.

But it had all been ordained and set in motion long before he'd been involved. He was lucky to have escaped with his life, when so many others had not.

That was going to have to be enough.

₃₄

On a sunny Saturday evening a couple of weeks into April, Hardy was driving with his wife, top down on the convertible, on the way to Glitsky's. A week before, he'd come across a CD of Perry Como's greatest hits, and since then had been alienating everyone close to him- especially his children-with his spontaneous outbursts into renditions of "Papa Loves Mambo" and "Round and Round" and others that were, to him, classics from his earliest youth, when his parents used to watch the crooner's show every Sunday night. Now, as his last notes from "Hot Diggity (Dog Ziggity Boom)" faded to silence along with the CD track, Frannie reached over and ejected the disc.

"You really like that guy, don't you?"

"What's not to like?"

"I know there's something, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe it's just that he's before my time."

"Perry? He's eternal. Besides, you don't hear polkas often enough nowadays. If you did, the world would be a happier place. I'm thinking of trying to find an Okto-berfest record so we can have more of them on hand at the house."

"The kids might kill you. On second thought, I might kill you."

"No. You'd all get used to it. Pretty soon all their friends are coming over for polka parties. You're the hostess wearing one of those cute Frau outfits. I can see it as the next big new thing." He broke into a snatch of the song again.

"Dismas."

He stopped. After a moment, driving along, he turned to his wife. "Okay, if polka isn't going to be your thing, do you want to hear an interesting fact?"

"I live for them."

"Okay, how about this? The 'zip' in ZIP code? It stands for 'zone improvement plan.' Did you know that?"

She cast him a sideways glance. "You've been reading that miscellany book again."

"True. Actually, my new life goal is to memorize it."

"Why?"

"So I'll know more stuff." "You already know too much stuff." "Impossible. I mean, the 'zip' fact, for example. Zone improvement plan." He looked over for her response. "Wow," she said.

"Come on, Frannie. Did you know that? Don't you think that's neat to know?"

"No, I do. I said 'wow,' even. Didn't you hear me?"

"It sounded like a sarcastic 'wow.' "

"Never."

"Okay, then." They drove on in silence for a moment.

"Zone improvement plan," Frannie suddenly said after half a block. "Imagine that."

Hardy looked over at her, a tolerant smile in place. "Okay, we'll drop it. But only because there's yet another unusual and interesting fact you may not know, and probably want to."

"More than I want to know about what 'zip' stands for? I can't believe that."

"This dinner tonight at Abe's? He asked me what kind of champagne to buy."

"Abe's drinking champagne?"

"I got the impression he intended to."

"Wow. Not sarcastic," she added. "When's the last time you saw him drink anything with alcohol in it?"

"Somewhere far back in the mists of time. Certainly not in the past few years."

"So what's the occasion?"

"I don't know. But it's got to be a good one."

Hardy found a spot to park within a block of Glitsky's house, and figuring he'd won the lottery, pulled his convertible to the curb. Setting the brake, he brought the top back up, turned off the engine and reached for the door handle. Frannie put a hand on his leg and said, "Do you mind if we just sit here a minute?"

He stopped and looked questioningly over at her. "Whatever you want." He took her hand. "Is everything all right?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you." "If everything was all right with me?"

"Yes."

"You mean with us?" "Us. You. Everything."

He stared for a moment out through the windshield. He squeezed her hand, turned toward her. "Look at us right now. Look at where we are. It's a good place."

"Not if you're unhappy in it."

"I'm not unhappy. I wouldn't trade this, what I've got with you, for anything. What's got you thinking this?"

"It just seems you've been… distant, especially since the trial, now that you've stopped seeing her every day."

He said nothing.

"It makes me wonder if what we have isn't enough for you."

"Enough what?"

"Enough anything. Excitement, maybe. Fun. It's all kid stuff and routines and bickering sometimes."

"And you think Catherine was more fun? That it was fun at all?"

"You want me to be honest? I think you loved every minute you spent with her."

This was close to the bone. Hardy chose his words with some care. "That's not the same as wanting to be with her now. It seems to me that the way this marriage thing works is you keep making a choice to be in it every day."

"Even if it makes you unhappy?"

"But it doesn't make me unhappy, not at all. To the contrary, in fact. And here's an unfashionable thought: Unhappiness is a choice. And it's one I don't choose to make." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "What I want is what we've already got. But I guess I'm not communicating that too well, am I? For which I apologize. Really. Maybe you ought to leave me for making you worry."

"I would never leave you. I don't even think about it."

"Well, you know, I never think about leaving you. Ever. We're together, period. The topic's not open for discussion. We've got our family and our life together, and nobody has as much fun together as we do ninety-nine percent of the time. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

A silence gathered in the closed-in space and finally Frannie sighed. "I'm sorry I need reassurance once in a while."

"That's acceptable. I'm sorry if I've been distant."

"I'm sorry you're sorry." She squeezed his hand. "Between us, we are two sorry campers, aren't we?"

"Apparently." He caught her eye, broke a trace of a grin. "Two sorry campers on their way to break bread with People Not Laughing."

"Sounds like a good time. Should we go on up?"

As one, they opened the doors of the car and stepped out into the warm evening. The neighborhood in early dusk smelled of orange blossoms, coffee and the ocean.

People Not Laughing was in his kitchen with a cold bottle of Dom Perignon held awkwardly in his hands. He'd already struggled first with the foil wrapper, then with the wire, and now he was looking at the cork as though it was one of life's profound mysteries.

"Don't point it at your face!" Hardy said. "They've been known to just blow off and take out the random eyeball."

"He's not used to this," Treya said, somewhat unnecessarily.

"So how do you get it off?" Glitsky asked.

Hardy reached for the bottle. "Why don't you just let a professional handle it? My partner will attend the window."

"The window?"

Frannie bowed graciously, crossed to the window over the sink and threw it open. Hardy turned to face the opening. "Now, one carefully turns the bottle, not the cork, and…" With a satisfying pop, the cork flew out the window into the warm evening. "Voila."

And then the glasses were poured and the four adults stood together in the tiny kitchen. "If I might ask," Hardy said, "what's the occasion? Frannie's guess is you're pregnant again."

Glitsky let out a mock scream.

"Read that as a no," Treya said simply. "But I'll propose the toast, okay? Here's to former homicide inspector Dan Cuneo. May his new position bring him happiness and success."