"Whatever there is" was his answer to this question.

Mona persevered. "That sounds so mysterious. I mean, I'm into the wine and the customers. I don't get the business end at all. All of this is way beyond me."

"It's pretty simple, really," he said. "I bet you know all about it."

She almost brushed his tennis arm. "I bet I don't."

He smiled.

"You don't say much, do you?" she murmured.

He moved his chin a little, but didn't answer.

She inhaled, started to say something, then stopped. "Well, I know I'm supposed to keep out of it…"

"I understand," he murmured.

"I just, I thought, well, is there any way I could be of help to you?"

Finally his smile broadened a little. "Maybe."

"What with Mitch out like this, I guess I'm going to have to learn what's what. Maybe I could facilitate in some way." She said this as if it were a surprise even to herself.

"Well, that might be very helpful," Schwab said.

"Of course, Mitch is the complete business genius. He pretty much runs the show," she said quickly. "But I'm the spirit of the enterprise. I love the wines, you know. They have such a life of their own, like characters. Do you like wine?"

Schwab became sheepish at the question. "Oh, I don't know much about it."

Mona clapped her hands. "A beer man, I bet. I could teach you, and you could teach me about taxes. Wouldn't that be the greatest? You know, I could make you the envy of all your friends. Wine is very in, you know, and we deal only in the best."

"No kidding." Schwab seemed to ponder this question.

Mona had the oddest sensation. Here was this attractive (but not well-dressed) man who seemed intelligent and should be attracted to her. But his eyes were cold, and he was a lot of work. She didn't get it. Most men were not so much work. She was doing everything exactly right. She let the silence hang there for a few moments while she examined him further, trying to size him up. Maybe he was a gay IRS agent. Maybe he spent all his time watching sports and didn't have any conversation. Or he was married. That would account for the blush and awkwardness. Some men were faithful. A few.

She smiled. On the other hand, a lot of people were getting divorced these days. Maybe this Schwab's total lack of finesse was his newness to the dating game.

"Would you like to have lunch sometime?" she ventured.

"Well, that would be nice," he murmured.

"Are you allowed to fraternize with the enemy?" she joked, taking it a little further.

"I have no enemies," he replied quickly, his blue eyes wary, wary.

"Oh, yes. You work for the government. Your job is to make people's lives miserable." Mona shook her finger at him, enjoying this. "I hope you're one of the reasonable ones. You'll be reasonable with poor Mitch, won't you?"

He laughed at the word "reasonable." "I'm always reasonable."

"That's good, because I know Mitchell Sales wouldn't do anything wrong. I've worked for him all my adult life."

"It doesn't look like that's been very long," Schwab said.

"Thank you, but I'm older than I look."

He lifted a shoulder, noncommittal.

"So, we'll have lunch. That's great," she murmured. She was going to go a tiny bit further, but didn't have time.

Suddenly he was on the move, a little nervous, a little excited. Hurrying on to the next part of his day. It was a male reaction Mona was very used to. They always got nervous when they liked a girl.

AN HOUR LATER Mona was having lunch with Mitch's lawyer, Parker Higgins, at the American Grill, in Garden City. Parker had been one of those tall, good-looking boys who was just so cool, everyone had always known he'd get ahead in life. He and Mitch had gone to Hofstra together. Even before that they'd known each other in high school. His offices were on the boardroom floor of a ten-story building that used to be a bank. He owned it and the one just like it directly across the street.

Parker was as tall as Mitch, quite a bit heavier now, with a deep tan from weekly visits to a tanning parlor where he also got intimate massages. Mona knew this as she knew almost everything. Mitch talked. Parker had less hair than Mitch, but wore a lot of gold to compensate. He wore thick gold chains around his neck and wrist, a gold Panther watch, and the same large eighteen-karat gold golf ball cuff links that Mitch and Mark wore, though only Mark played golf. And he was very shaken by Mitch's stroke. He was wearing a black tie.

Mona was doing everything she could to engage Parker in a useful conversation, but all he wanted to do was talk about old times. They'd been served their two grilled chicken Caesar salads and two glasses of iced tea. While he waited for the salads to arrive, Parker had wolfed down the entire bread basket. When his salad arrived, he wolfed that down. Mona hadn't touched the mound of limp, overdressed lettuce loaded with thick croutons from a box and whole anchovies that were so salty and prickly with tiny bones, her mouth rebelled just at the thought of them. Parker loved this place with the fake palm trees and trellises on the wall with fake ivy all over them.

"That six months we backpacked around in Europe after college was the best time of my life," Parker was saying for about the tenth time. Next would come the stories of drinking and Mitch's falling for the wine and how he'd borrowed ten thousand dollars from Cassie's father to start his business. Mona hated that story.

"I know, must have been the greatest." It was getting really hot in there, so she unbuttoned her jacket. "Parker, I know how busy you are, and I really need to go over some things with you."

"Of course you do," he said, still mooning over hostels he wouldn't dream of even entering, much less staying in now.

"You've been to see Mitch, yes?" She knew he had.

"Yes. This is really a shocker. One day in the pink of health, and the next day-grim reaper. It doesn't look good. Mark told me he's brain-dead." Parker shook his head and glanced around for a waiter.

Mona guessed that he figured he'd been "good" for all of thirty minutes and now could no longer resist having a drink.

"We'll have a Bloody Mary over here," Parker called across the room to a girl who wasn't paying attention. "You?" he asked Mona.

Did she know people, or what? "Not right now," she murmured about the drink. "Look, Parker. Mitch is not brain-dead. He spoke to me clearly. Very clearly. He's on the mend. I swear it. Please don't write him off," she begged.

"That'll be two Marys!" he yelled.

When he turned back to her, her famous pout was on her face, and her famous wheeze was beginning in the back of her throat.

"You know I'm all alone with this, Parker." Her voice caught. This was no act. She was dying here. What kind of asshole was he? They'd traveled to Italy together. They'd chartered that sailing boat in the Greek Isles. She'd been completely nauseated the whole time. They'd swum with fucking dolphins in Mexico. Wasn't all that the best time of his life?

His eyes were on the bar, yearning for those Marys.

"Come on, have a heart, Parker. Don't back out on me now. There's no one but you," Mona said.

Parker heaved a deep sigh. "This is a shocker, Mona, no question about it."

Mona talked to her invisible audience. See what she had to put up with! A complete narcissist. All he could think about was himself. A genuine tear filled her eye. "What about the will, Parker? Not that I want you to reveal confidences. But you know what Mitch's intentions were. Did he sign his new will, or what?"

Now he gave her a frank stare. "Look, Mona. I'm going to do the same with you that I did with Cassie, and Teddy, and Marsha." He made the motion of a zipper being closed across his mouth.

"What the dickens is that?" She maintained her sweetness. She was not going to fall apart.