TWO HOURS LATER, when they were so sore, they could hardly stand, Cassie realized she was starving and went into the kitchen to put their first real meal together. She pulled a few items from the refrigerator and the pantry. She arranged a thick slab of Petrossian's best truffled foie gras on a platter with tiny cornichons and sour cherries. She took a handful of walnuts and toasted them for a few seconds in a hot skillet to bring out the oils and flavor. She brought out the cheeses.

Marsha had bought seven. A Brillat Savarin, Mitch's favorite triple cream, best served with ripe figs and pink champagne. Cassie thought if this was what killed him, just today she, too, would ingest the poison.

Ah, Marsha had bought her own two favorite blues, the rich blue-streaked French Saga and the highly molded English Stilton (best served with a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape). For simplicity, Marsha had chosen Morbier, the semisoft mountain shepherd's cow's milk cheese with its stripe of edible ash running through the center (best served with a Mâcon-Villages). For diversity, the Mimolette, one of the few cheeses of France with color. Only a tiny piece of the orange ball with the nutty flavor was left, not enough, Cassie thought, to merit opening a bottle of Beaujolais to go with it. And last, a Coulommiers, not so easy to find outside of gourmet shops. The Brie-ish, soft-ripening cheese from the Ile-de-France region was yummy. When fully ripened, it had an even larger taste than a Camembert. Best served with ripe South of France peaches or plums. Marsha hadn't bought any of those, but there were grapes. There were slices of pumpernickel with raisins, Carr's water biscuits, and apples.

She set the kitchen table simply, for two, then went down to the cellar for the wine. The cases were stacked on metal shelves in a room about the size of the living room. It was separated from the furnace and water heater by the laundry room. The cellar was temperature controlled and usually locked. But Charlie hadn't been about to resist. He was sitting on an upended empty crate, naked but for his shirt, checking the case names against one of the many price lists he'd collected from the Internet and other sources. It was quite a sight.

"A few of these seem to be missing," he said, pointing to the opened case of Château Petrus Pomerol '45, clearly not familiar enough with wines to recognize the label.

"Yes." Cassie kissed his ear.

"Sold?"

"No, drunk."

"Who would drink a $6,500-a-bottle wine?" he wondered.

She straightened up, ruffling his hair. "You would, honey. Grab a few more. Dinner's ready."

The party was over. The party was just begun.

EPILOGUE

TEDDY SALES PASSED HIS ACCOUNTANCY TESTS on the second try, when he was just twent y-five. He joined the IRS office in Washington, D.C., where his mother, Cassandra Schwab, has become something of a national celebrity, teaching orchid cultivation and flower arranging on her own cable TV show and Web site, and where his stepfather is, well, the Charles Schwab of the Treasury Department.

Edith Edison, otherwise known as Aunt Edith, was the only person able to persuade Ogden Schwab to have his esophagus shortened to end his lifelong difficulty with swallowing. The surgery was a success, and he promptly gained nearly thirty pounds. Edith lost double that amount, and the two have become a popular pair in the Orlando retirement village where they share a bungalow on a golf course.

Marsha Sales married Dr. Thomas Wellfleet in a big wedding at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan, but did not finish social work school as she'd planned. During the course of the many civil suits that she, her mother, and brother filed against Mona Whitman and Parker Higgins, she discovered she had an uncanny talent for law and strategic planning. Working with her brother and Ira Mandel, she piloted Sales Importers, Inc., through its difficulties with the IRS. Amity Holdings recently sold Sales Importers for an unpublicized amount to a longtime rival with an Italian name in Florida, one of the so-called top ten distributors in the country. Marsha is due to enter law school in the fall.

Under the threat of a five-year prison sentence, Mona Whitman entered the Witness Protection Program and informed on the many restaurant owners with connections to organized crime who were her former customers. Although she made full restitution, including damages, to Cassandra Sales for the credit card fraud, Mona's tax and civil lawsuits have yet to be resolved. She is not expected to see any proceeds from the sale of Le Refuge, her shares of Sales Importers, Inc., or the contents of her safe-deposit boxes for many years to come. Under the name Margie Mitchell, she's living a quiet life in Lubbock, Texas, where she's working on a serious relationship with a widower in the oil business.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Leslie Glass was a journalist at New York magazine and a short story and feature writer for Cosmopolitan and Woman's Own in Great Britain. She is a playwright and the author of the critically acclaimed mystery series featuring NYPD Detective Sergeant April Woo. Ms. Glass lives in New York and Sarasota, Florida.