"Because through Natalie," Whitney brayed, like some horrible WASP Cassandra, "he could get all your money one day. Or at least half of it."

Strange, Whitney's directness didn't seem to bother Mark at all.

"I've been over this with Tess," Mark said. "If Natalie divorced me, much of my money wouldn't be considered a marital asset. The bulk of what I have came from my inheritance."

"The bulk of which, you just made clear, came from your stepmother. But if you were dead and the marriage hadn't been dissolved," Tess said, "Natalie and the children would get all of it."

They sat in silence. At least Mark and Tess did. Whitney resumed trotting around the house studying Rubin's things. Her sky blue penny loafers clattered on the wood floors, little preppy tap shoes.

"What do you want to do?" Tess asked.

"Kill myself?"

"Seriously."

"I was being fairly serious. I want to scream. I want to talk to my rabbi. I want to go get my gun out of the glove compartment of my car and put it in my mouth. But most of all I want to see Natalie, to ask her what's going on. I don't think she could lie to my face."

"Mark-"

"I know. You're going to say she's been lying to my face for ten years, that she's a coldhearted schemer. But she never told me I was the only man she loved, just that she loved me. Isn't it possible for a woman to love two men? Couldn't she have grown to love me in spite of herself? We have three children, this house, a life together. Wouldn't that have to mean something to her?"

Tess pretended these were rhetorical questions. "Mark, I think we have to proceed with the assumption that your life is at risk, that someone's going to make another attempt. Now, I know you're handy with a SIG Sauer, but you should let me arrange some sort of professional security for you."

"A bodyguard?"

"Yes. And I'd like your permission to go to county Homicide, along with the feds, and tell them we believe that your estranged wife wants you dead."

"Only I don't believe that. Nat-Nat and Nat, Nathaniel and Natalie, how cute-may have some dark fantasies and grudges, but he's not given to violence."

"No, but he's willing to delegate. That's what we have to worry about."

Another long silence, only this time the flap-flap-flap of Whitney's loafers was interrupted by the phone. Mark went to his study, probably terrified of taking the call within Whitney's hearing. Tess seized the opportunity to grab Whitney and ask her to stop behaving like a human wealth calculator.

"Sorry. Force of habit. Boy, he's got it bad, doesn't he? 'My wife ran off with my brother, and now she wants me dead.' It's almost a country song."

"As sung by Kinky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys. Families and business. I swear, there's nothing more virulent. Mark's stepbrother may have taken it to a new level, but this is what happens in too many family businesses. Makes me glad the Weinstein dynasty went bust before I was born."

"Makes me glad I'm an only child," Whitney said.

Tess didn't point out that there were many people who were grateful the Talbots had decided to procreate only once.

"That was Paul," Mark said, returning to the room. "Another of Mrs. Gordon's famous emergencies. But I've decided you have a point. I'll go spend the night in a hotel, and I'll stay out of the office tomorrow. Only you and Paul will know where I am."

"And the bodyguard?"

"No, not yet. That seems excessive to me. But I'll call you tomorrow and tell you what I want to do, as far as the police are concerned."

"Where will you stay?"

"Harbor Court, if they have a room. Or the Wyndham."

"And you'll carry your cell and check in with me?"

"I'll carry my cell."

Whitney handed Mark her card on the way out. "We're nonsecular, but we do good work. Mostly social services with a little symphony stuff thrown in for Mom. I'll send you our most recent report."

She then climbed into Tess's Toyota and fell asleep, in the manner of a hyper child exhausted by her own ceaseless energy.

"How do you know her?" Mark asked with the kind of frightened awe that Whitney often inspired in new acquaintances.

"College," Tess said. "On the Eastern Shore. But she transferred to Yale for languages-and the connections. Whitney was always very canny that way."

"Perhaps I'll send Isaac to the University of Maryland after all."

TUESDAY

Chapter Thirty-eight

TESS CHECKED IN WITH MARK AT 9:00 A.M., AND FOUND him at the Wyndham as promised, where his only complaint was restlessness and the lack of a view.

"I don't know what to do with myself when I'm not working," he said. "I need to do something."

"Take a walk," Tess said, then corrected herself. "No, you should stay inside. If you're really bored, I'll phone my aunt's store and ask her to messenger over some books, whatever you want. Meanwhile, I'm trying to decide if I should spend the day doing surveillance at your house or tracking down Lana. Maybe she's surfaced back at the salon."

"Do the surveillance," Mark said. "Keep watching for Lana, at least during the day. Then camp out in my home this evening. After all, anyone who knows me wouldn't expect to find me home during the day."

It was a good plan, and Tess felt a little sheepish about her client's being more clearheaded than she was.

"Maybe I should hang out at your work, then, see if any strangers come around."

"No point to that. Paul will be watching. No, go to the beauty salon, then my house."

"Surveillance is tricky on your block. You have the kind of neighbors that are apt to report a strange fourteen-year-old Toyota parked at the curb. And pedestrians are even more suspect in that part of Baltimore."

"What if I give you the security code, so you can open the garage door and enter the house through the kitchen? We keep a spare key beneath a flowerpot on some shelving that has gardening stuff."

"Jesus, Mark. Natalie knows that. She could have come in-or sent someone in-at any time."

Mark laughed. "She has her own key, Tess. I didn't change the locks. Who knows? Maybe she'll show up tonight, come right through the front door as if nothing ever happened."

His tone had a light, almost elated edge to it, as if this were the outcome he still hoped for.

"Just stay in your room. I know you can't eat the hotel food, but I'll arrange for someone to bring in a kosher meal."

"I've already made those arrangements for myself. I called the Jewish Museum and asked what catering service they use for their monthly board meetings."

"Great. I'll check in again at noon. Be good."

"Feel free to help yourself to anything in the refrigerator. And the various remote controls for the television and the DVD are in the drawer of the coffee table."

"It's surveillance, not babysitting, Mark." But she wondered just how much food Mark would have in the house, after living on his own for a month, and whether she would find any of it appealing. "If I were to order food-say, a pizza, just for example, or Chinese-is it okay if it's not kosher? Or will I somehow violate your house by bringing in treyf?"

"There are paper plates and plastic utensils in the cupboard just to the right of the refrigerator. Use those, take your containers with you, and it should be okay. Although, really, there are some lovely frozen latkes. They thaw in seconds in the microwave."

Hanging out in Mark's house was not unlike the babysitting gigs of Tess's teenage years. Only instead of listening for muffled cries from a child's bedroom, she strained her ears toward any out-of-place sounds on the quiet suburban street. And, just like when she'd been babysitting, she was bored out of her mind in less than thirty minutes.