How many glasses of wine have you had? Regan wondered as she smiled at Janey. I guess I’d get a little giddy too after being locked in a cold, dark closet for a good part of the day, not knowing when I’d be rescued.

“Clara’s coming in tomorrow,” Thomas announced. “In an attempt to make amends for her disastrous phone call to the crime show.”

“I want to talk to her,” Regan said.

“Of course.”

After several minutes of small talk, Regan stood. “Time to call it a night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“We have a lovely breakfast here in the dining room. Why don’t you come down?”

“Sounds good,” Regan said. As she walked out of the room, she looked at her watch. It was eleven-thirty. I’ve been here nearly fourteen hours, and I only have two days left to solve this crime.

Crimes, she thought. With each passing minute, she was becoming more and more certain that Nat had been murdered. That’s why she had to talk to Clara. She felt sure that Clara, unknowingly, had information that would be helpful.

When she got off the elevator and walked down to Nat’s door, she could still hear a small group of people inside Lydia’s apartment. The diehards, she thought.

Within fifteen minutes she was in bed in the guest room, the alarm set for seven o’clock. I want to get up early and take a good look through this apartment, she thought. There’s got to be something around here that gives me a clue. Regan turned out the light and put her head down on the pillow. Five minutes later, she was asleep.

47

Action!” Jacques Harlow cried to Daphne.

They were in his sparsely furnished, high-ceilinged, drafty loft on a deserted street in lower Manhattan. Jacques had signaled one of his assistants to turn on a fog machine as Daphne sat on the floor, surrounded by darkness, and began to rhapsodize on the benefits and sorrows of selling her farm. Nat and Wendy’s sheep stood at attention on either side of her.

“I look out over the moors,” Daphne almost whispered, “and my heart starts to sing…”

“Wait!” the cameraman shouted.

“Wait! What do you mean wait?” Jacques demanded. “The director is the boss! The director calls ‘action’ and the director calls ‘cut.’ How could you forget such a thing?”

“You’re going to waste a lot of film. I’m getting a bad reflection off the sheep’s eyes.”

“So turn the sheep sideways and pull their bangs down,” Jacques screamed impatiently.

Two weary production assistants hurried over. When they turned Dolly to face Daphne, one of her eyes fell out and rolled away into the darkness. As they frantically scrambled to feel around for it on the floor, Jacques screamed again. “Don’t worry about it! I don’t care about the sheep’s eyes. I only care what’s going on in my actor’s eyes. Now turn the other sheep and let’s go!”

Bah-Bah in place on one side, Dolly on the other, Daphne was ready to start over. The two sheep now looked as though they were dying to hear what she had to say.

“Action!” Jacques cried again.

For the next six minutes, Daphne emoted over her character’s sheep farm like nobody’s business. At the end, sobbing, she lowered her head to the ground as Scarlett O’Hara had done so famously in Gone with the Wind.

“Cut!” Jacques cried, his voice trembling. He wiped a tear from his eye and ran over to embrace Daphne. “I was so moved,” he whispered in her ear as the crew broke into applause. “You’re a magnificent actress. I want you to star in my next film.”

Daphne was speechless. She hadn’t felt this good in years. Both her personal and professional lives had been less than satisfactory. But all of a sudden, it seemed as if a whole new wonderful world was opening up to her. It sure beat stand-in work. “Oh, Jacques,” she finally mouthed as she laid her head against his shoulder.

Pumpkin sat seething in the corner. She stood up. “Are we ready to shoot my final scene?”

“No!” Jacques sneered. “Daphne is going to do her monologue again for me. Her well is overflowing, and I want to capture more of it.”

“Yeah, well I’m going outside for a cigarette,” Pumpkin announced and turned on her heel.

Jacques gave Daphne a mischievous glance. “Would you like Pumpkin to be your stand-in?”

Daphne laughed as Jacques returned to his director’s chair. She petted Dolly and Bah-Bah. “Can you imagine how surprised your mommy and daddy would be to see that you’ve turned into movie stars?”

48

When a thud sounded from Nat’s living room, Regan awoke with a start. Her heart began beating rapidly. What was that? she wondered as she sat up and listened. Everything was still. The illuminated clock next to the bed read 2:11.

Regan slipped out of bed, grabbed her robe, slowly walked to the closed door, and cocked her head. She could hear the floorboards creaking. Oh my God, she thought. There’s someone out there! Then the sound of muffled whispers made her realize that there was more than one person.

Regan’s heart was pounding in her chest. Two people at least, and I don’t have anything to protect myself with, she thought. And last night someone was murdered in this apartment. I can’t go out there. Who knows what I’ll find? She reached over to lock the bedroom door. But her fingers met with a smooth surface. There was no lock. Oh my God. I’ve got to get help. I’ve got to get help or I could end up like Nat.

She crept back to the bed, where she had her cell phone plugged in to the wall. Grabbing it with shaky hands, she dialed 911. “I’m at the Settlers’ Club in Gramercy Park,” she whispered. “There are intruders in the apartment. There was a burglary here last night.”

“What is the address?” the operator asked matter-of-factly, as if she were taking an order for the local deli.

“It’s on the park in Gramercy Park. Twenty-first Street.”

“You don’t have the exact address?”

“No. There may have been a murder here last night…” As Regan said the last five words, the bedroom door opened. There was a gasp, the door slammed, and Regan heard feet running down the hall.

“Please-the Settlers’ Club-look it up,” Regan pleaded. She dropped the phone and ran out into the hall. She heard the back door shut and raced toward the kitchen. By now her heart was in her mouth. If I can only get a glimpse of them, she thought as she ran through the darkness. In the kitchen, she flicked on the light, then yanked open the door. There was no sign of anyone, but she could hear footsteps descending the back stairway.

Running back into the kitchen and down the hallway, Regan picked up the house phone. A sleepy-sounding voice answered.

“Hello.”

“This is Regan Reilly. I’m staying in Nat Pemrod’s apartment. It was just broken into, but the intruders got scared off. They’re running down the steps by the service elevator.”

“Oh my goodness.”

“Well, do something!” Regan cried.

“They must have gone out the back door.”

“The back door?” Regan said in disgust.

“It’s only used for emergencies.”

Regan shook her head. “I guess this qualifies. The police should be here in a few minutes.”

“I’ll send them up, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Regan hung up the phone and went around turning on lights. The living room had been ransacked. I must have been sleeping the sleep of the dead, she thought.

Books and pictures were all over the floor, and Nat’s desk was torn apart. I guess my room was next. She shuddered. What if I hadn’t woken up until it was too late? If I’d have gotten away with only a Mace attack like Janey, I would have been lucky.

I’d better let Thomas know. She went back to the house phone and called downstairs.