We finished dinner and drove by Smart Women on the way home. The lights were still on. “Our daughter is working with Angela tonight,” I said. “That means we have the house to ourselves.”

“Are you propositioning me?” Jack asked.

“Absolutely. I’m a smart woman, remember?” We hurried home.

Sarah walked in the door at eight o’clock. Jack and I were watching a movie in the media room, holding hands. We’d had an hour to make love.

“Hi, honey, how was your day?” Jack joked.

Sarah smiled at her father and said, “Good. I worked with Angela on the McDaniels’ beach house, and we came up with this cool idea for the great room.”

Our daughter talked a mile a minute, the way she did when she was happy. Then she kissed her father good night, ignored me, and went upstairs.

She’s going to be upset when Angela dies, I thought meanly. But maybe I’ll get my daughter back. Sarah will have to work with me.

I slept badly that night. In my dreams, a ghostly Angela pleaded with me not to let her die. I woke up drenched with sweat and went to the kitchen to fix a calming cup of tea. I couldn’t save Angela, and she wouldn’t believe me if I told her she’d soon be dead.

I was trapped, and she was doomed. I wished Grandma had never told me about Angela. I knew her supernatural knowledge was a dark burden, but I didn’t want it, either. I didn’t sleep the rest of that night.

The next day, I was tired and preoccupied. At work I botched an order for upholstery fabric, gave the wrong number for my trade discount to a wholesale house, and spilled a mug of coffee all over my desk.

“What’s wrong?” Angela asked. “You look pale.”

So did Angela. Maybe it was her new light pink lipstick. It was a shade I hadn’t seen since the 1960s. It must be back in style, or Angela wouldn’t wear it.

“I’m probably coming down with the flu,” I said.

“Why don’t you go home?” Angela said. “I can finish up here.”

I was glad to leave. I couldn’t meet her eyes, knowing she had one more day to live. Trouble was coming, and all I could do was avoid it. But I was worried about my daughter. What if Sarah was with Angela when my partner died? What if Sarah was hurt, too? Or caught up somehow in Grandma’s mysterious crime? I had to keep my daughter safe tomorrow.

When school was out, I called Sarah on her cell phone. “Hi,” she said, her voice sullen.

“Sarah, your father should be finishing his big project tomorrow. I thought we could take him out to dinner to celebrate.”

“Can’t, Mom,” she said. “I’m rehearsing for the school musical, remember?”

“Right,” I said. “I forgot.”

What musical? When did she tell me that? “You never talk about your part,” I said.

“I’m in the chorus and a crowd scene. Big whoop.”

There it was again, that surly teenage voice. I tamped down my anger. If Sarah was at school, she wouldn’t be around Angela on a dangerous day. I called my husband at work to invite him to dinner tomorrow night.

“I just hope I get everything finished, after I bragged to you about how well it was going,” he said. “I’ve hit a snag. I’ll be working late tonight and maybe tomorrow. Don’t wait for dinner, promise?”

“Sure.”

Sarah came home about six and went straight to her room without greeting me.

“Do you want dinner, honey?” I asked.

“Not hungry,” she said. The two words were dropped on me like flat stones. I spent the night brooding on the couch, aimlessly channel surfing. When would Sarah return to her cheerful self? Why was her father working late? Jack wouldn’t lie to me, would he? Not after the way he’d loved me last night. Of course, my father had lied to my mother. Easily.

Jack came home after midnight and woke me up. I’d fallen asleep on the couch. “Come on, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You’ll be more comfortable in our bed. I want to hold you.”

I followed him upstairs, trying to drown out the voices that said he was betraying me. Jack took off his tie and rumpled suit jacket. “I have a lipstick stain on my collar,” he said. “Do we have any stain remover?”

“How did you get lipstick on your collar?” I asked, trying to sound light and unconcerned.

“Sandy, the office manager, is moving to Seattle with her new husband. You remember her. The pretty one with the brown eyes and dark hair. We had a party at the office, and she gave me a good-bye kiss.”

That sounded like the kind of excuse my father used, I thought. My father the cheater.

“Just drop it in the laundry basket,” I said. “I’ll treat the stain in the morning.”

The lipstick on the collar nagged at me. I spent another restless night, then got up to kiss Jack good-bye and see my daughter off to school. She was wearing a tiny skirt and a scoop-neck top.

“Sarah, is that outfit appropriate for school?” I asked.

“Mom,” she said. “Everybody dresses like this. Anyway, I’m going to be late for the bus.”

“At least put on a jacket over it.” I handed her the cropped jacket we’d bought as part of her back-to-school wardrobe.

“Gotta run,” she said and was out the door before I could tell if she’d put it on or stuffed it in her backpack. I sighed. At least she hadn’t dropped the jacket on a chair.

I examined the lipstick stain on my husband’s shirt. The lipstick was a pale pink. Would a brunette wear that color? Didn’t Sandy wear darker colors? But Angela was wearing something similar. It must be back in style.

Angela. What if that wasn’t Sandy’s lipstick on my husband’s shirt collar? What if it was Angela’s?

“Your Jack is working late a lot lately, isn’t he?” my grandmother had asked. I’d defended him. He didn’t get in until midnight last night. He was working late tonight, too. On his project-or on Angela?

I had to know. I wasn’t going to be a fool like my mother. I drove over to Jack’s office in downtown Kirkwood. His car was parked in the company lot in his reserved space. I parked across the street and waited. At twelve fifteen, he left the building and went to Spencer’s Grill. I got out, pulled my winter hat low, and walked past the old-fashioned diner. Jack was sitting at the counter, reading a magazine and munching a grilled cheese sandwich.

I watched him walk back to his office while I stood in a store across the street. Jack had a corner office, and I could see him at his desk. The lights were on in the gray winter afternoon, and the building was too busy for a dalliance. I went home until five thirty and called him.

“Still have to work late, honey?” I asked.

“Afraid so,” he said. “I’m sorry to leave you home alone again, but you can spend the time thinking about what you can do with the extra money. Maybe we can take a February vacation to someplace warm.”

“I’d love to go to the Caribbean. What about St. Bart’s? Or St. John’s?”

“Any saint you want,” he said.

He hung up, and I started brooding again. My husband had sounded suspiciously cheery-the way my father did when he was cheating on my mother. Mom took it, year after year. Well, I wasn’t going to be Jack’s doormat. If he was cheating, I wanted to know. Then I’d get the best divorce lawyer.

I waited until seven o’clock, when I knew Jack would be getting hungry, and drove to a Maplewood brew pub, the Schlafly Bottleworks. I ordered a bison burger. I’d surprise him with his favorite sandwich if he was at the office working. If not, well, he’d get a different surprise.

I saw Jack’s light was on and his blinds were drawn. I barged right into his office.

“Surprise!” I yelled.

Jack was surprised. He was sitting at his drawing board, with paper spread everywhere.

I felt foolish, standing there with a bison burger. “I brought you a present.” I handed him the bag.

Jack’s face lit up when he unwrapped his burger. “You didn’t have to,” he said. “But you’ve saved me from eating pretzels from the snack machine.”