She was in her office for no longer than it took to grab her cell phone and her handbag, then she left by the employee door at the back of the health club and got into her Corvette. She gunned it to life and roared from the parking lot.

The car was as responsive to Tori’s high-speed driving as Tori had been to the clumsy sexual forays of the husband who’d bought the car for her. He’d been a type-A in the boardrooms of his various businesses, but confidence deserted him in the bedroom. Tori had set her mind to making the sweet, shy man feel like King Kong between the sheets. She’d succeeded. To the point that he’d suffered a stroke and died before their first wedding anniversary.

That had been the only one of her three marriages to end involuntarily. She’d been sad for weeks following his death because she’d actually been fond of Mr. Shirah. That’s why she’d kept his name when she had two others to choose from in addition to her maiden name. Besides, she liked the sound of it. Tori Shirah. It had an exotic ring to it that suited her style and flamboyant personality.

Her other reason for remembering him fondly was that his legacy to her had financed the construction of her sleek and sexy fitness center, the first and only of its kind anywhere near Tambour.

As she drove, she punched in Honor’s cell phone number. It went straight to voice mail. Cursing a red light she sped through, she scrolled her contact list to see if she had a number for Stan Gillette. She did. She called it. Same thing. Straight to voice mail.

She whipped around a school bus that was hauling kids to day camp, and a block later reached the driveway of her condo. She brought the Vette to a screeching halt and within seconds was inside her house. She dropped her purse onto the floor of her entryway, stepped over it, and went down the hallway, pulling her workout top over her head as she went.

She flung the top onto her bed as a voice behind her said, “Are they as firm as they used to be?”

“What the—” She spun around. Leering at her from behind her bedroom door was Doral Hawkins. “What the hell? You scared the shit out of me, Doral!”

“That was the plan.”

“You always were an asshole.” Indifferent to her bare chest, she placed her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”

“I called your club. The bimbo who answered the phone told me you’d just left. I was only a coupla blocks away.”

“You couldn’t have waited for me outside like a normal person?”

“I could have, but the scenery is better in here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Again… what are you doing here? You know about Fred, right?”

“I found his body.”

“Oh. That’s awful.”

“Tell me.”

“Sorry.”

“Thanks.”

She was becoming so exasperated, she wanted to shake him. “Maybe I’m dense, Doral, but I still don’t get why you’re here when your brother’s just been murdered. Seems to me like you’d have other things to do besides ogling my tits.”

“I have some questions to put to Honor.”

“Honor?”

“Honor?” he repeated, mimicking her. Dropping the amicable pose, he advanced on her, took her face between his hands, and mashed her features together until they were distorted. “Unless you want that Botoxed face of yours squashed like a ripe persimmon, you’d better tell me now where Honor’s at.”

Tori didn’t frighten easily, but she wasn’t a fool either.

She was well acquainted with Doral Hawkins’s reputation. Since losing his charter fishing boat to Katrina, he had no visible means of support, beyond the small stipend the city paid him. Yet he lived very well. She had nothing on which to base her suspicion that Doral was participating in something illegal, but she wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that he was.

He and Fred had been perpetual troublemakers in grade and middle school, bullying fellow students and faculty alike. By high school they were committing petty crimes: stealing hubcaps, knocking out the stadium lights with their deer rifles, terrorizing kids who didn’t kowtow. Had it not been for Stan Gillette reining them in, they’d probably have gone off the deep end. Some said his influence had saved them from certain incarceration.

To their credit, they had been very good to Honor after Eddie was killed. But rumors had circulated that, despite Stan’s intervention and influence, the pair hadn’t been altogether converted to the straight and narrow, and that Fred’s becoming a police officer had only served to legalize their bullying.

Tori hadn’t had an occasion to test the gossip about their propensity for meanness because she rarely crossed paths with them. When they were in school, she had gone out with Doral a few times. He had grown mean and nasty when she’d stopped him at second base and wouldn’t let him go any further. He’d called her a cunt, and she’d fired back that even cunts had standards. He had disliked her ever since.

Now he looked mean and dangerous, and he was hurting her. She’d had enough experience with men to know that showing fear was as good as inviting more abuse. She’d been down that rocky road with husband number one. She’d be damned if she’d go down it again. Even with a cretinous thug like Doral, the best defense was an offense.

She shoved her knee into his crotch.

He yelped, dropped his hands from her face to cup his genitals, and hopped backward out of harm’s way.

“Don’t touch me again, Doral.” She grabbed the workout top she’d discarded moments before and pulled it on over her head. “You’re ugly, and you’re stupid, and what makes you think I know where Honor is?”

“I’m not fucking around, Tori.” He pulled a handgun from a holster at the small of his back.

“Oh no, a gun!” she said in a high falsetto. “Is this the point where I’m supposed to faint? Plead for mercy? Put that thing away before you hurt somebody, namely me.”

“I want to know where Honor is.”

“Well join the freakin’ club!” she shouted. “Everybody wants to know where she is. It appears she’s been taken hostage by a killer.” She could coax tears from her eyes whenever it was convenient to do so, but the ones that flowed now were for real. “I heard about it on TV and came straight here from the club.”

“What for?”

“To get ready in case—”

“In case of what?”

“In case of anything.”

“You expect to hear from her.” He made it sound like an accusation.

“No. I hope I do, but from what they say about this Coburn guy, I fear the worst.”

“Like he’ll do away with her and Emily.”

“Jeez, you’re a genius.”

He didn’t address the insult. “Has she talked to you recently about Eddie?”

“Of course. She talks about him all the time.”

“Yeah, but I mean, has she told you something about Eddie? Something important. Did she share a secret about him?”

She tilted her head to one side and peered into his eyes. “Are you still smoking dope?”

He lurched toward her threateningly. “Cut the crap, Tori. Has she?”

“No!” she exclaimed, giving his chest a shove. “What are you talking about? I don’t know anything about a secret. What kind of secret?”

He studied her for a moment, as though trying to spot signs of deception, then muttered, “Never mind.”

“No, not never mind. Why’d you come here? What are you after? The same guy who shot your brother took Honor and Emily. Why aren’t you out looking for them?”

“I’m not sure he took them.”

That stunned her. “What do you mean?”

He bent closer still. “You and Honor are like this.” He held his hand within an inch of her nose and crossed his middle finger over his index. “If she knew this guy—”

“You mean Coburn?”

“Yes, Coburn. Lee Coburn. Did she know him?”

“Where would Honor have met a freight dock worker turned mass murderer?”

He stared at her for a moment longer, then spun away and left the room, sliding the pistol back into the holster at the small of his back as he lumbered down the hall.