“Quite a get-together,’’ Mama said.

“No Mr. or Mrs. Mayor, though. I expected to see them.’’

She stepped around me, her eyes searching the dark parking lot. “Maybe they’re still on their way.’’

I glanced at my watch: Three-twenty-five.

“I think everybody’s here. I’m going a little closer. They might talk about Kenny, or the murder. I want to be able to see, or at least hear, what’s going on inside.’’

From what I’d seen so far, Camilla’s murder seemed to be the last thing on the party guests’ minds.

“Are you sure you want to do that, Mace?’’ Mama grabbed my wrist.

“Don’t you want to find out what they do?’’ I asked.

“I can guess,’’ she said. “I know where all the parts go.’’

After a bit of arguing, I finally left Mama hiding in the cart barn. I crept to the apartment, trying to skirt the light shining from the windows. Stealthily, I mounted the steps to the porch. I stopped in my tracks when the bottom stair creaked behind me. A ripple of fear rolled down my spine. My breath caught in my throat. Slowly, I turned …

… and saw Mama, her hands over her mouth and her eyes as wide as saucers. “Sorry,’’ she whispered through her fingers. “I changed my mind.’’

The creak may have given me a scare, but I doubted if anyone inside heard it. The music was loud, and so was the chatter. A male voice boomed, “Take it off!’’ Shrill, girlish laughter followed.

I pulled Mama onto the porch. Holding tight to her elbow, I propelled her to the darkest corner. We both inched along the side of the wall to a spot by a window. I pointed at my eye, then at the window, motioning her to look inside. At the same time, we both peeked through the glass from our respective corners. Mama gasped. I may have, too.

The two girls from the mayor’s office were naked from the waist up, writhing in an erotic embrace. The silver-haired fox from the Porsche was the male filling in the middle of their female sandwich. Mrs. Silver-Hair watched from a couch, fiddling with what looked like metal clamps on her bare breasts.

One of the suits tossed off his tie. He’d just begun to unbutton his dress shirt when I felt something jab into my lower back. “Stop it, Mama.’’

“Stop what?’’

I felt the pressure again, more insistent this time.

“No sense in standing outside looking in. Why don’t you and your mum come in and join the party?’’

The voice was clipped and ice-cold. The accent was English.

forty-nine

Prudence Law glared at Mama and me. She repeatedly slapped the palm of her hand with what looked like a horse-riding crop. She was dressed in a getup very similar to what her murdered sister wore when we found her body at the dump: leather bustier with laces and studs, black stiletto heels, and fishnet hose. Instead of the spiky dog collar, though, Prudence wore a severely symmetrical wig, in neon blue. Black fur handcuffs hung from one of the many silver buckles on her bustier.

It looked like the conservative dark suit and the white blouse with the Peter Pan collar had been moth-balled for the evening.

“Well?’’ She traced the swell of my breasts with the tip of her leather crop. “Are you interested in coming inside?’’

She lowered the crop, stroking at my groin. “You can take the meaning of that verb either way you want.’’

“Not tonight.’’ I stepped back, crossing my arms over my private parts to block the crop. “Not ever.’’

“Not so fast, honey.’’ Mama took a quick peek through the window. “I’m not saying you should go inside, but that tall one with the gold watch is kind of cute. Just keep him in mind as a Plan B man if you and Carlos don’t get back together.’’

“Sure. He’s a developer and a sexual deviant. We sound like a match made in heaven.’’ I folded both arms over my chest and looked at Prudence. “I’m not interested in your little party or my mother’s notion of Mr. Plan B.’’

She raised an eyebrow at Mama. “What about you? Interested?’’

Mama smoothed her hair. “I don’t need to get my kicks with this kind of thing. My husband, Sal, is very satisfying in the sex department, thank you very much. I’ve always loved a man who isn’t afraid to—”

“—I think we’ve got enough information, Mama.’’ I turned to Prudence. “Nice outfit. Did you find that in your sister’s closet?’’

A flicker of sadness crossed her face. Tears welled in her darkly shadowed, heavily made-up eyes. I felt like I’d just kicked a kitten. A dominatrix kitten, but still.

“Sorry. I’m just surprised to see you here. I thought you told us at dinner that dangerous sex was Camilla’s deal, not yours.’’

An image of Prudence making herself at home so quickly in Camilla’s house flashed into my mind. I suddenly knew what had been nagging at me. “In fact, you seem to act a lot like Camilla. You know a lot about her, too, considering you were so estranged.’’

She and Mama looked equally perplexed.

“What are you driving at?’’ Prudence said.

“You told me you’d never been to Camilla’s house, yet you knew exactly where to look for her booze. That hidden bottle opener, too.’’

“Our parents always kept their liquor on the top closet shelf. It seemed likely Camilla would, too. As for the other, my sister and I lived together when we were younger. I constantly misplaced the bottle opener until she thought of putting it out-of-the-way, on the wall side of the fridge.’’

As I stared at her, something about her costume tugged at my brain. Exactly what remained just out of reach. I gestured at her sexy garb, and asked a general question instead. “What about those clothes, and being here tonight? You were very clear Camilla was the one with dark tastes.’’

Mama nodded. “Mace is right. When you came to dinner, you said you disapproved. ‘For such a clever girl, Camilla could be quite stupid.’ That’s what you said about your sister.’’

Now, both of us stared at Prudence. She wouldn’t meet our eyes. Her head was down, and that bright blue wig cloaked her face. She traced a figure eight against her thigh with the leather crop.

Suddenly, I had an epiphany. “Did you want to be Camilla, the golden-girl sister?’’ Mama gasped as I blurted out the question. “You’re going to live in her house. You’ve asked for her job at the library. Did you kill your sister to take over her life?”

Prudence’s head snapped up. “So I’m the evil twin? You can’t be serious.’’

The incredulous look on her face and her derisive tone made me feel less sure of my theory than I’d felt a moment before. Mama’s sharp pinch didn’t help my confidence, either.

“I think you’ve internalized a plot from some insipid show on your American telly.’’

A long sigh escaped Prudence’s lips. They were colored blood-red, and outlined in an even darker shade. “The truth is my sister’s murder has reminded me of thoughts—desires—I thought I had extinguished.”

Quietly, she knuckled away tears. They left streaks of ultra-black mascara under her eyes. We waited for her to continue. Not even Mama uttered a word.

“Camilla and I did things like this regularly when we were young. We dressed alike.’’ She waved the crop up and down, indicating her leather garb. “We role-played. Sometimes I was the dominant one; sometimes she was. Sometimes, we both were. We liked that best. Being subjugated by identical twins excited men … us, too, to be honest.’’

“I’ve always heard English men have a thing for being spanked. Is that true?’’ Mama asked.

“Where in the world did you hear that?’’ I said.

“Around,’’ she answered, with unsatisfying vagueness.

“It is true,’’ Prudence said, “but it’s not just English men.’’

Mama’s eyes got wide. “Well, who else—”

I cut her off before she could begin inquiring into the sexual practices of all the member states of the United Nations. “How can you party with these people?’’ I asked Prudence. “One of them might have killed your sister.’’