Just for moment I let myself rest against him. This is good-bye, I thought. This will be the end of it. I don't blame him.

Closing my eyes, I was enfolded by comforting sensations: Jack's sun-warmed scent, the brush of soft body hair, the hard pound of his heart beneath my ear. His heart was fast; I'd scared the hell out of him. I panted into his chest while Jack's hands smoothed up and down my back, familiar and reassuring. «Everything's okay now,» he said. I had a feeling he was talking to himself.

I felt abjectly grateful to him for holding me – for the protection his arms offered. I needed that now, needed that reassurance, that anchor to reality – even if the safety of Jack's arms was more of a dream than reality. I held tight to him, but I must have drifted off because I was startled to hear someone speaking overhead. The voice was fuzzy, loud. Jack answered quietly, «Chill out, Wallace. We're fine. We're going inside in a minute.»

I pried my eyes open. We were sitting on the grass in the courtyard. I was plastered against Jack. Our landlord, Mr. Wallace, stood over us, an expression of extreme distaste on his face. I pulled away, got to my knees, and couldn't seem to figure out what to do next. Jack rose, taking me by the arms and drawing me the rest of the way to my feet. Mr. Wallace stepped back as though fearing contamination.

«This kind of thing can't go on,» Mr. Wallace said. «There are other residents to consider.»

What the hell was he talking about? What did he think was going on? I didn't have the energy to figure it out then. «I have to sleep,» I said woozily, leaning back into the arm Jack offered.

He helped me across the courtyard, opening my apartment door and letting us inside the air-conditioned dimness. «I have to lie down,» I told Jack.

«I know.» He guided me down the hall to the bedroom, everything just as we'd left it little more than an hour earlier, bedclothes still tumbled into a ball. I folded onto the side of the mattress, vaguely aware of Jack moving around, shaking out the sheets. His silence seemed ominous.

«It's the stress,» I muttered. I rubbed my head tiredly. «I'm taking my meds. I'm doing everything right. It just happens sometimes…» I flinched at the snap of linen, avoided looking at him as he moved around the foot of the bed.

Tears started in my eyes. Hell. Not that. I wiped my eyes on the back of my arm, and stretched out in the cool sheets. I wanted to say something, apologize, but what was there left to say? Instead I stretched out in the cool sheets, let my weighted lids drop shut. They flew open again as I felt Jack tugging at my clammy swim trunks. I couldn't see him through the blur of tears.

«Lift up, Tim,» he ordered, and I obediently raised enough for him to peel them off me.

His touch was impersonal, nonerotic. I couldn't read his face at all, but I didn't need to. I closed my eyes again. Felt him packing pillows around me. Did he think I was going to roll off the bed? It didn't matter. The nest of pillows was comfortable, and I turned on my side, putting an arm around one fat spongy pillow, snuggling into it. I felt the top sheet come floating down over me. * * * * *

When I opened my eyes again it was dark outside. The bedroom light was on and Jack stood over me, frowning.

I blinked up at him, then rose up on my elbows, mumbling, «What time is it? Did I oversleep…?»

«Relax,» he said. «I just wanted to make sure you were okay before I left for work.»

«You've been here the whole time?» At the horror in my voice, his grim mouth relaxed into a lopsided grin. «Pretty much. I want you to lock up after I go.» He was dressed for work in jeans, blazer, and one of those immaculate white shirts. Did police detectives work at night?

I sat up, started to push back the sheet, and realized I was naked. Somehow I no longer felt comfortable trotting around nude in front of Jack. «Thanks,» I said awkwardly. «I'll do that.» He hesitated. Then he bent and kissed me, his mouth cool and minty fresh. «I'll see you tomorrow. We…should talk.»

I couldn't wait. Another chat where Jack explained why he didn't want to get serious and why we should probably lay off for a while. I nodded. «You sure you're okay?» «I'm great,» I snapped.

«Good,» he returned equally curt, and turned away. I grabbed my bathrobe as I followed him into the hall.

Jack let himself out without another word, without so much as a glance my way, and I locked the door after him. * * * * *

I opened a can of soup for dinner, and spent a quiet, dispirited evening watching TV and flipping idly through the Life magazine I'd picked up the day before.

I was drifting off to the sounds of canned laughter when the phone rang, shocking me back to awareness. I dug the phone out from under the sofa, answered, and was surprised to find Stephen Ball finally returning my phone call. And sounding none too pleased – or sober – about it.

«I just had a couple of follow-up questions,» I said after apologizing for disturbing Mr. Hollywood after a hard day of golfing and drinking.

«How much more can there be to say about this?» Ball demanded. «It happened half a century ago. I can't understand why you're stirring this up.» «Two questions and I'll be out of your hair,» I promised. «Like what?» «Do you know how The Lovers card on Eva's body got there?»

«What the hell are you accusing me of?» he roared. «You know goddamned well how that card got there. Her killer –«

I interrupted, «If her killer was Will Burack, how did he get hold of a card from Roman Mayfield's tarot deck? No one saw him at the party that night and Mayfield left the cards with his cloak and hat and gloves in the bar at the Garden of Allah. Someone would have seen him in the bar.» Silence. Ball said, «Maybe it wasn't one of Mayfield's cards.»

«It was. Mayfield identified it. The card was missing from his own deck. I think Eva must have had the card with her, but by all accounts Eva didn't have a reading that night. So either she stole the card out of the pack when it was left in the bar or someone else –«

«All right!» he flared. «I filched the card during my reading. Roman never noticed, pompous prick that he was. I slipped the card with my key to Eva when we danced that night. It was just…nonsense. Just romantic nonsense.» He paused and I could hear him breathing noisily down the line. «She was so beautiful that night. So…desirable. I wanted her and she wanted me.»

Another piece of the puzzle snapped into place. The killer had not brought the card with him, but the card had meant something to the killer. Or…at least the image and words «The Lovers» had meant something to the killer.

«One last question,» I said. «Can you recall whether the card was upright or reversed?» «What the hell are you talking about?» «Was the picture on the card upside down or right side up?»

«How the hell would I…» I could hear the connection crackling emptily. He said a little unsteadily, «Upside down, I think. I can't be sure…but…I seem to remember upside down.»

«Upside down.» I felt a surge of energy. «And it looked like it had been placed on her body deliberately, you said.» «That's right. Why would it matter?» Ball asked.

«Maybe it doesn't. But in a reading the meaning of the card can be changed depending on whether the card is reversed or upright. It wasn't clear in the crime scene photos, and it was never mentioned in the report. In fact, according to all the reports, it was pinned to her dress.» «Maybe they didn't want to talk about her breasts.» «I'm sorry?»

«The top of her dress – the bodice – was ripped and you could see her breasts. Maybe they didn't want to talk about that. The papers weren't like they are today. They still had some standards, some morals.»

«Uh…right,» I said. Ball went on talking, but I'd stopped listening. It was sinking in on me that I might have accidentally stumbled on the first real break in a fifty-year-old murder case.