“For Alice?”

“For all of us, but Alice most of all.” He smiled then, a kind of loopy, boy-next-door grin. “Now you know all about our dysfunctional little troupe. Still willing to join up?”

She searched his expression, once again wondering if he was for real. How did a man achieve what he had without being ruthless? Without both withholding and exploiting information?

She leaned toward him, all business. “Here’s the deal, Leo. Anonymous letters like the ones you’ve received are almost always sent by someone within the circle of the recipient.”

“My circle? I don’t-”

She cut him off. “Yes, your circle. They’re sent in an effort to terrorize.”

“And what’s the point if they’re not close enough to witness that terror. Right?”

Smart man. “Right. The more frightened you are, the better.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. She noticed they were a light hazel. “So screw ’em. I’m not scared, they give up. Like the school bully who doesn’t get the reaction he’s looking for.”

“Maybe. If your note writer is typical of others of his ilk. They send notes and letters because they like to watch. They don’t want to get too close.”

“At heart they’re yellow.”

“Yes. Too afraid to fully confront their anger or hatred with a direct confrontation. So they’re a minimal threat.”

“That’s the typical. What’s the atypical?”

She looked away, thinking of her sister, Jane. Her terrorizer had been as atypical as they come. He’d had every step carefully planned, each bringing him closer to killing her. She returned her gaze to his. “Sometimes the letters or calls are simply foreplay for the main event.” At his blank expression, she leaned slightly forward. “They get close enough to touch, Leo.”

He sat silently a moment, as if digesting that. For the first time he looked shaken. “I’m so grateful you agreed to help-”

Stacy held up a hand, stopping him. “First things first. I’m not accepting this job to help you. I’m doing it for Cassie, on the off chance her murder and your postcards are related. Second, you understand that I’m in graduate school. My studies come first. They have to. Do you have a problem with either of those conditions?”

“Absolutely not. Where do we begin?”

“I begin by integrating into the household. Getting to know everyone. Earning their trust.”

“You think he’s there.”

“He or she,” she corrected. “It’s a possibility. A strong one.”

He nodded slowly. “If you want to earn everyone’s trust, we have to create a nonthreatening reason for you to be hanging around.”

“Any ideas?”

“Technical expertise. For a new novel. Starring a homicide detective with a major urban force.”

“Works for me.” She smiled slightly. “Are you really writing a novel?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“I expect you want your ex-wife and daughter informed of the real reason I’m around.”

“Kay, yes. Alice, no. I don’t want to frighten her.”

“Fine.” Stacy finished her coffee. “When do I start?”

He smiled. “Now’s good for me. How about you?”

Being a proactive kind of person, Stacy agreed. Leo jumped to his feet, eager to get home. As she followed him out of the coffee shop, she glanced at Billie to find the the woman watching her.

Something in her friend’s expression caused her steps to falter.

Leo glanced back. “Stacy? Something wrong?”

She shook off the sensation and smiled. “Nothing. Lead the way.”

CHAPTER 18

Tuesday, March 8, 2005

1:00 p.m.

After two days hanging around the Noble mansion, Stacy had a clear understanding of why Leo had used the word troupe to describe the mansion’s inhabitants-life in the house was like a three-ring circus, with people coming and going, all day long. Personal trainers, manicurists, delivery people, lawyers, business associates.

She had advised Leo to treat her the same as he would any new employee. She’d learned that meant a sort of sink-or-swim introduction to the household. He had given her an office that adjoined his, and she had spent a lot of the time wandering around, trying to look busy. As she ran across people, she’d introduced herself.

People’s responses to her had varied from cool, to curious, to friendly. In the three days she’d met everyone but Alice, which she found most interesting.

Especially since she had met the girl’s tutor, Clark Dunbar. He was quiet, in the way some intellectuals were, but seemed to her to always be watching and listening. Like a cat who’s seen but not heard.

Mrs. Maitlin avoided her. When their paths did cross, she acted jumpy. She looked everywhere but directly at Stacy. Even though Stacy had apologized for tricking the woman and claimed Leo had asked her to play the part, she suspected the woman knew she was here for a reason other than technical expertise. She only hoped she kept her suspicions to herself.

Troy, Leo’s driver and guy Friday had been the friendliest of the lot-but also the nosiest. She wondered at his questions-was he simply curious or did he have darker motivations?

Barry had proved the quietest. As groundskeeper and pool man, he had plenty of opportunity to chat with people coming or going, but he never did. Instead, he kept to himself-although he seemed to see everything that went on.

Stacy glanced at her watch and collected her things. She’d attended her 8:00 a.m. class but needed to get back out to UNO to make her two-thirty medieval lit.

“Hello.”

Stacy turned. A teenage girl stood in the doorway to Leo’s office. She was small and slender, with her mother’s coloring and exotic features but her father’s wild, wavy hair.

Alice . Finally.

“Hi,” she said, smiling at the girl. “I’m Stacy.”

The girl looked bored. “I know. You’re the cop.”

“Former cop,” Stacy corrected. “I’m helping your dad with technical stuff.”

Alice arched an eyebrow and sauntered into the office. “Stuff,” she repeated. “Now that’s technical.”

This was no ordinary sixteen-year-old. She would do well to remember that. “I’m his technical adviser,” she corrected. “On all things associated with law enforcement.”

“And crime?”

“Yes, of course.”

“A crime expert. Interesting.”

Stacy ignored the gibe. “Some think so.”

“Dad’s been all over me to stop down here and introduce myself. You know who I am, right?”

“Alice Noble. Named for the most famous Alice.”

“The White Rabbit’s Alice.”

“That’s an odd way to put it. I would have said Lewis Carroll’s character.”

“But you’re not me.”

The girl crossed to the bookshelves that lined the walls. She picked up a framed photo of her and her parents. She gazed at it a moment, then glanced back at Stacy. “I’m smarter than them both,” she said. “Did Dad tell you that?”

“Yes. He’s very proud of you.”

“Only. 4 percent of people have an IQ of 140 and above. Mine’s 170. Only one in seven hundred thousand have an IQ that high.”

Her father wasn’t the only one who was proud. “You’re a very bright young woman.”

“Yes, I am.” She frowned. “I thought we should talk. Set the ground rules.”

Intrigued, Stacy set down her book bag and thought of her class, conscious of time passing. “Shoot.”

“I don’t care why you’re working for Dad. Just stay out of my way.”

“Have I done something to offend you?”

“Not at all. Dad has all sorts of hangers-on, and I’m not interested in getting to know any of them.”

“Hangers-on?”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Dad’s rich. And charismatic. People flock to him. Some are starstruck. Some are sincere. The rest are merely leeches.”

Stacy folded her arms across her chest, intrigued. “What about me? I accepted a job from him, does that constitute flocking?”