She glanced at her watch for what she knew was the dozenth time in the space of as many minutes. Why hadn’t Billie called? She had hoped her friend would unearth something quickly.

She called the other woman’s cell phone, left a message, then began to pace.

“I’ve figured it out,” Alice said suddenly.

Stacy stopped pacing and looked at her. Alice sat at the kitchen table, a pen in her hands, staring at what appeared to be doodles she’d made on her napkin. “Figured out what?”

“What the White Rabbit’s up to.” She motioned to the napkin. “Wonderland is a maze, fashioned in a sort of spiral.”

Stacy crossed to her and saw that her doodles were actually a sort of diagram. “Go on,” she said.

“I was playing the game, working my way through Wonderland. Each victim has been a step closer to the epicenter of Wonderland. The Queen and King of Hearts. “ She paused. “Mom and Dad. And me.”

Stacy was amazed at the girl’s calm. “But you’ve already gotten to the Queen. If she’s at the epicenter-”

“The Rabbit left me an opening. I jumped the gothic forest and got to her. I disabled her and vaulted back because the forest was a dead end. No road to the King.”

“What about the Cheshire Cat? The e-mail indicated she was making her move.”

“It makes perfect sense. The Cheshire Cat is a shape-shifter. And a ferocious fighter.”

“With long claws and sharp teeth.”

She nodded. “I put myself in Dad’s former partner’s head. If it’s him, he wants revenge. He wants to punish Dad. And Mom. And what better way to do so than by using the game Dad stole as a means to kill him?”

“Stole? That’s not the way I heard it went down.”

“I’m in his head. Trying to think like him. He’s angry. Resentful. His life went nowhere. Dad’s a huge success.”

“So he’s not crazy,” Stacy murmured. “Just wants to look like he is.”

“Not crazy,” Leo said from behind them. “He’s brilliant.”

“Dad!” Alice cried, running toward him. “Are you okay?”

He took her in his arms and hugged her tightly. “Fine, Pumpkin.”

But he wasn’t, Stacy thought. He looked as if he had aged ten years in the past ten hours. The lines around his eyes and mouth appeared more deeply etched than before, the light in his eyes seemed to have been extinguished.

The detectives had put him through his paces.

“How’d it go?” she asked quietly.

“I’m home.” His simple answer spoke volumes.

Alice curled her hand around his. “Are you hungry?”

When he shook his head, she pursed her lips. “I’m making you a sandwich. Or there’s some of Mrs. Maitlin’s chicken gumbo left.”

“Sandwich.”

She didn’t ask what kind. Stacy watched as she fixed her dad a big peanut butter, honey and banana sandwich. She also poured him a glass of milk.

Watching the two interact brought a lump to her throat. It was an oddly sweet dynamic, the child caring for the parent. For all her adolescent bluster, Alice adored her father.

Alice looked at Stacy. “Dad and I used to eat these every Saturday morning for breakfast.”

“While we watched cartoons.” He took a bite, then washed it down with milk.

“Roadrunner was his favorite.”

“Because of Wile E. Coyote,” he said.

“What was your favorite?” Stacy asked the teenager.

“I don’t remember. Maybe the same.” Her eyes became glassy with tears. “Any news about Mom?”

“Not that they told me.” He set the remainder of the sandwich on the plate. “I’m sure they’re looking, Alice.”

Bright color spotted her cheeks. “No, they’re not! They’re wasting time questioning you.”

Stacy had to agree. She kept her mouth shut.

“They asked lots of questions,” he murmured. “About my relationship with Kay. Our financial agreement, my recent licensing deals. What I did last night.”

“The search turn up anything?”

“Of course not.”

“Sometimes nothing looks like something. It happens, Leo.”

He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze moving to a point somewhere behind her.

She narrowed her eyes slightly. Was there something he didn’t want to say?

He looked at her then, giving his head the smallest of shakes. As if to say “Not now, not here.”

She understood. Besides, he and his daughter needed some time alone.

And she needed to talk to Malone. She intended to convince him she was right.

She excused herself, grabbed her purse and car keys and headed outside. As she climbed into her car, she called Malone from her cell.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Home.” He sounded as tired as Leo had looked.

“Where’s home?”

“Why?”

“We need to talk.”

For a long moment he was silent. “I’m talked out, Killian.”

“Alice told me more about the game.” A tiny exaggeration, but one she could live with. “And my short-term memory’s not so great.”

He rattled off his address and hung up.

CHAPTER 51

Friday, March 18, 2005

10:30 p.m.

Stacy made Malone’s Irish Channel address in no time at all. He lived in an in-the-process-of-being-renovated Creole cottage, which made her wonder if he was doing the work himself. And if he was, when he found the time.

The front door opened just before she knocked. Malone leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest. His soft, worn T-shirt pulled across his shoulders.

“Going to ask me in?”

“Do I have to?”

“Asshole.”

He laughed and stepped aside.

She entered his house and he shut the door behind her. He’d been eating a pizza, she saw. Out of the box. In front of the TV. ESPN.

Typical guy.

“Beer?” he asked.

“Thanks.”

He got one for both of them, handed her hers, then turned off the television. Facing her, he asked, “The kid had information?”

“Insight, really.”

He cocked an eyebrow; she suspected he was onto her already-that she was not here with information, but to plead her case. Again.

She set the stage, anyway, explaining how Alice had described Wonderland being a spiral and about the King and Queen being at its epicenter. “Each death brought the killer, through Alice, a step closer to them.”

“So?”

“So, it makes sense that Danson-”

“The ex-partner thing again?”

“What can I say, I’m a one-note song.”

“Right.” One corner of his mouth lifted in wry amusement. “Shoot.”

“Alice is playing the game, but none of the deaths has been by chance. The drawings you recovered from Pogo’s studio prove that all the deaths are predestined. The White Rabbit is executing his very well-thought-out plan in an effort to terrorize.”

“Or create a smoke screen.”

She ignored that. “Obviously, to be able to control the game the way he has required someone with superior knowledge of the game. A master player.”

He opened his mouth to comment; she stopped him. “He also has to be someone who had no hesitation about involving Alice in murder.”

“And her father wouldn’t?”

“Think about it, Spencer. A father involving his daughter in the murder not just of others, but of her mother, as well. That’d make him-”

“A monster?”

“Yes.”

“If not a monster, how do you describe someone who’s willing to kill for nothing more than financial gain? Where do you draw the line?”

“Hear me out. Danson’s the game’s co-inventor. He and Leo parted acrimoniously. Leo went on to wealth and celebrity and Danson-”

“Killed himself.”

“Or not. He’s brilliant. He concocts a plan to punish Leo-”

“You’re beautiful when you’re determined.”

“Don’t try to distract me.”

“Why not? It worked.”

She made a sound of frustration.

“You always have to be right, Killian? You always have to be in the driver’s seat?”

“Don’t make this personal.”

He set his beer bottle on the kitchen counter. “All right, the facts. Leo’s also co-inventor. He’s the one who received the first messages from the White Rabbit. He had personal knowledge of each of the victims. He’s the one with the most to gain from Kay’s death.”