One Fifth Avenue

“I don’t like to do that, ma’am.”

“Do it!” Mindy snapped. “I’m the head of the board.”

Maria backed away in fright, and while she scurried up the stairs, Mindy strolled into the apartment. It had changed drastically since she’d snooped around at Christmas, and no longer bore any resemblance to a hotel. Although Mindy knew nothing about decorating, being one of those people who became un

aware of an environment after five minutes, even she could appreciate the beauty of what Annalisa had done. The floor in the second foyer was now lapis lazuli, and in the center was a round table inlaid with marble on which sat a huge spray of pink apple blossoms. For a moment, Mindy waited in the second foyer, but when she didn’t hear any noise from upstairs, she went into the living room. Here was a series of inviting couches and divans done in soft blue and yellow velvets, and an enormous silk rug with a swirly design in delicious oranges, pinks, creams, and blues.

Annalisa Rice was certainly taking her time getting up, Mindy thought in annoyance, and sat down on a plush couch. It was stuffed with down, and Mindy sank into the cushions. Striped silk curtains hanging from the French windows pooled elegantly on the floor, and scattered around the room were little tables and more flower arrangements. Mindy sighed. If only she’d known James’s book would be a success, she scolded herself. Then she might have had this room for herself.

Upstairs, Maria was knocking on Annalisa’s bedroom door. Annalisa rubbed her forehead, wishing Maria would go away, but the knocks were growing more insistent. Resigned, she got out of the four-poster bed. She’d been hoping to finally get some rest—since Sandy Brewer’s arrest, she’d hardly slept at all. Billy was sure to be arrested as well, but after her conversation with him, he hadn’t taken her calls. Annalisa had gone by his apartment at least five times, but he wouldn’t answer his buzzer. Even Connie wasn’t talking to her—or to anyone, for that matter. “I don’t know who my friends are anymore,” Connie had said. “Someone ratted us out. For all I know, it might have been you. Or Paul.”

“Connie, don’t be ridiculous. Neither Paul nor I have any interest in hurting you or Sandy. Of course you’re scared. But I’m not your enemy.” Her entreaties made no difference, and Connie hung up, telling her not to bother to call again, as their lawyer had forbidden them to talk to anyone. Paul was the only one who seemed mysteriously unaffected—or rather, Annalisa corrected, positively affected. He’d become less brooding and secretive and had finally agreed to allow the apartment to be photographed for the cover of Architectural Digest. The only snag was that she’d need to get permission from the building for the photography equipment to be brought up in the service elevator.

Putting on a pair of velvet slippers and a heavy silk robe, she opened her bedroom door. “There’s a lady downstairs,” Maria said, looking over her shoulder nervously.

“Who?” Annalisa said.

“That lady. From the building.”

“Enid Merle?”

“The other one. The mean one.”

“Ah, Mindy Gooch.” What did Mindy want now? She probably had some fresh complaint about Paul. Which was nervy of her, considering Paul believed Sam had cut the wires. Annalisa herself was skeptical. “A thirteen-year-old boy getting the better of you, Paul?” she’d scoffed. “I don’t think so.” Now she said to Maria, “Make some coffee, please. And put out a few of those nice croissants.”

“Yes, missus,” Maria said.

Annalisa took her time brushing her teeth and carefully cleansing her face. She put on a flowing white blouse and a pair of navy blue slacks and slipped the yellow diamond ring from Paul onto her middle right finger. She went downstairs and was irritated to find Mindy sitting comfortably in the living room, examining a Victorian silver card case. “Hello,” Annalisa said formally. “Maria is serving coffee in the breakfast room. Come with me, please.”

Mindy stood up, replacing the object on the side table. Well!, she thought, following Annalisa through the apartment. Annalisa had certainly become grand, but that was typical of people with money—eventually, they always believed they were better than everyone else. Motioning for Mindy to sit, Annalisa poured coffee into two china cups with enameled rims. “Sugar?” she asked. “Or are you a sugar-substitute girl?”

“Sugar,” Mindy muttered, frowning. She picked up the tiny silver spoon and shoveled several spoonfuls into her coffee. “You’ve done a lot of work in here. The apartment is beautiful,” she said reluctantly.

“Thank you,” Annalisa said. “It’s going to be photographed for the cover of Architectural Digest. They’ll need to use the service elevator. I’ll let the super know the date beforehand.” She looked Mindy in the eye. “I’m assuming I can count on you not to make any trouble.”

“I guess it’s fine,” Mindy said, unable to come up with a reasonable objection.

Annalisa nodded and took a sip of her coffee. “Now, what can I do for you?” she asked.

“So you haven’t heard,” Mindy said. She narrowed her eyes in anticipation of delivering her blow. “Billy Litchfield is dead.”

Annalisa’s hand froze, but then she calmly took another sip of coffee. She dabbed her lips with a small linen napkin. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “What happened?”

“No one knows. Schiffer Diamond found him dead in his apartment last night.” Mindy glanced at Annalisa, surprised by her lack of reaction. There were bluish shadows under her eyes, but the slate-gray irises were staring back coldly, almost challengingly, Mindy thought. “There are photographers outside,” she said. “It’s common knowledge that you and Billy were good friends. And you’re always in the society columns. So you might want to lie low for a few days.”

“Thank you,” Annalisa said. She put her cup back onto the saucer. “Anything else?” she asked.

“I guess not,” Mindy said, suddenly not having the nerve to bring up Paul’s attack on her that morning, or the fact that Mindy wanted them out of the building.

“Well, then,” Annalisa said, standing up. The interview was clearly over, and Mindy was forced to stand as well. At the door, she turned back, once again wanting to bring up Paul and his behavior, but Annalisa’s face was impassive.

“About Paul,” Mindy began.

“Not today,” Annalisa said. “Nor any other day as well. Thank you for coming by.” And she firmly closed the door. Outside in the small hallway, Mindy heard her turn the lock.

When Mindy had gone, Annalisa rushed upstairs and grabbed her BlackBerry. She was about to call Paul when she saw his text. So he knew already. Going back downstairs, she went into the living room and sank into an armchair. She had an urgent desire to call someone—anyone—to lament Billy’s death, but she realized there was no one to whom she might speak. All the people she knew in this world were Billy and Connie’s friends and were relative strangers. Billy had been more than a best friend, though. He’d been her guide and adviser; he’d made this world entertaining and fun. Without him, she didn’t know what she was going to do. What was the point of all this now? She slumped forward, putting her head in her hands.

Maria came into the room. “Mrs. Rice?” she asked.