“So…Declan and I are meeting for dinner tonight at Trib’s,” Leslie told Cherry. “I think things might work out after all.”

They were in her aunt’s upper-level yoga studio and the last class had just ended. Cherry was straightening foam blocks, arranging rolled-up yoga mats, and closing the blinds. The place smelled faintly of lavender, and a soft breeze scuttled the wind chimes that hung just inside an open window. The strains of flute-heavy music filtered through the air at just the right volume.

“Thank God. I just don’t think we need another sexually frustrated woman in this town,” Cherry said. “On a happier note, I just found out that William Reckless—yes, that’s his real name—is going to be at the reunion tomorrow.”

“You mean the guy who went to Tibet for a year to live with the monks? And this is good news…how?”

“He was there for five years—I think he even climbed one of the big mountains there—then he spent four years in the Amazon jungle working for the Peace Corps. And some other places. He’s back in the States to stay…believe it or not, he just bought a house in Grand Rapids.” Her eyes were gleaming with delight, and maybe even a little bit of lust. “He’s not married. Did I mention that? And he’s definitely straight…so…Grand Rapids is just far enough away that he won’t be all up in my business every day. But close enough for a booty call whenever I need one.”

Leslie laughed. “Go for it, auntie. I don’t think William Reckless will know what hit him.”

“Oh, I think he will. Didn’t I mention…he was the guy who popped my cherry—no pun intended—way back in the day.”

“Are your cheeks pink, Aunt Cherry?” Leslie hooted. “You’re really excited about this guy, aren’t you?”

“Well…let’s just say…I wouldn’t mind if things went full circle. He was the one who got away—and spoiled me for everyone who came after him.”

Leslie softened. “I hope it works out for you, Aunt Cherry. You deserve to find someone who’s just right for you.”

“And so do you, Les. Ever since I found out Declan was a blacksmith, I just knew you two were meant for each other too. So…keep the peace. He’s a wonderful man, a great father, and an honest, hardworking businessman. You couldn’t ask for anything more.”

Leslie nodded, but she had a lump in her throat. Despite their conversation this morning, she wasn’t certain what sort of future they had. After all, she hadn’t been a completely honest person herself. And there’d been times when she was ruthless and cutthroat in her own business dealings in the past. What would a man like Declan want with someone like her?

Well. The only way to find out was to have dinner and see what happened.

When she left Cherry’s studio, it was only quarter past six, so Leslie had plenty of time to walk the four blocks to Gilda’s Goodies to check on the dinner jacket. As she’d feared, the shop wasn’t open—only belatedly did she remember that Gilda told her she closed at six on Saturdays during the off-season.

However, Gilda mentioned she often stayed late to work in the back, so Leslie walked to the end of the block then into the alley that led to the backside of the shops. It was nearly dark by now, but she was able to figure out which was the back door to Gilda’s. A light was on inside, so she knocked—and the door opened under the gentle force.

“Hello? Gilda? It’s Leslie Nakano,” she called, stepping inside. Everything was quiet and still. The hallway was lit with a dim light, and there was a more vibrant stripe of illumination under the door at the end of the hall.

But no one seemed to be around.

For some reason, Leslie’s palms became damp and her pulse kicked up a bit. Maybe it was because of all the talk of murder, and the fact that a man had drugged her last night.

For whatever reason, Leslie felt that strange eeriness settle over her as she poked her head around the corner, looking down the short hall leading toward Gilda’s storage room. No lights down there. The silence was heavy, which made her skin prickle. But the light was on, the door had been open—maybe Gilda was expecting someone and she’d just stepped into the restroom, or out front in the shop, or—

“Leslie?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin and spun around. “Good grief, Regina, you scared the heck out of me. I was looking for Gilda.”

“She should be back there. I was coming to see her myself.” Regina looked mildly concerned. She was also dressed more casually than Leslie had ever seen her: in jeans and a simple twin sweater set. “Gilda?”

Just then, a door closed somewhere and there was the sound of rushing footsteps. “Oh, thank God you’re here, Reggie. I’ve got it all figured— Leslie? What are— I mean, hello. Sorry, I—I’m a little distracted.”

“I think we all are,” Leslie said, suddenly feeling very awkward for a reason she couldn’t quite identify. Her instincts were pinging wildly. “Especially after what happened to Marcus Levin.”

“I know,” Regina said in a low voice. “It was just awful, wasn’t it? And at the high school too, with his head bashed in.” She shuddered.

“Well, what can I do for you, Leslie?” asked Gilda in a businesslike tone as she gestured them into her office. “Come on in.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I was just in the area and I thought I’d stop by and see if you had any news on the dinner jacket.” Leslie wanted nothing more than to leave, for she got the distinct impression that she was interrupting something between Gilda and Regina.

And then, all of a sudden it hit her.

Could they be lovers? It was… It made sense really, when you looked at all the signs. Gilda had hit on Cherry, so clearly she was a lesbian. And hadn’t Regina said something the other day? No, it was Cherry who’d said it: “You’d have to be a straight man or a gay woman not to be interested in Declan Zyler.”

She’d been joking, of course, but later…Regina once made a comment about how Declan didn’t “do” anything for her. Not that those facts were conclusive, but once Leslie thought about them and noticed the way Regina and Gilda looked and acted around each other…everything sort of clicked into place.

Gilda had even called Regina “my politically correct mayor’s wife” last week…but most importantly, it was the sort of awareness or sizzle that flowed between them that sold Leslie on the idea. Their connection was very evident if you were paying attention.

She started, realizing Gilda had been answering her question and she hadn’t heard a word she said. Something about needing another week—that’s right, because she’d been sick. Agitated and still feeling awkward, Leslie turned sharply, ready to leave, and the roomy handbag over her shoulder knocked over a small pencil cup.

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” she said, feeling even more foolish now. She scrabbled on the floor as Regina and Gilda spoke in low voices—probably wishing their unwanted visitor would get the hell out of there—and picked up all the pencils to put them back in the jar.

But just as she reached for the last one, Leslie saw something on the floor, right by the corner of the desk leg.

It was round and made from brass, about the size of a pea. Confused and shocked, she picked it up and stood slowly, looking at it in the full office light as the dawn of realization rushed over her.

It was a button…from the long white glove that had belonged to Kristen van Gerste.

Leslie looked up just in time to realize Regina and Gilda were staring at her…no, they were staring at the button she was holding.

“Well, dammit,” said Regina, moving swiftly toward Leslie before she could move. “That’s going to really fuck things up now.”