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  As he shaved, he noticed the dark circles under his eyes were clearing up a bit. Aware that he’d have the best luck tracking down Candy on the weekend, he’d gotten his first decent night’s sleep last night since Robert’s death.

  He dressed in black pants and a pale blue shirt, ran his hands through his thick chestnut brown hair, and left the apartment.

  It was time to find a killer.

  Matthew found the streets of Center City crowded as usual for Happy Hour on a Friday night. Men and women, young and not so young, headed up and down the main drag, some dressed to the nines, some casual. Everyone suddenly looked so carefree, headed out for a night of fun. Matthew had never been that carefree. Never.

  First stop, Chumley’s. Last Sunday, when Matthew had started his search for Candy, he’d started in Chumley’s. He’d thought it would be difficult to walk into the bar, the last place he’d seen his brother alive, the place his brother had been killed, the reason his brother had been killed. But it hadn’t been difficult. Instead, being inside the nightclub filled him with a sense of peace, a sense that Robert’s spirit, whether or not Matthew approved of that spirit, had been alive and well there for the last time.

  Matthew pulled open the door to Chumley’s and was greeted by a welcome blast of air-conditioning. The small nightclub was hopping. Men and women were three deep at the bar, and the small, round tables were nearly all filled. Two of the pool tables were in use, and a bunch of women and a few couples were dancing. Matthew ordered a club soda and looked around, slowly and carefully. His eye stopped at every blonde, but none was Candy. Once, he was sure he’d spotted her on the dance floor, but it wasn’t her.

  I’m going to find her, Robert. I promise you that. I promise Robbie that. I’ll find out who took you from us, Robert. And I’ll see justice done.

  Matthew headed over by the jukebox and stood in the same spot where he’d stood when he’d argued with Robert. He closed his eyes.

  “Like this song, huh?”

  Matthew felt a tap on his shoulder and opened his eyes to find an attractive brunette smiling up at him. She was swaying to the music.

  “Excuse me?” he asked over the blare of the jukebox.

  She giggled and shook her head. “So what’s a girl gotta do to get a good-looking guy like you to buy her a drink?”

  Matthew noticed the gold wedding ring on her left hand. “Why don’t you ask your husband that question?” he all but growled.

  She stared at him for a second and let out a giggle, then seemed to catch on that he was serious. “I get enough of a holier-than-thou attitude from my boss at work. I don’t need it at Happy Hour, you jerk.” And she turned around and stomped off.

  He was the jerk? Matthew shook his head and set his club soda atop the jukebox. He took another look around. Where are you tonight, Candy?

  The door opened, and a group of women came in. Candy wasn’t among them. He gave Chumley’s another fifteen minutes, then headed outside. Left or right? he asked himself. He hated the idea of going left only to think of Candy coming from the right. He went left and headed into LuLu’s Lounge, a popular nightspot with the twenty-something crowd. Just the kind of place his brother liked to prowl for young women. Matthew felt the familiar burning in his gut at the thought of Robert, married to a wonderful woman, father to a beautiful, healthy child, taking his good life for granted.

  Cheating.

  Just like their father.

  It never ceased to amaze Matthew that two brothers could be raised in the same house, by the same parents, under the same terrible circumstances, and grow up with such different personalities, different hearts. Matthew had vowed never to marry, and Robert had always been looking for the right woman to make his wife. Matthew had vowed never to cheat on a woman, no matter how casual their relationship—and all of Matthew’s relationships with women were casual—and Robert had been cheating on women since his first girlfriend at age thirteen. The Gray brothers were as different as night and day.

  Matthew sat down at the bar at LuLu’s and ordered a club soda and a plate of buffalo wings.

  “I love buffalo wings!” chirped the woman to his right.

  “Uh, I’d share, but I’m meeting someone,” he told the redhead, who smiled and nodded and turned back to her friends.

  Is it this easy to meet people? he wondered. Come to a bar, sit down, and voila, you’re in a conversation with a stranger, making a date. Suddenly it all seemed a little creepy. You had no idea who you were talking to. A married man. A married woman. A psychopath. A neurotic rage-a-holic. You thought you were having a pleasant conversation with someone you were attracted to, and two weeks later, you were wishing you’d never laid eyes on the person.

  Matthew met most of the women he dated through work. He didn’t date at the office, not since his mistake four years ago, but instead liked to take out female clients who he found attractive and who expressed an interest. Clients always kept up enough of a shell to protect the business relationship, and therefore, things never got too personal, never got messy. If a woman asked where the relationship was heading, Matthew would be honest and explain he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Usually, the woman would end things, but it wouldn’t hurt the business relationship, since he’d been honest from day one.

  Once, though, someone had fallen for him hard, and he’d ended up hurting her. Matthew had been through hell and back in his life, and breaking someone’s heart had been right up there with the worst of times.

  Yet his brother had risked breaking his own wife’s heart every day. How? How did you do that?

  As a plate of wings and blue cheese was served in front of him, Matthew put the past out of his mind and dug in to a hot, tangy piece of chicken. His seat at the side of the bar gave him a good view of the entire bar. No Candy.

  And she wasn’t at the next five bars he went into, either. By eight-forty-five Matthew had done the circuit twice. It was hardly time to give up; some people had only begun their Friday nights at this hour. But he couldn’t stand the thought of another club soda, another smoky bar, another disappointment.

  He breathed deeply of the warm, muggy June air and ran a hand through his hair. There were a few hotel bars he wanted to try over on River Boulevard. He slipped his hands into his pockets and headed down the crowded avenue. A long line was snaked out the door of an ice-cream parlor featuring fifty flavors. Fifty flavors. He chuckled. Robbie would eat only vanilla. It was Matthew’s favorite flavor, too. Maybe he’d stop back on his way home and pick up a pint and drop it over at Laurie’s as a goodbye gift—

  Matthew froze. Standing at the counter with a chocolate ice-cream cone in one hand and a five-dollar bill in the other was Candy.

  Chapter Three

  Matthew rushed inside the ice-cream parlor to a few jeers about his cutting in line.

  “Candy, right?” he said to the blonde.

  Her eyes widened for just a moment; then she lost all expression. “Excuse me?” she asked, pocketing her change.

  “Candy. It’s Candy, isn’t it? You were having a drink with my brother, Robert, in Chumley’s last Saturday night.”

  No expression. The blonde slowly took a napkin from the dispenser and glanced up at him. “I’m sorry, but you must have me confused with someone else.”

  Matthew put his hand on her forearm. “I know it’s you,” he said coldly. “I’d remember you anywhere.”

  With that long, bleached blond hair, the makeup, and that fake-innocent expression, he had no doubt that the woman standing before him in tight jeans and a cropped tank top with her navel exposed was the same woman he had seen with Robert last Saturday night.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but my name isn’t Candy, and I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  And then she darted out the door.

  He followed her and caught up with her on the street. She was walking very quickly. Staring straight ahead.

  “My brother is dead,” he said, enunciating every word
. “The man you were with that night is dead. You left, and then twenty minutes later, he was found stabbed to death in the parking lot.”

  She froze for just a second, then resumed her quick pace. She said nothing.

  “Lady, my brother is dead. I saw you with him.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and stopped her in her tracks. “Did you kill him? Your jealous husband or boyfriend maybe? Or maybe Robert saw you with some guy in the parking lot and he got angry and started a fight, and your boyfriend ended up killing him in self-defense. I just want to know what happened. Tell me what happened, dammit!”

  “Get your hands off me,” she hissed, darting a sharp glance at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  But he saw the fear in her eyes. She did know what he was talking about. “My only brother, the only relative I had left, is dead. And you were the last person to see him alive. Tell me what happened!”

  She kicked him so hard that he saw stars for a second. And in the one moment that his eyes were closed against the pain, she ran.

  Frantic, he spun around, trying to spot her. The streets were so crowded with cars and people that he couldn’t see straight down the block in any direction.

  He ran to the left and strained to see, then to the right.

  And just as the rain started coming down in buckets, he knew he’d lost her.

  Twist off cap of color developer. Puncture and pour contents into color cremé—

  The phone interrupted Mia again. Furious, she marched into the living room and snatched the cordless.

  “Norman, I’ve just about had it with—”

  “Mia, it’s me. Margot.”

  “Margot? Is something wrong? You sound—”

  “I didn’t do it, Mia. I swear I didn’t. I didn’t do anything wrong! I just wanted you to know that before—”

  Mia’s heart was beating a mile a minute. “Margot, slow down! What are you talking—”

  “Mia, I’ve got to go away for a little while. I’ll contact you when it’s safe. I just don’t want you to worry about me. Okay?”

  “Margot, I’m coming over right—”

  “I love you, Mia. Goodbye.”

  Click.

  Margot had hung up. Paralyzed, Mia listened to the phone buzz in her ear before punching in Margot’s number.

  “You’ve reached Margot at 555-3612. I can’t come to the phone right now, so please leave a message and I’ll return your call as soon as I can. Beep.”

  “Margot, pick up the phone. Margot! Please!”

  Nothing.

  “Please pick up, Margot. Please!”

  Nothing.

  Mia’s knees started to wobble, and she dropped down onto the sofa.

  I didn’t do it. I swear ... I have to go away for a while ...

  Didn’t do what? What didn’t she do?

  Get up, Mia. Get up and go after her. Maybe she’s still in her apartment, packing. If you hurry, maybe you can catch her.

  Mia shot up and grabbed her purse.

  The rain started coming down heavily just as Mia pulled off the exit for Center City and turned onto Bridge Avenue. She found a spot a few doors down from Margot’s apartment building. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she wrapped her arms around her, dashed into the lobby of the luxury high-rise, and headed for the elevator bank. She jabbed the up button five times.

  “You’ll break it!”

  Mia turned around to find an older woman holding a miniature dog.

  “Patience!” the woman snapped, scowling.

  Mia closed her eyes and prayed for the elevator to hurry up. Come on, come on!

  Finally, the elevator door opened, and Mia flew in and pressed the button for the seventeenth floor. The older woman pressed twelve. Mia groaned.

  When the doors finally slid open on seventeen, Mia ran down the hall to 17K and pounded on Margot’s door.

  Come on, Margot. Please be there. You’ve got to be there!

  No answer.

  Mia knocked even harder, tears welling up in her eyes.

  The apartment door to the right of Margot’s opened suddenly, and a woman holding a baby stepped out and glared at Mia. “Ah, I’m strangely glad you’re back, Margot. You left so fast earlier that I barely got my door unlocked before you were in the elevator, and I need to speak with you.” The woman’s expression was ice-cold. “I’ve had it with how loud you play your stereo at night. Twice I’ve asked you nicely to keep it down, and now I’m going to complain to management.”

  You left so fast earlier ... So she was gone. Mia’s heart sank.

  “Actually, I’m not Margot,” Mia told the woman. “I’m her twin sister, Mia—”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Just keep the music down, Margot. Or I’m going to petition to get you out of the building.” She stepped back into her apartment and slammed the door.

  Maybe she’s wrong about Margot leaving, Mia thought, frantically shoving the spare key Margot had reluctantly given her into the lock. Maybe Margot is still inside. Please still be inside, Margot. Please!

  The huge apartment was silent. Mia ran into the bedroom, into the bathroom, opened every closet. There was no sign of Margot. She searched for a note, for anything, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to indicate that Margot was in any kind of trouble or had left in a hurry. But clearly, she had.

  Mia checked the answering machine. Two messages. She pressed Play.

  One call was from Margot’s dry cleaner to let her know her clothes were ready. The other was from Mia.

  Shaking, she stood in the center of the apartment. She’d never felt so alone in her life. Never.

  She looked out the window. Seventeen stories up, people and cars looked miniscule. Am I safe in here? she wondered. Is someone after Margot? Someone who might have access to her apartment? Shivering, Mia wrapped her arms around herself. Is someone staring up at the window right now?

  Trembling, Mia ducked away from the window. There was one of those trendy coffee lounges across the street. Maybe she could go there and sit by the window, watch for Margot. She’d be able to see the door to the apartment building, and she’d be in a public place and safe.

  Taking a deep breath, Mia let herself out.

  Where the hell was Candy?

  Hiding, that was where. She was probably curled up on her sofa at home, laughing at the notion of Matthew wandering around in the rain, searching for a woman he’d never find.

  Exhausted and soaked to the bone, he finally stopped walking and ducked under the awning of a closed electronics store. He’d searched everywhere for Candy, looked in every bar, every store, every doorway, every alleyway, but he’d lost her. And now that she knew he was looking for her, she’d be that much harder to find.

  Damn. Damn. Damn.

  At least the rain was letting up. Maybe he’d better just head home and think strategically about how to find her. He’d built a company from scratch; he could find one bleached blond bimbo.

  As he walked toward his car, he noticed a coffee lounge was still open. That was what he needed: a tall cup of strong black coffee. Matthew headed inside and shivered from the blast of air-conditioning.

  But it wasn’t the cold air that made him freeze. It was the woman sitting at the long granite counter along the window, looking nervous and worried and every bit the lying murderer.

  Candy.

  Chapter Four

  “I want answers. Now.”

  Mia started. A man was staring at her. No, glaring at her.

  “Excuse me?” she asked him. Had he even been talking to her?

  Mia glanced around her; she was the only person sitting at the long, narrow bar in front of the expansive window. At least six or seven stools sat empty to her left; a wall was to her right. The man was clearly talking to her.

  “You kick me again,” he said, “and I’ll kick you back. Hard. Woman or not. Understood?”

  Mia stared at the man. Was he a psychopath? She glanced behind him at the two teenagers
behind the counter. Singing along to the loud alternative rock music blaring in the background as they prepared cappuccinos and lattes, the super-thin duo hardly looked capable to swat a fly, let alone hurl this six-feet-plus muscular lunatic out the door.

  “They’re not going to come to your rescue, Candy,” the man said, his dark blue eyes intense upon her. “And don’t even think about running again. This time, you won’t get away.”

  Mia grabbed her purse with one hand and shot up, but the man clamped a hand down on her forearm.

  “Take your hand off me this minute!” Mia shouted, panic setting in. Her heart was racing so fast she couldn’t quite catch her breath.

  “Hey, no lovers’ spats allowed in here,” trilled the male teenager from behind the counter. The boy shook his finger at them and grinned. His female coworker giggled; then they both went back to preparing coffee drinks.

  Mia was about to scream at them to help her, but the man tightened his grip on her arm and startled her.

  “Please,” he said, desperation in his voice. “I just want to know what happened last Saturday night. Please.”

  “I have no idea what—”

  Oh God, oh God, oh God. This had to have something to do with Margot.

  “Stop it with your lies, Candy,” he said. “I want the truth, now.”

  Candy. That was the second time he’d called her that. Maybe he was just some psycho and this had nothing to do with Margot.

  Her heart slowing a bit, Mia took a deep breath and looked the man square in the eye. “Look, I have no idea who you are or what you’re talking about. My name isn’t Candy.”

  “I didn’t think it was.”

  Huh? “Then why did you just call me that?”

  “Because that’s the phony name you gave Robert in Chumley’s Bar. A name as phony as the number you wrote down on that cocktail napkin.”