Mary looked at the doctor in horror. “Passed out? Then how did she . . . ?”

“Get out alive?” Eric finished for her. “A bit of a mystery, I suppose. A man who has since chosen to remain anonymous pulled your daughter out of the fire. If not, she would undoubtedly have died in your sister’s study.”

“Can we see her?” James asked again.

“She’s napping right now. She should be awake in a few hours.”

“We’ll wait,” James said, taking his wife’s shaking hand into his own. “Are you okay, Mary?”

She nodded.

“I contacted Gloria,” James continued. “She and Stan are on their way up.”

Another nod.

James turned his attention back toward his fellow physician. “Do they know what caused the fire?”

“Not for sure,” Eric replied, “but they suspect arson.”

Dr. Eric Clarich watched as whatever little color had been left in their faces vanished with his words.

LATER that night, there was a soft knock on Laura’s door.

“Come in.”

The door swung open and a headful of blond hair peeked around the corner. “Hi.”

“Gloria!” Laura said as a smile jumped to her lips. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Another female voice came from behind the door. “What about little ol’ me?”

“Serita,” Laura chuckled. “How the hell did you two get here so fast?”

Gloria and Serita came in, the door closing behind them. They kissed Laura and sat on the corners of her bed. “You will never guess in a million years,” Serita replied.

“Huh?”

“Stan drove us,” Gloria explained.

“And, Laura, he was a perfect gentleman.”

“Where is he now?” Laura asked.

“Go on, Gloria. You tell her.”

“He left,” Gloria explained. “He told us that he said some really stupid things to you the other night and that he couldn’t face you yet.”

Laura looked puzzled. “He told you that?”

Both women nodded.

“And now he’s heading back to Boston?”

“That’s right, honey. Can you believe it? The guy played chauffeur for the last six hours and now he’s shlepping all the way back.”

“He was very drunk the other night, Laura,” Gloria added. “He really feels terrible about it.”

Laura did not know what to say. “Forget it.”

“So how you feeling, champ?” Serita asked.

“Not bad.”

Gloria wrung her hands. “I can’t believe this. Aunt Judy dead. It’s so horrible. Mom and Dad are in shock.”

“I know,” Laura said. “They were in here a little while ago.”

“Such a terrible accident,” Serita added.

“No accident.”

Laura’s sister and best friend stared at her. “What did you say?”

“It was no accident,” Laura repeated. “Aunt Judy was murdered.”

“Are you sure?” Serita asked.

“Arson. The house was doused with kerosene, and Judy had been knocked unconscious.”

“But who would do such a thing?”

Laura knew it was unsafe to involve anyone else in this, but her feelings of loneliness and despair made her reach out. She had to confide in someone. “You have to promise me you won’t say a word about this to anyone. Not one word. It could be a matter of life and death.”

“Not a word,” Serita replied while Gloria nodded her head in agreement.

“I don’t know who killed Aunt Judy, but take a look at this.”

Laura reached into her bag and pulled out the old black-and-white photograph. She handed it to Gloria, who looked at it and then passed it on to Serita.

“I don’t get it,” Gloria said. “It’s an old picture of Aunt Judy but who’s the guy?”

“Any guesses, Serita?”

“He looks familiar. . . .”

“Like David . . . or maybe Stan?”

“A little, I guess.”

“What are you getting at?” Gloria asked.

“The man in the photograph is Sinclair Baskin. Stan and David’s father.”

Gloria gasped. She remembered Stan’s words about his father’s death and she began to shake.

“I don’t get it,” Serita said. “What does this have to do with Judy’s death?”

“I don’t know yet. But take a look at them. This is no casual pose.”

“No,” Serita agreed, “they definitely seem fond of each other.”

“And take a look at that banner in the background. Brinlen College nineteen sixty. That’s where Sinclair Baskin taught. And nineteen sixty—that’s the year he died.”

Serita continued to stare at the picture. “I still don’t get it. So your aunt might have had an affair with David’s father before he died in nineteen sixty. What does that have to do with the fire today?”

“I haven’t figured out the connection yet, but I know one exists. I have to go to Chicago and find it.”

“Chicago? Why Chicago?”

“Brinlen College is in Chicago. My mother and Aunt Judy were raised there.”

Gloria finally spoke, her words coming from a fog. “We used to live there, Laura, before you were born.”

“I know. There has to be a connection somehow. There has to be a link between Judy’s murder and Sinclair Baskin’s suicide.”

Gloria nearly screamed. She put her hand in her mouth, her teeth biting down hard upon her tender skin. A small shriek made its way past her lips.

“What is it, Gloria? What’s the matter?”

Gloria took her hand away. She remembered what Stan had told her just a few nights ago, just after she had woken from her nightmare. Her eyes bounced about the room as though looking for a place to hide. “I . . . I can’t say.”

Laura sat up and grabbed her sister’s shoulders. “This is important, Gloria. Whoever killed Judy may have killed David, too.”

“Wha—Killed David? But he drowned.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Tell me what you know.”

“But I promised.”

“Promised who?”

“Stan. I promised him I wouldn’t say anything.”

“You have to tell me, Gloria. You could be in danger. Stan could be in danger.”

“I don’t know. . . .”