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  “The Coreys,” Amy said. “Clea hired them yesterday to paint the house. You gotta see ‘em. They look like Laurel and Hardy in high school.”

  “No,” Rachel said. “The Coreys are already out there. This is some new guy who pulled up in a black Porsche just as I came in. I didn’t see him—”

  Sophie’s heart sank. “Zane.”

  “Oh, no,” Amy said.

  “Zane Black, the anchor guy?” Rachel said. “Cool.”

  “You have a lot to learn, Rachel,” Sophie said and headed for the front porch.

  Sophie thought she’d seen all she’d needed to of Zane Black when she’d filmed his wedding to Clea, but now, as he came toward the porch across the sun-baked yard, a newscaster’s smile pasted on his lips in spite of the fact that Clea was glowering behind him, she was struck by how much he looked like Frank. He was better-looking and not as smarmy, but the resemblance was still strong. “I’m starting to see a pattern here,” she murmured to Amy, who said, “Yeah, add in Davy and Rob and you’ve got a four-pack of dark-haired guys you can’t trust.”

  “Stephanie!” Zane said.

  “Sophie,” Sophie said.

  “Right, right, Sophie.” He came up the steps and took a deep breath. “Nothing like country air.”

  “That’s dead fish,” Amy said. “We haven’t had much rain lately and the river’s low,” but Zane had already lost interest, staring past her, his smile widening.

  “And who have we here?”

  Sophie turned. Rachel stood inside the screen door, looking like a blonde cupcake. “Oh. This is Rachel, our production assistant.”

  Rachel’s tentative smile for Zane spread all over her face when she heard her title. “Hello, Mr. Black,” she said, but her smile was for Sophie.

  “Call me Zane, everybody does,” Zane said.

  “Not everybody,” Amy said under her breath. “Some of us call you ‘dickhead.’ ”

  They followed Zane and Clea in, as Clea said, “I told you not to come.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Zane said. “You’re my wife.”

  “You should have thought of that before you took my money and slept with the weather girl,” Clea said, and went into the kitchen.

  “Weather girl?” Amy said.

  Zane followed Clea, a stiff smile pasted on his face.

  “Okay, we should go out onto the front porch now and let diem have this argument in private,” Sophie said to Amy and Rachel.

  Out in the kitchen, Clea began to tell Zane what she thought of him. She had a nice turn of phrase and the delivery of an auctioneer.

  “Or not,” Sophie said, and the three of them sat on the couch and listened, the dog at their feet with his head cocked, too.

  About ten minutes into Clea’s list of Zane’s offenses which included theft, adultery, not waiting for Clea to come, preventing her from reestablishing her career, and not providing her with a warm, nurturing environment, Amy said, “This would be better if we had popcorn.”

  Five minutes later, as Zane was explaining that it was Clea’s fault that he’d cheated on her because she was cold and withholding which was not what he expected from his wife because he wanted a warm, nurturing environment, too, Sophie said, “This would be better if we had alcohol.”

  And shortly after that, at the height of the argument, when Zane told Clea that she’d never see her money again if she left him, Amy said, “The hell with the popcorn. Let’s get Sophie’s Mace and take the bastard out.”

  “My mom thinks he’s the coolest,” Rachel said. “Wait’ll I tell her about this.”

  Out in the kitchen, Zane was taking the righteously indignant route. “I can’t believe you thought I’d spend that money. Hell, I’m not that damn Dempsey guy you used to be with, I’m honest.”

  Sophie straightened on the couch, and Amy said, “Easy, girl.”

  “Yeah, well, I should have stayed with him,” Clea said. “He never took anything from me, and he took care of me, too. Only you said you could do it better, remember? And I was such a fool I went for it.”

  Amy said, “See? She’s sorry,” and Sophie relaxed.

  “I’ve taken care of you,” Zane said. “For God’s sake, Clea, you live in one of the biggest houses in Cincinnati.”

  “How is stealing my money keeping me safe?” Clea shrieked at him.

  “Not to mention the weather girl,” Amy said.

  “I didn’t steal it,” Zane said. “I told you, I’ve got it in an offshore account, and it’s going to stay there until I move it, so if you want it, you’re going to stay my wife.”

  “That’s it, isn’t it? You knew I was tired of your crap, so you hid the money so I couldn’t leave.”

  “You’re my wife—”

  “Well, it’s not going to work,” Clea said. “Because my lawyer is going to make you give it up. And I’m selling this farm, too, and Frank says—”

  “Oh, God, not Frank again,” Zane said. “Frank the Great. Frank the Wonderful. Get over high school, Clea, he’s not—”

  “He’s a developer here,” Clea said. “He bought land from my dad before, and he said he’d give me seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the rest of the land around the farmhouse. When I get back what you stole, I’ll have almost three million dollars, and when I send this tape to Leo—”

  “Leo? No wife of mine is going to work for Leo Kingsley.”

  “He seems to be missing something key here,” Sophie said, as Clea said, “Zane, I’m not your wife anymore. We’re over.”

  “Not unless you want to give me half of that three million,” Zane said, and this time there was a long silence from the kitchen.

  “You wouldn’t,” Clea said.

  “The hell I wouldn’t,” Zane said. “If you’d left me before you got the money, you’d sure as hell have taken half of my assets. Well, I get half of yours, too, sweetie.” When Clea didn’t say anything he went on. “Now, there’s nothing to be upset about, I have all the money safe in an offshore account. If we ever need it, it’s just a phone call away.”

  “Prove it,” Clea said. “I want to see a bank book or something. I want—”

  “What good is that going to do you?” Zane said. “God, you know nothing about finance. Trust me.”

  “Oh, please,” Amy said.

  “You need me, Clea,” Zane wheedled on. “You think you can take care of yourself? You never have. There’s always been somebody around to be your daddy. And I’m the best one of the bunch. You think Leo is going to take care of you? The only reason’s he’s even talking to you is because he wants to make Coming Clean Two. You want to do that?”

  Sophie frowned at Amy and said, “Coming Clean Two?”

  Amy shrugged.

  “No, I don’t want that,” Clea said. “But there are other projects I can do with Leo. Sophie’s written some great stuff and she’s going to write more. She—”

  “Sophie couldn’t write for Sesame Street

  , let alone Leo Kingsley,” Zane said, contempt dripping from his voice. “Hell, look at her, she’s about the least exciting woman we know. She’s so repressed, she’s sexless.”

  Sophie felt herself flush. “Definitely the Mace.”

  “Besides, I told you, my wife does not make movies for Leo Kingsley,” Zane was saying to Clea. “Now you go get packed. I’ll wait for you on the porch, and men we’ll go home together.”

  They heard Clea stomp up the kitchen stairs and then her bedroom door slammed.

  Zane came into the living room, looking mad as hell but triumphant. “Did you get all that?” he asked them, and Amy said, “Pretty much, but we have a few questions. About the weather girl, did—”

  “You can pack up your video shit,” he said. “My wife is not making this damn movie, she’s coming home with me.”

  “Oh, no,” Rachel said, and Sophie said, “We’ll just wait to get the good word from her.”

  Zane shook his head. “My wife does what I tell her to. Someday you’ll