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  “Well, yes,” the Pillar said. “But that doesn’t—”

  Three: Make the mark feel superior. “Of course, you’re probably never confused.” Sophie smiled up at him, no mean trick since they were the same height. She widened her eyes. “I bet you always know where you’re going.”

  “Well, of course,” the Pillar said, relaxing now. “However—”

  “And now we’ve stopped you in the middle of all this heat,” Sophie went on, apology thick in her voice. She nodded to the Pillar’s trembling hands. “And we’ve upset you.” Four: Give the mark something. “We really should let you go on. Standing here waiting for the police isn’t going to do any of us any good.” She smiled again at the Pillar, who began to smile back, looking a little confused.

  “Well, that’s true,” he said. “It could be hours before Wes or Duane comes by.”

  Great. He knew the cops by their first names. Sophie kept her smile in place. Five: Get what you want and get out. “Amy, do you have the insurance information?”

  The Pillar looked past her to Amy, and his face darkened. “What is that?”

  Sophie turned around to see Amy checking the camera.

  “That’s a video camera,” the Pillar said, sputtering. “What are you doing?”

  “Making a movie, obviously.” Amy looked at him with patent scorn. “And I’m telling you, you better have insurance because this is a classic car and it’s not gonna be cheap to restore.”

  The Pillar flushed in fury, and Sophie thought, Oh, thanks, Ame. She moved to block Amy and sidetrack any debate over the classic status of an ‘86 Civic. “So we’ll just—”

  “This is outrageous.” The Pillar expanded as he blustered. “You ran a stop sign. My wife is very upset. What kind of movie are you making? You can’t do that here.”

  “Your wife?” Sophie abandoned the con for the time being and looked past him to see a faded-blonde woman leaning against the back fender of the other car, her chubby face a pasty white. “What are you doing over here if she looks like that?” Sophie turned her back on him and pointed her finger at Amy. “Do not talk to this man. Hand him the information, roll up that window, get the car off the road, and wait for me.”

  “Your lip’s bleeding,” Amy said, and handed her a Kleenex.

  Sophie took it and blotted her lip as she walked around the still-protesting Pillar and crossed the road. The poor woman had made her way to the Caddy’s passenger door, and Sophie bent to look in her eyes. “Are you hurt?”

  “Oh.” The woman seemed dazed, her pale blue eyes blinking up at Sophie in the sun as she plucked at the collar of her Pepto-Bismol pink suit, but her pupils looked all right. And there wasn’t a hair on her head out of place, although that might have been the hairspray.

  Sophie took her arm anyway. “You’d better sit down.” She opened the passenger door, and the woman got in obediently. “Put your head between your knees.” Sophie blotted her lip again. “Take some deep breaths.”

  The woman put her forehead on her plump knees, which she kept clamped together, and began to gasp.

  “Not that deep,” Sophie said, before she hyperventilated. “If you spread your knees apart, you can get your head lower.”

  “Virginia, what are you doing?”

  Virginia straightened with a jerk, and Sophie turned on the Pillar in exasperation. “She’s trying to get some blood back to her head.” If I was married to you, I’d keep my knees together, too. “Did my sister give you the insurance information?” she asked, and then saw the paper trembling in his hand. “Fine. I understand that you want to get your wife home, and that’s no problem for us.” He started to protest, and she added, “We’ll be at the Whipple farm until Sunday. After that we’ll be back in Cincinnati.”

  “Your insurance agent—” the Pillar began, but this time his wife interrupted him.

  “Are you friends of Clea Whipple’s?” Virginia said from the front seat, her color returning. “Is she home again? Oh, Stephen, did you hear that? We haven’t seen Clea for over twenty years. Except in the movies, of course.”

  Movie, Sophie wanted to say, since Clea had only made one, but the last thing she wanted was more conversation with the Pillars. She began to back away. “She’s home, but only until Sunday. Now, please, don’t let me keep you.”

  “Well, that’s so exciting.” Virginia trilled. “Is she still married to that handsome Zane Black? We watch him every night on the news.” Sophie turned to make her escape, and Virginia raised her voice to compensate. “You tell her Virginia Garvey said hi!”

  “They’ve got movie equipment,” Stephen bellowed.

  “And they’re filming on public land which is clearly illegal.”

  “A movie?” Virginia’s face lit up and her voice rose to a shout. “Oh, wait, tell me—”

  Sophie reached the other side of the road, pretending not to hear. Ahead of her, a torn and faded campaign poster fluttered on a tree: Tucker for Mayor: More of the Same.

  “Dear God, I hope not,” she said under her breath. She got in the car and maneuvered it back on the road while Stephen Garvey glared at her and Virginia fluttered her hand. The front fender scraped against the tire as she searched for the lane to the farm, touching her lip with the Kleenex to see if the bleeding had stopped.

  “What a butthead that guy was,” Amy said. “Are you all right?”

  “No.” Sophie looked for the Whipple mailbox. “I’ve got a smashed car, a moving violation, a sister who screws up my getaway, and a dead white male telling the whole damn town we’re making a movie.” She slowed as the bridge loomed ahead, and scowled over the steering wheel. “And we must have missed the turnoff for the farm because we’re almost in town now.”

  “No, there’s the mailbox.” Amy pointed with her broken sunglasses. “Turn left.”

  Sophie turned down the farm lane Clea had promised them was a good half-mile long. “This place gives me the creeps...” Her voice trailed off as the dusty yard of a dilapidated farmhouse came into view. “Didn’t Clea say the farmhouse was a long way off the road?”

  “Maybe they moved the road,” Amy said as they pulled up in front of the house. “It’s been twenty-four years since she’s been back.” She peered through the windshield at the farmhouse. “Understandably.”

  Sophie tried to be fair as she turned off the ignition. The paint was peeling in dingy white strips from the side of the clapboards, and the gutter hung loose across the front of the peaked roof, but the house wasn’t a complete loss. There was a wide front porch across the entire front with a swing. And there was ...

  Sophie looked around the dusty, barren yard. Nope, the porch was about it. “Great place to film. Yeah, we can trust Clea. I smell trouble.”

  Amy sniffed the air. “That’s dead fish. Must be the river.”

  She opened her car door as the screen door banged, and Clea Whipple came out onto her porch, her lush body straining at her bright blue sundress, her white-blonde hair almost incandescent in the sun. She shaded her cameo-perfect face with her hand and called, “You’re late.”

  “And hello to you, too,” Sophie said, and got out of the car to unload their supplies, starting with their cooler. It was full of Dempsey life essentials —lemonade and Dove Bars— and she was in need of immediate essential comfort.

  Amy went toward the house with the camera. “Isn’t this going to be wonderful?”

  Sophie looked at Clea, the most self-absorbed woman in the universe, staring blankly back at her from the derelict front porch. “Oh, yeah,” she said as she hauled the cooler out of the car.

  Nothing but good times ahead.

  Eight miles up the road, in Temptation’s marble-and-sandstone courthouse, Mayor Phineas T. Tucker wondered not for the first time why he was cursed with a council made up of a blowhard, a doormat, a high-school English teacher, the town coroner, an amateur actor, and his mother. The combination was depressing to contemplate even with the blowhard and the doormat missing, so while Hildy Mall