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  As they climbed the stairs to the third-floor office, Regan’s mind kept jumping in three different directions. I must call Maura, she thought. She said she was going to be out doing some errands this morning, but I bet she’s home by now. I should see if she needs help with anything. I’d like to read over these articles about Dolly Twiggs, even though it doesn’t look like there’s much there. But I don’t want to leave Richie alone. Something told her trouble was brewing, and until the sale of the Fourth Quarter was settled, Regan had the uneasy feeling that he was not safe.

  Inside the agency, two models sat on a bench and both greeted Richie by name. Elaine Bass sat behind a large metal desk. Pictures of models posing, running and frolicking covered every wall of the small office. Elaine’s assistant, a young man named Scott, was stationed at a counter in the corner where he was sorting through pictures and answering phone calls. Bright sunlight streamed through the open windows.

  As introductions were made, Regan took in Elaine’s gruff yet appealing manner. She had a no-nonsense air about her that was necessary for her business. You couldn’t be ultrasensitive when you had to turn away countless hopefuls—hopefuls who just didn’t have the look that happened to be in style.

  “Richie, you’re doing great, honey,” Elaine said. “We’re really pleased about this commercial. And the client loves you.” She turned to Regan. “We had every guy over sixty in Miami trying out for this part. Your friend here beat them all hands down.”

  “A couple of the guys at the Fourth Quarter tried out too,” Richie said. “I was afraid to tell them I’d gotten the part.”

  “That’s show biz, baby,” Elaine said matter-of-factly. “Scott, get out Richie’s check. Now, Richie, both Willow and Annabelle here are coming over to your place today for the rehearsal.”

  The girls smiled at Richie.

  Elaine continued. “They can only stay for an hour. No overtime. Now that’s a laugh, they’re not even getting paid.” She turned to Regan. “I don’t know how he talked me into this.” She did not wait for a response. “My models usually get paid from the minute they set foot on a shoot.”

  “Richie’s got that way about him,” Regan laughed.

  “Yeah, right. Well, if he hadn’t given me a pair of these panty hose,”—Elaine pulled out her leg from behind the desk—“I wouldn’t have known how great they are. Listen, we’re ordering up some sandwiches. You two want to join us for lunch? There’s a photographer coming up in about an hour and I want him to take a look at you, Richie. I think you’d be right for a project he’s got going.”

  Regan looked at her watch. It was just about noon. “Richie, I’d like to go back to my hotel to make a few phone calls. How about if I come back and get you at about one-thirty?”

  “You don’t have to come back and get me, Regan,” Richie protested. “Don’t you want to go to the beach?”

  “She knows it’s not a good idea to sit in the hot sun at this time of day,” Elaine interjected. “I tell all my girls that. That doesn’t mean they always listen.”

  Regan laughed. “I’ve never been to a rehearsal for a fashion show before. I don’t want to miss it. I’ll come get you and we’ll head back to your place.”

  “Good enough,” Richie said. “Elaine, I’ll have a pastrami on rye . . .”

  BACK IN HER hotel room, Regan immediately turned on the air conditioner. It was definitely getting hot and muggy. She poured herself a glass of water, plopped down on the bed, and called Maura.

  “How’s it going?” Regan asked when Maura answered.

  “Well, I had a trial run this morning with a hairdresser to see what he’d do. I thought banana curls went out twenty years ago.”

  “I didn’t know they were ever in.”

  “I think I’m going to go out back and jump in the pool. John’s coming over in a little while and I don’t want him to see me looking like this. It’s not too late for him to back out.”

  “Maybe he has a fondness for banana curls,” Regan said. “They might remind him of a girl he had a crush on in the first grade.”

  “This is not the time to remind him of old girlfriends,” Maura said dryly. “How are things with you?”

  “I was with Richie this morning,” Regan said. “I was a little bit concerned about him.”

  “I don’t like what happened last night either,” Maura said. “And he’s so worried about losing that place. Your mother’s so nice to help him out with the cocktail party tomorrow.”

  “I have to call her to see how that’s going. I wanted to help Richie with his fashion-show rehearsal this afternoon if you didn’t need me for anything.”

  “That’d be great, Regan. I’d appreciate it if you stayed with Richie. We’ll all be getting together tonight, anyway. This afternoon I’ll be bringing my tresses to a new salon to see what style they dream up. Maybe I’ll end up with a Mohawk.”

  “Have them dye half of it purple,” Regan suggested.

  “To match my mother’s dress,” Maura replied. “Anyway, I’ll see you guys tonight at the Watergreen.” Maura paused. “Watch out for Richie.”

  “I will,” Regan said, trying to keep her tone light. When she hung up the phone, she felt uneasy as she opened the file on her bed. “And now for a look at Dolly Twiggs.”

  NEARLY AN HOUR had passed since Nora had sat down at the desk in her room and started writing out the envelopes with the names of the panty-hose executives who were being invited to the cocktail party. There wasn’t time for fancy invitations. Nora had drafted an invitation which Maria had offered to type up and run off on her computer. “I’ll even fool around with the graphics and see what I can do to make it look special,” she had said. As soon as they were ready, Maria was going to send them up to the room.

  Nora took a sip of the cranberry juice she’d taken from the minibar. It was nearly noon. As soon as I finish this last envelope, I wouldn’t mind having lunch by the pool, she thought. Behind her, the door opened and Nora whirled around. Luke smiled at her.

  “How did it go, dear?” Nora asked.

  “There was a little mixup with which room the coffins go in, but once we got that squared away, everything was fine. We’re all registered and now I’m free for a couple of hours.” He took off his jacket. “Have you had a relaxing morning?”

  “Relaxing, not really. Fruitful, yes. I’ve spent the whole time arranging Richie’s cocktail party. All the party rooms in the hotel were booked, so the manager offered to have it in his penthouse suite. He’s an awfully nice young fellow. Maybe Regan would like him . . .”

  “She’ll kill you,” Luke said matter-of-factly.

  “Oh, I know. It’s just that he’s being so nice and helpful. I really hope this party helps Richie out with the panty hose. It would be such a shame if Richie and his friends lost their place.”

  Luke nodded. “Stick to worthy causes like that. Not matchmaking, it never works.”

  “Are you forgetting, dear, that we met on a blind date?”

  “That was different. First of all, it wasn’t arranged by your mother . . .”

  The doorbell rang.

  Luke looked at Nora quizzically. “Did you order room service?”

  “Are you kidding? I want to go down and eat poolside if you don’t mind.”

  “I’ll be your date,” Luke said as he went over and opened the door.

  Nick Fargus stood in front of him with a stack of folded papers in his hand. “Are you Mr. Reilly?”

  “Yes, lam.”

  “Nick Fargus.” He shook Luke’s hand. “I’m the manager of the Watergreen and we’re just trying to help your wife arrange a little party for tomorrow.”

  “Come in, Nick,” Nora called.

  “I’ve got the invitations here. They’re all ready to

  go”

  “How sweet of you,” Nora said. “I just have to stuff them into the envelopes and stick them under the doors.”

  “Oh, no, we’ll take care of that,” Nick said firmly, assu
ming his captain’s tone. He handed Nora an invitation. “Does this look satisfactory to you?”

  Nora looked at it and smiled at the sketches of pantyhose-clad legs surrounding the border. “Luke, listen to this:

  “Don’t be kept in suspense any longer. Nora Regan Reilly invites you to join her for cocktails, hors d’oeuvres, and the unveiling of panty hose you could die for.

  Don’t hit a snag!

  Run to Penthouse A at three o’clock Saturday afternoon and you’ll never have to get a run in your stockings again.”

  Nora took off her reading glasses and looked up. “What do you think, Luke?”

  “I’d come.”

  “I appreciate your vote of confidence.”

  Nick laughed. “Well, I guess we’re all set, then. I’ll get these right out. Mr. Reilly, I know you’re here for the funeral convention. Has everything met with your satisfaction?”

  “Oh, sure. We had a little problem this morning with getting the coffins in and where they were to be displayed, but it’s all straightened out now. I guess there was a mixup with the rooms.”

  Nick laughed nervously. “Oh, yes, I got a call about that this morning. We almost ended up with mannequins in their panty hose in the same room as the coffins. Now that would have been interesting. If we had laid them down in the coffins, it would have given new meaning to the term ’good-looking stiff.’ ’’ Beads of sweat broke out on his brow. Oh, my God, Nick thought, I can’t believe I said that.

  Luke looked at him. “I suppose it would have.” “Well, I guess I’d better get going. We want to get these out.’’ Nora handed him the envelopes. Nick shook the invitations in the air and hurried out of the room.

  Luke looked at Nora incredulously. “So that’s what you’re looking for in a son-in-law?”

  Nora looked squeamish. “He means well.”

  Luke smiled. “Famous last words.” He stretched out his arms. “I’m going to get changed. Then let’s go downstairs, grab seats at the floating bar in the pool, and try one of the pina coladas this place is so famous for.”

  NADINE LAY SPRAWLED on the beach, covered head to toe with suntan lotion. This is great, she thought. But it’s getting a little hot.

  She got up from her towel and walked to the water’s edge where the surf lapped up against her feet as they sank in the sand. It wasn’t too cold, but Nadine, never one to endure unnecessary discomfort, didn’t like the slow torture of getting used to water that was any cooler than the air. Impulsively she ran and dived in, enjoying the sensation of spiraling underwater, being cut off from all sound except for the muffled hum you hear on those boring shows about marine life they film underwater.

  When Nadine surfaced, she threw back her hair and dived again in an attempt to catch a wave. She slowly rode it in and got up and dived again. Her hands hit the bottom, her fingers scraping the tiny shells and pebbles.

  “Damn it!” Nadine said and swallowed a gulp of water. She got on her feet and examined the damage. Three of her precious nails broken. “This gets me really aggravated,” she muttered as she walked out of the water and up to her towel. “It’s a gorgeous day and I gotta go get my nails done.”

  Nadine picked up her belongings and headed back to Joey’s house. She stopped at the faucet at the edge of the beach and got in line to rinse off her feet. While she stood there waiting for some kid who obviously felt he had to remove every grain of sand from his lower limbs, Nadine watched a model a few feet away posing for a photographer as an assistant held up a reflector. The model was wearing a winter coat. You’d have to pay me a lot of money to stand around and sweat, Nadine thought. And even more to put up with a photographer who sounds like he has PMS. What language was he barking at her in anyway? Swedish?

  Finally getting her turn, Nadine rinsed off and slipped on her sandals. Crossing the street, Nadine tried to figure where she should go for her nail repair. Maybe I’ll get in Joey’s car and go for a little ride, she thought. There has to be a mall around here somewhere.

  DISGUSTED, REGAN THREW down the papers on her bed. There was nothing in them that would help. Dolly Twiggs was a well-liked woman. She and her husband had bought the apartment building for a song forty years ago. When her husband died, Dolly took over the care of the place, but toward the end of her life she’d been anxious to sell it. She had no children. She was survived by her sister, Lucille Coyle, who also had no children.

  Her body had been discovered by a group of early risers who made a ritual of their morning swim. One of them, Sid Bernstein, was quoted as saying, “We were all shocked when we came down to the beach and saw her there. I just wish we could have caught the guy who did this. I had been to some of the socials at the Fourth Quarter. Dolly was a very giving person. She had told me that as soon as an apartment became available there, she’d get me in.”

  An unidentified woman had said, “This place has become a crazy combination of haves and have-nots. On the one hand you’ve got the people with all their money and glitz. And on the other you have the homeless and the transients who have nothing. You’ve got the drug-taking going on in the clubs and the whiskey-drinking in the alleys. And Dolly Twiggs, a decent, churchgoing woman who lived here for years before anybody even heard of this place, can’t even walk the beach. I wouldn’t put it past anybody I see around here to have done this.”

  Great, Regan thought. The entire population is suspect. If it weren’t for the fact we were almost run down last night, I could probably accept this as being another crime motivated by the desire for instant money. But something tells me there’s more to the story.

  Regan picked up her phone and dialed her parents. She let it ring four times before the operator came back on and asked if she’d like to leave a message.

  “Yes,” Regan said. “Tell them their daughter is calling and I’ll see them tonight.”

  “Your name?” the operator asked efficiently.

  I think they know it, Regan thought, but said,’ ’Nancy Drew.”

  “Thank you, Nancy. Have a good day.”

  “You too.” The second Regan hung up the phone, it started to ring. She picked it up.

  “Hello.”

  “Is this Regan Reilly?” the male voice at the other end said.

  “Yes, it is. Who is this?”

  “My name is Henry. I’m the waiter from the café where you nearly got run over last night.”

  “Oh, yes, hi.”

  “I thought you might be interested in knowing that I was over on Collins Avenue today. A tow-truck driver was hitching a car up that reminded me of the one that went by so fast last night. Well, I’ll admit it, I’m nosy, so I went over and asked him why he was taking it away.”

  “What did he say?” Regan asked quickly.

  “Are you ready for this?” Henry asked rhetorically.

  “I’m ready.” More than ready, she thought.

  “It was a stolen vehicle.”

  A SCREAM PIERCED the air in the Calla-Lily suite. “I can’t believe this! What did I tell you?” Ruth shouted.

  Ethel stood dutifully by her side as Ruth read the invitation from Nora Regan Reilly.

  “Now everybody will go to this cocktail party and take a closer look at the panty hose; won’t they, Ethel?’’

  Ethel shook her head mournfully for the umpteenth time that day, then asked hesitantly, “Well, if you go, would you mind getting her to sign a book for me?”

  “SHUT UP!” Ruth charged over to the desk and plunked down her purse. ’ ’Have we heard from the mule trek?”

  ’ ’No. But we did get some good news,’’ Ethel offered cheerfully. “Bradford Stempler the Third was sighted in the Canary Islands and is on his way back. They’re still trying to locate Preston Landers.”

  “I’m glad everybody else has time for vacations. I don’t suppose Irving has checked in.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Ruth picked up the phone and dialed the lab. After six rings, Irving finally answered.

  “Yes.”<
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  “What’s going on?” Ruth demanded.

  “Hello, Ruth.”

  “Is there anything new to tell me?”

  Irving sighed. “This stuff is like kryptonite. It just won’t destruct. These panty hose could bring down the whole industry. Just like computers have practically made typewriters obsolete—”

  “Don’t rub it in! How many more tests do you have to do?”

  “A few. I gave another pair to my mother-in-law this morning. She will be running all over town today and is also in a bad mood, so maybe she’ll manage to wear them down.”

  “Irving, we have got to get the patent on this.”

  “What about when the patent expires?”

  “That wouldn’t be for another seventeen years!”

  “What then, Ruth?” Irving asked mildly. “But I guess you won’t have to worry. By then you’ll be able to park yourself on that hammock in your backyard without feeling too guilty.”

  “Not so, Irving! Grandpa stayed involved right until the end and I intend to do the same. Right before this patent expires we’ll release these panty hose on the market. At least we’ll get a jump on everybody else. And hopefully by then the fashion industry will have deemed it stylish to wear panty hose in twenty-two different colors.”

  “In the next seventeen years I’m sure you’ll have figured out a way to make that happen. You always manage to keep in control, Ruthie.” Irving smiled at the other end of the phone. “Well, not always.”

  Ruth squirmed in her chair. “I’ve got to go. Keep me posted.” Ruth hung up the phone and called out, “Ethel, we have to hire more helicopters. We’re going to find that Davy Crockett Wannabe if it kills me!”

  NADINE GOT IN Joey’s car and flinched when her bare legs hit the burning-hot seat. ’’Let’s get some air-conditioning going here,” she mumbled as she started the car and flipped the temperature control to full blast. As even hotter air came spewing out, Nadine cupped her hands underneath her thighs to keep them from sticking to the vinyl interior. “Hurry up, cold air, hurry up.”