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playground, from high school musical to basketball court, from graduation to what was obviously a recent shot of the handsome young man with an attractive girl outside a building I recognized as part of NYU.
    â€œThat’s our son,” she said, in a breathy second soprano that had been sexy once upon a time.
    â€œWe thought you were pregnant,” Velda said with a tiny smile.
    Her light blue eyes jumped. “Really? You knew? Why, I was only a few months gone. Barely showing.”
    â€œYou just had that glow,” Velda said.
    Our hostess chuckled. “More like water retention. How do you maintain that lovely figure of yours, Miss Sterling? Or are you two married by now?”
    â€œNot married,” Velda said. “Not quite. Not yet.”
    â€œShe eats a lot of salad,” I said.
    That made Sheila Burrows wince, and Velda shot me a look. I’d been rude. Hadn’t meant to be, but some things come naturally.
    I said, “You probably never figured to see us again.”
    â€œThat’s true,” she said. She sipped her coffee. “But I wasn’t surprised to hear from you, not exactly.”
    Velda asked, “Why is that?”
    â€œWith Nicholas dying, I figured there would be some kind of follow-up. For a long time, there was a lawyer, a nice man named Simmons, who handled the financial arrangements. He would come by every six months and see how I was doing. And ask questions about our son.”
    I asked, “Any direct contact with Don Giraldi since you moved out here?”
    â€œNo. And, at first, I was surprised. I thought after Nick was born … our son is Nicholas, too … that we might, in some way, resume our relationship. Nicolas Giraldi was a very charming man, Mr. Hammer. Very suave. Very courtly. He was the love of my life.”
    â€œYou were only with him for, what? Five or six years?”
    â€œYes, but it was a wonderful time. We traveled together, even went to Europe once, and he practically lived with me during those years. I don’t believe he ever had relations with his wife after the early years of their marriage.”
    â€œThey had three daughters.”
    â€œYes,” she said, rather defensively, “but none after our Nick came along.”
    Funny that she so insistently referred to the son in that fashion—‘our Nick’—when the father had avoided any direct contact. And this once beautiful woman, so sexually desirable on and off the stage, had become a homemaker and mother—a suburban housewife. Without a husband.
    Velda said, “I can see why you thought Nicholas would come back to you, after your son’s birth. If he had really wanted you out of his life—for whatever reason—he wouldn’t have kept you so close to home.”
    â€œWilcox is a long way from Broadway,” she said rather wistfully.
    â€œBut it’s not the moon,” I said. “I had assumed the don felt you’d gotten too close to him—that you’d seen things that could be used against him.”
    Her eyes jumped again. “Oh, I would never—”
    â€œNot by you, but by others. Police. FBI. Business rivals. But it’s clear he wanted his son protected. So that the boy could not be used against him.”
    She was nodding. “That’s right. That’s what he told me, before he sent me away. He said our son would be in harm’s way, if anyone knew he existed. But that he would always look out for young Nick. That someday Nick would have a great future.”
    Velda said, “You said you had no direct contact with Nicholas. But would I be right in saying that you had … indirect contact?”
    The pretty face in the plump setting beamed. “Oh, yes. Maybe once a year, always in a different way. You see, our Nick is a very talented boy—talented young man now. He took part in so many school activities, both the arts and sports. And so brilliant;