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corner of the small sports car. Then she began cleaning away the years of dust and salt spray, airing the mattresses and cushions, and polishing the interior woodwork.  
    Dirty and sweaty and physically exhausted, she returned the key to the crusty marina operator. Yet the laborious job had been cathartic, leaving her with an oddly refreshed feeling. Lately all her energy had been expended mentally. The hard work felt good even if her muscles would be stiff and sore tomorrow.  
    She was humming to herself as the white Porsche rounded the corner onto the street where she lived with her mother-in-law. Ahead was the Chandler home, an imposing brick structure that towered two and a half stories into the air. It was set back from the road by a formal lawn dotted with perfectly shaped trees and well-cut shrubs and a scattering of flower beds. The many windows and double entrance doors were a pristine shade of ivory. At the sight of the half dozen cars parked around the cul-de-sac of the driveway, Dina frowned and slowed the car, forced to park it some distance from the entrance.  
    There wasn't any dinner party she had forgotten, was there, she wondered to herself. The cars resembled those belonging to close family friends. One, the silver gray Cadillac, was Chet's. She glanced at her watch. He had said he would stop around seven for a drink before taking her out to dinner. It was barely five o'clock.  
    Her mouth formed a disgruntled line. She had hoped to soak in a tubful of scented bubbles for an hour, but obviously that luxury was going to be denied her. And why hadn't Mother Chandler mentioned she would be entertaining this evening? It wasn't like her.  
    Puzzled, Dina raised the convertible top of her sports car and rolled up the windows. This was not the time to transport all the items from the car into the house, so she climbed out of the car, her handbag slung over her shoulder, and locked the doors.  
    Happy voices were talking all over each other from the living room as she entered the house. The double doors of carved oak leading into the room were closed, concealing the owners of the voices. The foyer, with its richly grained oak woodwork complementing pale yellow walls, was empty. The wide staircase rising to the second floor beckoned, its gold carpeted treads like sunlight showing her the path, the carved oak balustrade catching the reflected color. She hesitated, then decided to go for a quick wash and change while her return was still unnoticed.  
    Only it wasn't unnoticed. As she started to cross the foyer for the stairs leading to the second floor and her bedroom, one of the double doors was surreptitiously opened. Her eyes widened as Chet slipped out, his handsome features strained and tense.  
    “Where have you been?” There was a hint of desperation in his voice.  
    If it weren't for the joyful tone of the voices in the other room, Dina might have guessed that some catastrophe had befallen them, judging by Chet's expression.  
    “At the marina,” she answered.  
    “The marina?” he repeated in disbelief. Again there was that strangled tightness in his voice. “My God, I've been calling all over trying to find you. I never even considered the marina. What were you doing there, for heaven's sake?”  
    “The Sarfish— the boat has been leased. I was getting it cleaned up.” The explanation was made while Dina tried to think what crisis could have arisen that Chet would have so urgently needed to contact her about.  
    “Of all the times—”  
    Dina broke in sharply. “What's going on?” His attitude was too confusing when she couldn't fathom the reason for it.  
    “Look, there's something I have to tell you.” Chet moistened his lips nervously, his gray blue gaze darting over her face as if trying to judge something from her expression. “But I don't know how to say it.”  
    “What is it?” she demanded impatiently. His tension was becoming contagious.  
    He took her by the