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him the keys and they retreated from the noise and crazi

ness of the city into a cool, modern space with exposed beams and an L.A. aesthetic. A very nouveau-Nashville restaurant.

Nashville had gotten schizophrenic over the past de

cades. The reputation as Little Atlanta was well de

served—while the country music scene still ran the show, there were many more avenues for pleasure. The stu

taurants and sophisticated bars had opened to provide succor to the cultivated set. Taylor liked these places; they were a retreat, a way to get away from her sometimes mundane world.

They ate well—pan-seared grouper for Taylor, osso buco for Baldwin—and shared a bottle of Shiraz. Sated, they leaned back in the chairs and talked in low voices about the case.

“I’m worried sick for Jane Macias.” Taylor toyed with her wineglass, the ruby liquid swirling gently in the bowl as she twisted the stem between her fingers. “I hate this, Baldwin. I don’t want to find her like we did the others. Did I tell you Giselle St. Claire’s grandparents called me today? They were so…sweet. Complimented Marcus’s interview of them, how we’re working the case. Here they are, overwhelmed with grief because their granddaughter is dead, and they are calling to provide support and let us know they’re praying for us. Don’t get that too often.”

“Were you able to track Giselle’s last moves?”

“It’s turning into a nightmare. Marcus has hit a dead end. Giselle and her grandparents were skiing in Gatlin

burg. They had di

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done a full day, were tired and went to bed as soon as they got home. Last time they saw Giselle, she was in their living room, reading a book. It wasn’t until they got up the next morning and went to get her for breakfast that they realized she was gone. We found her before they knew she was missing. Pattern is just the same as with the other girls. They disappear out of completely normal settings, no one misses them until it’s too late. At least maybe with Jane we’ve got a chance. If we just knew where to look.”

“That’s always the issue, Taylor. Have you heard from Giselle’s mother yet?”

“She’s doing a movie in Poland, can’t get back until tomorrow. With the media swarm, she’s going to make our lives difficult. God forbid someone get between a camera and Remy St. Claire. But we can handle her. There’s some

thing else that’s bugging me. This damn signet ring. Why would that piece in particular be missing from the evidence room?”

“It could just be lost. It’s been known to happen,”

Baldwin said. He reached for the decanter, poured them each a splash more wine.

“I know. But something about it is itching at me. You’re go

“Tell me what? Let me guess. Your dad had a signet ring.”

She eyed him, u

“Your dad had a signet ring? I was just guessing.”

“No, it wasn’t him. I think he wore some sort of ring when I was little, but it was a class ring. He lost it, I remember that. He was furious. No, let me explain. Bear with me, okay?”

“Okay.” Baldwin sat back in his chair.

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“I keep having this…vision, I guess you could call it. From when I was really little. We’d just moved into the big house—”

“Taylor, that wasn’t a big house. That was a fucking palace.”

“Oh, don’t exaggerate.”

“Honey, you had a staff that lived in the house.”

“They weren’t my staff.”

“And I suppose you did a lot of your own chores, did your own laundry, washed dishes, that kind of stuff?”

“You’re hardly being fair. It wasn’t like I asked for my parents’ lifestyle. You know that.”

“I know, sweetie. I just like to tease. Face it, you were a regular princess.”

“Yeah, the princess and the pea. Only the pea was Daddy, getting thrown in jail for bribing a judge or for

getting my birthday because he and Mom were off in Europe.”

“At least you had parents.” Baldwin looked into his wineglass, and Taylor reached over and touched his hand.

“I know. You’re right. Though sometimes I wonder if it would have been better to have been loved, then lose them, than be ignored.”

“I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, Taylor. When I lost my folks, well, it’s not something I would want to go through again. It’s impossible to understand when you’re young and you don’t have that structure anymore. One minute they’re there, the next they’re gone, and you’ll never see them again. It was rough.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Anyway, we were talking about Ver

sailles.”

“Oh, shut up. It was a big house, okay? Happy now?”

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“Yes, dear. Tell me your vision.”

She shut her eyes and tried to conjure up the scene. “It’s not really a vision as much as a memory. Every year my parents had a huge party for New Year’s. Themed, catered, the whole works. The year we moved into the house it was a costume ball. Kitty dressed as Marie Antoinette, I remember that perfectly, down to the wide-hipped dress and the towering crown of hair. It took four people to get her into the clothes. Just crazy. So anyway, I was spying on them from the top of the stairs. There was this little space that I could fit into, and I’d sit up there sometimes and watch the parties.”

“Sound of Music.” Baldwin laughed.

“What?” She opened her eyes; he was practically fizzing with mirth.

“You know, the movie? Sound of Music? The von Trapp children were presented, did their little song…‘So long, farewell—’”

“Auf wiedersehen, good night.Yeah, I get it. Considering I was an only child, not so much.” She shook her head at his antics. “If you keep interrupting me, we’ll never get to it.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, the memory taking her again.

“I’d watch from the balcony. That night, I remember seeing my parents in the foyer with a group of people. The men were giving my father a hard time about the new place, and there’s something about one of them. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but every time I think about that signet ring, I see this image, the men talking and laughing, one of them coughing and putting up his hand, but that’s it. I can’t remember anything else.”

“You think one of the men was wearing a signet ring?”

She opened her eyes. “Well, maybe. That combined 148

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with what Martin Kimball said, that he always thought the killer was a client of Burt Mars’s because the note came off of Mars’s printer. Mars was my dad’s accountant.”

“Was he crooked?”

“Ouch.” What a legacy to have, a father who every time his name was mentioned, or a name was associated with his, the first thought was corruption.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Taylor let it slide. “I don’t know if he was crooked or not. But if he did work with my father, and the killer knew Mars well enough to get on his computer and write a note to the police, I can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s a co

“Let me get this straight. You think your father might have known Snow White while he was active?” Baldwin had leaned forward, wine and joking forgotten.

“See, I told you it was crazy. My dad was a lot of things, but I can’t imagine he’d stand by and let something like that happen. No, if he knew him, it was tangentially, not someone he was friends with on a daily basis.”

“You sure of that?”

“I’m not sure of anything in this case. I’d really like to find out what happened to that signet ring, though. It might answer a few questions. Whether or not it will help solve the case, I don’t know.”