Monday evening, October 30

There were funerals where you knew, with cold certainty, that the corpse wouldn't be the only person you'd never see again. Kate Kennedy had just returned from one.

The deceased, Jane Kuloski Whitcomb, flew with Kate almost fifty years ago when they'd been stewardesses. Over the decades, they exchanged Christmas cards and photos of their kids, and met a few times when Jane would come back to New York to visit her mother.

Somehow Kate, who prided herself on her powers of observation, hadn't noticed Jane had become a practicing snob. Then last winter, Jane — who'd married a dermatologist, not a detective — moved from the Midwest to Palm Beach and attempted to revive their old friendship. Kate discovered that not only did they have nothing in common, she didn't even like Jane.

Of course, that awakening hadn't kept Kate from attending Jane's requiem mass, where she'd shared a pew with two of the other — and much more famous — Kennedy family cousins.

"Shriver or Smith?" Marlene Friedman, Kate's forever best friend and former sister-in-law, sounded like Chris Matthews as she and Kate strolled down Neptune Boulevard, trying to walk off calories after devouring platters of fried shrimp and hot fudge sundaes at dinner.

Kate picked up the pace. "I'm not sure. They all look alike to me. Lots of teeth. I think the young man — well, he must be in his forties — might have been one of Bobby's brood."

A pale gold harvest moon rose in the early evening sky. The moist, salty air held a hint of South Florida autumn, as waves on either side of them crashed against the beach.

Under the spotlights, one of the two guys at the end of the pier appeared to be struggling with a large fish. A bearded, younger man stowed bait and beer in a small motorboat. A mellow Frank Sinatra sang "My Way," but the lyrics faded out as Kate and Marlene approached the men. The bearded man waved. He looked familiar. Probably a regular at the Neptune Inn.

Kate waved back. Sometime over the last year, after the intense, constant grieving for Charlie — who'd never lived in the condo he'd chosen — had morphed into a dull ache, always with her but bearable, Palmetto Beach had become home.

Marlene shook her head, her platinum twist holding firm in the sea breeze. "Really, an honest-to-God celebrity sighting and you can't even identify which Kennedy you saw."

"I was at a funeral, Marlene." Kate laughed. "I couldn't ask for an autograph."

Marlene's frustrated expression indicated that was exactly what Kate should have done. "So, if you didn't relate to any of the mourners, maybe I would. Widower Whitcomb walks, talks, and has money, right? How bad can he be? And I could use a chemical peel. A dermatologist's almost as good as a plastic surgeon."

Kate laughed. She and Marlene had put Kate's granddaughter Katharine's unrequited love story on hold during dinner, though Marlene did report on her morning visit to the boy's grandmother who ran the only tanning salon/talking skull operation in South Florida.

"Shark!" The slimmer of the two fishermen standing at the edge of the pier dropped his pole. "Jesus Christ. Is that blood?"

The motor on the small boat revved up, and the bearded young man at the tiller veered south toward what appeared to be, by the light of the moon, a body floating face down.

"Call 911, quick!" the slim fisherman yelled, and then hopped into the bearded young man's moving boat.

The heavy set man peered into the water. "Looks like one of them goddamn surfers." He gestured toward the beach. "That's a piece of his board over there."

As the man punched in the numbers on his cell phone, Marlene screamed. An ungodly, piercing wail. Kate watched in horror as the bearded man stopped the boat and the slim man reached over port side into the sea and pulled a bloody stump on board.

Two nights earlier, Saturday, October 28

"I hate school, I hate my mother, and I hate being a virgin," Katharine Kennedy said. "Please don't tell me to go home. I'm moving to Florida, Auntie Marlene, and I'm shedding excess baggage: classes, college, chastity. I know you of all people will understand and support me. And I need you to intercede with Nana. I'll live at Ocean Vista till I find a job. In the cab from the airport, I passed a help-wanted sign. Pink Platinum is hiring."

Starting over? As a lap dancer?

Katharine had just turned eighteen. If Marlene provided refuge for her best friend's granddaughter, Kate would kill her.

"Jennifer and Kevin must be worried sick, Katharine. Let's call them. Then you can stay here for fall break while we sort this out."

The girl's freckled face flushed, her auburn curls bouncing as she shook her head. "If you turn me in to my parents, Auntie Marlene, I might be forced to tell Nana about you."

Good God! Could Katharine somehow have discovered that her now dead and revered grandfather, Charlie, and her "Auntie Marlene" once had a four-martini fling almost a half century ago?

Katharine smiled, then gestured toward the hallway. "Shall I put my bags in the guest room?"

Like a flamboyant, frightened Willie Loman, Marlene rehearsed what she would say, determined to sell her best friend on the idea of her granddaughter moving in.

With Marlene's checkered past, Katharine might have unearthed any number of unsavory secrets, but that brief boozy bedding of her best friend's husband atop a pile of coats during a cocktail party had always led Marlene's guilt parade. The act of adultery should top her long list of sins, considering she'd been engaged to Charlie's twin brother at the time. A doubleheader, commandment-breaking, grievous matter. A mortal sin, even if she wasn't Catholic. A sin she fully expected to go to hell for, unless God had a sense of humor and had sent Katharine here as a kind of hell-on-earth punishment.

If Marlene could find out why Katharine was really here, lying to Kate might be easier. Based on her own experience, she felt certain there must be a man in the picture. Marlene's heart ached at the thought of her beloved Katharine chasing after some guy, then being hurt if he rejected her.

Men, not money, were the root of all evil. Marlene laughed. Maybe she should have that embroidered on a pillowcase or a t-shirt; she'd probably sell a million of them.

Putting her past on hold — three marriages, six engagements, and she'd need a calculator to add up the total number of men she'd dated — Marlene picked up the phone and presented her pitch to Kate.

"I still don't understand. Why did Katharine come here?" Kate asked.

With decades of experience, Marlene translated. Kate was really asking why Katharine had shown up at Marlene's condo door instead of at her grandmother's. So Marlene, though she seldom did, measured her response. "Oh Kate, your granddaughter knows I'm a sucker for a sob story. You might have sent her packing."

"And you think I should let her stay?"

"Well, yes. Katharine's not herself. Something is eating at her. Something serious. We need to find out what's wrong. That may take a few days."

"She hasn't been returning my phone calls." Kate sighed. "I figured she was caught up in college life. A school as large as NYU can be overwhelming and, you know, she's living on her own with a roommate in the West Village. I almost wish...