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at the foliage. Cynthia claimed raccoons hid among the palmetto fronds and philodendrons, but Marla had never spotted any. Not that she'd been here that often. Her cousin usually invited their extended family over for Passover. This year, Cynthia and Bruce were doing Thanksgiving instead.
She pulled around a circular driveway in front of the mansion and put the gear into park. Shutting off the ignition, she threw her keys into her purse and emerged into the bright sunshine. She was a little early, fifteen minutes to be exact, but she'd been chomping at the bit all morning to get there. Cynthia had told her to come at two o'clock, but it didn't matter if she arrived sooner. Bruce, a real-estate developer, was abroad on one of his business trips, so she and her cousin could enjoy a private chat.

Her gaze swept approvingly over the Spanish architecture of the main house. The original buildings were constructed by Bruce's great-grandfather who bought the land in the late 1800s. Successive descendants had put their own stamp upon the property, so that now it was fully modernized. The red barrel tile roof complemented the sand color of the house's stucco exterior. Hot pink and tangerine bougainvillea climbed walls shaded by spreading ficus trees. Built around a central courtyard, the bottom floor had windows protected by green awnings. Ironwork on the second-story balcony balustrades came from New Orleans.

When Cynthia opened the door to usher her inside, Marla felt she was entering a museum. Niches held whimsical wood sculptures of brightly painted animals, African masks, and New Guinea artifacts. Standing on a brick path, she overlooked a central garden framing a stone fountain where clear water cascaded into a blue-tiled pool. Welcome to the lifestyle of the rich but not-so-famous.

Marla turned to her cousin, remembering the distress in her tone at their last meeting. Was there trouble brewing in Paradise?

She'd always felt Cynthia had everything: a wealthy husband, beautiful home, attractive children, and a leisurely life. Was it any wonder she felt so distant from this world? Not that she'd want it for herself. She'd had the chance with her marriage to Stan, a rich attorney. He'd wanted a woman he could control. Thankfully, Marla had regained her self-esteem in time to escape his domineering clutches. She needed to be useful, to make a difference. And being a hairstylist was a calling she'd found impossible to resist once she struck out on her own.

Still, she wished she could look as svelte as Cynthia. Her cousin appeared sophisticated in an ankle-length flowered gown with her bleached blond hair teased atop her head. Feeling underdressed in comparison, Marla smoothed down the khaki pants she wore with a white silk blouse and vest.

"You're looking cool and comfortable," Cynthia said, a warm smile on her face. Crinkles appeared beside her cornflower blue eyes, the only lines in an otherwise wrinkle-free visage. For a woman in her forties, Cynthia maintained herself well. "I had a table set up on the back porch. We can talk there before my guest arrives."

"What guest?" Marla thought _she_ was the guest. Who else was her cousin expecting?

"Oh, someone who wants to get to know you. He won't be here until later, and we've got a lot to discuss. Did you hear about Ben? I'm so upset."

"Yeah, I was shocked to hear the news." She peered curiously at her cousin. "How does his absence affect your plans?" Trailing Cynthia, she entered the house past a bamboo-paneled bar and exited through a screen door to the back.

"He'd arranged for a jazz band," Cynthia said, leading the way to a clothed table elegantly set for three with English bone china, sterling silver, and a Baccarat vase of fresh peach roses. "I've got the information, so we should be okay."

Marla wasn't particularly hungry, having eaten lunch an hour earlier, but she took a seat and crossed her legs while waiting for Cynthia to be settled opposite her. "Do