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protecting others, that is his life, Charlie. You can’t change what he wants from his life.”
    â€œAnd there’s Clyde,” Charlie said, her perverse mind wanting to dredge up every vague cause for unease. “No matter what he says, I feel…”
    â€œGuilty.”
    â€œAs if I dumped him. But he…”
    â€œNot to worry,” Wilma said. “Not only is he bringing Ryan Flannery to the wedding, he’s still pursuing Kate Osborne, trying to get her to move back down from San Francisco. I don’t think with two women to sort out, trying to pay attention to both, that Clyde is going to spend much time grieving.”
    â€œWell, that’s not very flattering,” Charlie said, grinning. She smoothed the tendrils of her hair that would keep slipping out from the carefully arranged chignon.
    â€œQuit fussing. You look like an angel, a curly-haired, redheaded angel. Now hold still and let me finish fastening. Where are your shoes? You didn’t forget your shoes?”
    â€œOn the desk. Now who’s fussing?”
    â€œIt isn’t every day my only niece gets married—my only family.” Turning to fetch the shoes, Wilma moved to the window and slid the drapery back a few inches to look out into the garden where their friends were gathering. The afternoon was bright and serene. “What a lovely crowd. And people still arriving. Even…” Wilma held out her hand. “Come and look.”
    They stood together peering out, two tall, slim women, the family resemblance clear in their strongly sculpted faces. “Look in the lemon tree. Two of your most ardent admirers, all sleeked up for the occasion.”
    They could just see Joe Grey and Dulcie peering out from among the leaves, watching something across the street, Joe’s white paws bright among the shadows, Dulcie’s brown tabby stripes blending into the tree’s foliage so she was hardly visible.
    â€œWhat are they up to?” Charlie said. “They look…”
    â€œThey’re not up to anything, they’re waiting to see you and Max married. They have a perfect view, they’ll be able to see, above the crowd, right in through the glass doors.”
    â€œWhere’s the kit?”
    â€œI don’t see her, but you can bet she won’t miss this ceremony.”
    Charlie turned from the window, reaching for her veil. Wilma, watching her, thought that her niece seemed as close to an angel as it was possible for a flesh-and-blood person to look. She willed the day to be perfect, without a flaw, a golden day for Charlie and Max, with not a thing to spoil it. Charlie was fussing with her veil when the door flew open and Max burst in grabbing her, pushing her toward the door and reaching to Wilma. “Get out! Now! Away from the building. Run, both of you—blocks away. Go, Charlie. Bomb alert .”
    Wilma grabbed Charlie, pulling her away as Charlie tried to follow Max into the garden. Charlie turned on her with rage. “Let me go. Let me go! I can help.”
    Max spun back, grabbing her shoulders. “Go now! Get the hell out of here!”
    She fought him, trying to twist free. “What do you think I am! I can help clear the area!” Her green eyes blazed. “I’m not marrying a cop I can’t work beside!”
    He stared, then turned away with her into the garden. “That woman in the wheelchair, those women around her—get them off the block and down the street.” And he was gone among his officers, keeping order as tangles of wedding guests moved quickly out of the garden, and a few confused elderly folks milled together in panic. Charlie grabbed the wheelchair as Wilma corralled half a dozen frail ladies.
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    The cats didn’t see Charlie and Wilma come out. They were watching the kit where she had fled back acrossthe street and up the trellis. The boy had climbed again too. Running across the roof, he knelt, reaching