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doors spanned the far wall, and through them Emma could see the outlines of a large infinity pool. At least thirty people lounged around it under the flames of citronella torches, while others in swimsuits floated on inner tubes. The whole scene appeared out of place, late as it was. She saw Warner walk to a lounge chair and pick up her swimsuit top. Music played, but not Rex Rain. Emma knew most of Carrow’s hits, and the current selection wasn’t one of them. The house was set high on the hill, and beyond the pool the ocean view would have been sweeping had it not been night. Now all she could see was the occasional wave as it undulated under the moonlight.
    â€œIs the whole house awake?” she asked.
    Carrow nodded. “After eighteen months on tour and playing gigs every night, we have become essentially nocturnal.”
    â€œEighteen months is a long time.”
    He gave her a glance. “It will be two and a half years before we’re done. In that time I’ll have had all of four weeks off. These two and another two in March.”
    A woman in her mid-forties stepped in through the French doors that led to the pool area. She had black hair and wore a bathing suit with a sheer white tunic top over it and flip-flops decorated with rhinestones. Emma recognized her as Belinda Rory, a woman made famous by the cable show The Other Side. She claimed she could speak to the dead, among other things. Her arresting brown eyes passed over Emma in a focused assessment.
    â€œIs he awake?” Rory said to Carrow. He shrugged.
    â€œDunno. Going there now.”
    â€œIf you need me just let me know.” She nodded once at Emma and started across the living room to a swinging door on the opposite wall. When she pushed through it, Emma saw the front panel of a stainless steel refrigerator. The door closed behind her.
    â€œWasn’t that the famous television medium?” Emma asked.
    Carrow nodded. “Martin invited her. He wanted to speak to Jimi Hendrix.”
    Emma raised her eyebrows. “And how did that go?”
    Carrow gave her an amused look. “Apparently he was otherwise occupied.” Emma suppressed her own smile. In her travels she’d seen many things that appeared unexplainable, and had learned not to dismiss too readily anything that was new or unusual. Still, she didn’t believe in mediums, or that they could speak to the dead.
    They entered a hallway and passed into a bedroom. This room, too, had glass doors where the wall should be and another breathtaking view of the ocean. Emma moved toward a large four-poster bed made of teak with a mosquito net pulled back on each side. A man lay there, sleeping. His eyes were closed and his face had a peaceful look. A sheet was pulled up to his chest.
    â€œHe’s wearing clothes,” she said.
    â€œHe was drinking right before.” Carrow pointed to a carafe on a nightstand that was filled with red wine. Next to it was a glass, and next to that a pile of powder. Emma stepped closer.
    â€œIs this it?” she said.
    â€œYes.”
    Emma reached to a lamp on the nightstand and moved it closer, taking care not to disturb the powder. It was a dirty, beige color. “What’s his usual powder of choice?”
    â€œNot powder, pills. Roxy’s.”
    OxyContin. Emma wasn’t surprised. The prescription pill had taken over the drug world. What was on the nightstand wasn’t it, though, that was clear. OC was blue. The color was off.
    â€œHe sometimes uses China White, so I initially thought this was just some cheap stuff he’d picked up on a nearby island on his way here, but that’s not heroin.” Emma didn’t want to ask Carrow how he could be so sure it wasn’t heroin, but she needed to know if he’d taken it himself. If he had and hadn’t fallen asleep, then perhaps the powder wasn’t the culprit.
    â€œDid you try it? Is that how you know it’s