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Suzette—­worked for Starr Industries, and the two spouses were very glamorous, too. I shook their hands and gave Jacob a hug. He had gone to school with my sister Libby.
    Suzette was the only family member to give me a halfhearted handshake. Despite our spending a semester abroad together in college, she had been one of my late husband’s friends, and she had never forgiven me, I think, for Todd’s death. She warmed up to Gus Hardwicke when he flirted with her, however.
    He laid the Aussie routine on very thick, and I let him misbehave for a minute or two, then slipped my hand around his arm again. “Let’s meet Suzette’s younger brother, shall we?”
    Gus hesitated. I knew he wanted to spend more time with Suzette. She was very pretty and beautifully dressed in her father’s latest designs, and she was probably a bazillionaire, if it was money that turned him on.
    But I gave his arm a meaningful squeeze. Obediently, Gus said good-­bye to Suzette, and we moved down along the fence.
    â€œWhat was that for?” he muttered.
    â€œSuzette is gay,” I said in a low voice that matched his. I released his arm. “And her brothers enjoy watching men make fools of themselves over her. So I’m sparing you from becoming a family anecdote.”
    Gus laughed, unrepentant. “You really do know everyone, don’t you?”
    â€œNot everyone,” I said, annoyed all over again at being cast in the role of his trusty native scout. “But I spent several months traveling around China with Suzette, so I know her better than most.”
    â€œChina?”
    â€œA school thing. I took Chinese in college. She ate nothing but oranges the whole time.”
    â€œCrikey, I’m glad I came,” he said. “This afternoon is even more informative than I’d hoped.”
    â€œWould you like to meet the youngest son?”
    â€œIs he anybody important?”
    â€œActually, Porky—­er, Porter Starr is the only one of Swain’s children who managed to strike off on his own and make a career outside the family. He became a child actor with a popular TV show.”
    â€œPorky?”
    I felt myself turn pink. “That was a slip of the tongue.”
    â€œI can hardly wait to meet him.”
    We came upon the youngest Starr son leaning against a fence, under an oak tree. The short, rather chunky young man wore a small-­brimmed fedora cocked over one eye with more suave panache than he could quite carry off. He held a kitten while talking with a young woman in a pretty dress with a very short skirt. Just as we approached, the young woman threw her drink in Porky’s face and snatched the kitten from his grasp.
    He laughed, and she stalked away.
    Gus handed over his handkerchief. “Looks like you’re a mite damp, mate. What did you say to her?”
    Porky took the handkerchief with a cocky grin. “I asked her about pussies.”
    Without removing his hat, he mopped his face while I made introductions.
    I read Gus’s mind. Porky Starr didn’t look like his father except for his short stature. Instead, he was the spitting image of his mother’s family—­the piggy little Rattigan face with a flat, upturned nose, wide cheeks and little porcine eyes. Porky’s looks had worked in his favor as a kid—­he was almost cute back then—­and he’d gone off to Hollywood and fame in the sitcom world. He had outgrown his cuteness, though, and I assumed he was still trying to live down the nickname that had probably started when he was still in the cradle.
    It wasn’t until I was shaking his sweaty hand that I made the connection.
    Porter. This was Libby’s mentor in the world of child entertainment.
    â€œRight,” Porky said when I brought up my sister. He used one wrist to swipe his nose. “Her boys have a lot of potential. Hollander and Hyatt, right?”
    â€œHarcourt and Hilton,” I