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bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips. She undid the twist tie and poured out a handful. She nibbled them one by one as she sipped the wine and scrolled through four hundred and fifty cable television channels without finding anything she wanted to watch.
    Finally, she switched the television off and dialed Liz. She glanced at her watch—hopefully she wouldn’t be waking the children up.
    Liz answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
    “Liz,” Emma said with a groan.
    “What’s the matter? You sound as if you’ve been crying.”
    “I have.”
    “Is it that Frenchman you told me about?”
    Emma sniffled. “Yes. This time I thought he meant it, but when I got to the restaurant, that girl was there.” She rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a slightly torn and dusty tissue.
    “What girl is this?”
    “She’s a Claudette model—tall, thin, long blond hair. Perfect. You know the type.” Emma dabbed at her nose with the tissue. “Everyone in New York was saying that she and Guy were a couple, but he told me that wasn’t true. It was me he wanted.” Emma gave a loud hiccough. “But there she was, draped all over him. She must have flown down with him.”
    “What a bastard!”
    “That’s what I said.” Emma hiccoughed again.
    “Do you want me to come over?”
    Emma hesitated. It would be so good to see her friend, but it was late, and she knew Liz had her family to take care of. “I’ll be okay. I think I’m going to go to bed. I drank a bitof wine.” She picked up the bottle and checked the level. “A lot actually. I think I’ll be able to sleep now.”
    She hung up the call and sat staring at the phone. She punched in Guy’s number. Her thumbs flew over the keys as she typed in her text.
We are through. Leave me alone.
She wanted to tell him what she thought of him, but it would have taken up more than the 160 characters her texting program allowed. She hesitated for a split second, and pressed send. Minutes later, her cell phone rang once, but she didn’t answer, and turned it off instead. Then she stuffed it behind the sofa cushion for good measure. She finished the bag of chocolate chips and stretched out on the couch. Her eyes were getting so heavy, she really needed to rest them for a bit.
    EMMA dreamt someone was screaming, and sat bolt upright, surprised to find herself on the sofa with the morning sun streaming in the windows. She saw the wineglass and empty Hershey’s bag on the coffee table, and slowly the evening before came back to her.
    There was another scream, and this time it was definitely not part of her dream. It was coming from downstairs—from Sweet Nothings as far as she could tell. Emma grabbed her keys from the kitchen counter and bolted down the stairs. Her head pounded dully and her mouth felt thick and dry.
    A third scream curdled the air, and Emma flung herself down the last few steps, out the door and around to the front of Sweet Nothings. Her hand was shaking and she had trouble getting the key in the lock. She swore in frustration as she missed a second time. It wasn’t until she got the door open that it occurred to her she ought to be afraid. Who knew what she was going to find?
    It was certainly the last thing she expected. Arabella’s hands were over her mouth, stifling another scream, and shewas leaning over something on the floor. It looked like a body.
    Emma stopped short when she saw who it was.
    Guy Richard.
    Blood pooled on the carpet beneath him, and his eyes were open. Emma was pretty sure he was dead.
    She, too, began to scream.

EMMA closed her eyes, clenched her fists and forced herself to stop screaming. Deep breaths. Like yoga class. In…out…in…out. Her heartbeat slowed and steadied in time to the measured rhythm. When she opened her eyes, everything looked perfectly normal—morning sun streaming through the dusty front windows; Arabella dressed for work in a long black-and-white batik print dress, her hair pinned into a knot on top of her head;