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of it, five years back, he’d started a small charter airline, and business had boomed.
    “We should table this until Marvin can study the figures,” Folly insisted.
    “We can’t put this off indefinitely.” Tazio didn’t think Marvin knew all that much about heating systems, but Folly was dazzled by him. This fact was not lost on Penny Lattimore, although Ron, Folly’s usually jealous husband, didn’t seem to notice. Twenty years older than Folly, Ron Steinhauser—brash, controlling, opinionated—had begun to slump into a slower gear. At seventy-five, he’d pushed himself hard, drunk too much at times, and finally his body was rebelling.
    “When does Marvin come back from Moscow?” Harry asked the obvious question of Herb.
    “Next week. I’ll be sure he gets the study, and I will also be sure he knows we are operating under some time constraint. The last thing we want is for the furnace to be torn up when a cold snap hits us.”
    Folly listened to Herb, then replied with a lilt of humor in her well-modulated voice, “Doesn’t seem likely.”
    BoomBoom said, “One October—first week, I think—we had a freak snowstorm, and the weight of the snow with the leaves still on the trees brought down branches all over Virginia. You could hear the creaking and breaking.” She paused a moment. “Actually, we don’t have to wait until next week. We can e-mail this to Marvin.”
    “Good idea.” Susan nodded.
    Folly, not an obstructionist, had never lived in a structure built shortly after the Revolutionary War. She had little sense of how cold it could get even with a half-decent heating system. “Well, do be sure that he doesn’t feel pressured. We want Marvin on board.” She smiled at her little pun.
    “We do.” Harry smiled at Folly, trying to do as Susan asked.
    “All right, then.” Herb turned to BoomBoom. “You do it.”
    “Happily,” BoomBoom agreed.
    It was not lost on the group that Herb asked BoomBoom instead of Folly to communicate with Marvin. Obviously, he’d heard the gossip, too.
    Shortly thereafter, the business part of the meeting frittered away and the group focused on what they really wanted to talk about: Dr. Will Wylde.
    Herb glanced at his agenda, noted the request for smokeless tapers, and figured it could wait. He was amazed that he’d kept the lid on it this long.
    A gust of wind splashed so much rain on the handblown windowpanes that it sent the cats jumping off the ledge. They joined the group.
    “Usually, these political killings, well, someone wants to take credit. The newspaper or TV station receives an acknowledgment. Hasn’t happened.” Folly plucked an orange out of a large bowl.
    “Maybe they’re waiting, or maybe they want people to think this was the work of a single crazy.” BoomBoom got up and left the room, calling over her shoulder, “Tea or coffee?”
    “Both.” Susan rose to help her. “Anyone for iced tea?”
    Folly raised her hand.
    Harry said, “I hope this doesn’t kick off a wave of violence across the country—doctors being targeted, clinics blown up.”
    “I do, too.” Herb leaned back in the old club chair, Lucy Fur now on his lap. “Benita…” He shook his head, tears welling up. “Remarkable.”
    “She is.” Folly also teared up. There was no need to recount that Folly, BoomBoom, and Alicia were with Benita when Rick told her what had happened. Everyone knew.
    Susan and BoomBoom reappeared with two trays of drinks.
    “What does Ned say?” Folly asked Susan as she poured tea.
    Without taking her eyes off the cup, Susan said, “It was funny in a way. They happened to be in session, and when the news crept into the chamber, thanks to a zealous page, the men who came in on the coattails of the far right, vociferously antiabortion, couldn’t distance themselves fast enough. Ned said as much as he mourned Will Wylde; it was all he could do not to laugh out loud at these opportunistic buffoons.”
    “Ned’s pretty conservative.”