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noticed her. She ended her playing instantly and stood.
    â€œOh,” she said. “I didn’t know you were here. I…uh…you probably want to see Tiffany. I’ll go get her for you.”
    â€œNo, that’s okay, thanks,” Savannah replied, thinking that even though this woman was wearing a dressing gown, she must be a visitor, probably another friend of Tiffy’s. No one would feel this ill at ease in their own home. She seemed painfully out of place.
    â€œBut she’s been expecting you,” she said, holding her robe tightly closed in front of her. “She was really upset that you weren’t here earlier, and you know how she gets when, well, you know.”
    â€œI’m sorry. Obviously, you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” Savannah held out her hand. “My name is Savannah Reid. And you are…?”
    â€œSavannah…? Oh, I thought you were the party coordinator. You aren’t here about Tiffy’s Halloween party?”
    â€œNo, I’m with Detective Coulter.” She nodded in the direction of the raised male voices. “We’re investigating the disappearance of one of Tiffany’s friends, Daisy O’Neil.”
    Savannah watched the woman’s eyes closely to see what effect her words might have. But nothing seemed to register, beyond the sadness she had already shown.
    â€œDaisy is missing? What do you mean, ‘missing’? Is that why her mother was here?”
    Apparently, this member of the entourage is seriously out of the loop , Savannah thought.
    â€œYes. She hasn’t been seen since yesterday afternoon. Didn’t come home last night, and hasn’t contacted her mother in over twenty-four hours. Pam O’Neil is terribly worried.”
    â€œI’m sure she is. That isn’t like Daisy at all. Daisy’s a sweet girl, very responsible. And she and her mom are really close.”
    The genuine concern and compassion in the young woman’s eyes made Savannah think that maybe all of Tiffy Dante’s friends weren’t shallow, callous brats.
    â€œI didn’t catch your name,” Savannah said.
    The woman extended her hand. When Savannah took it in her own, she noticed how cold and damp it was. “I’m Robyn Dante,” she said.
    Savannah searched her mental infobanks, trying to recall if the tabloids had ever mentioned Tiffany Dante having an older sister. The name did seem familiar, but she just couldn’t…
    â€œRobyn,” she murmured, trying to remember.
    â€œYes.” The woman looked slightly embarrassed and once again, out of place and ill at ease. “I’m Robyn Dante…Mrs. Andrew Dante.”
    Again, her eyes flooded with tears. She blinked and looked away. “You know,” she said with a bitter tone, “queen of the castle. The mistress of al-l-l this.”
    She gave a wide sweep with her arm, encompassing the bright pink room, the garish, raspberry velvet furniture, the enormous painting of her stepdaughter that dominated the room from its place of honor over the fireplace.
    Mrs. Andrew Dante sighed, shook her head, and added, “Lucky me.”

Chapter 4
    â€œW ell, that was a friggen waste of time,” Dirk said half an hour later as they left the Dante estate. “That Andrew Dante is a total jerk. Told me nothing. Rich people suck. They just do.”
    â€œAh, Detective Dirk Coulter,” Savannah replied, “philosopher, social commentator, orator extraordinaire. And for your information, all people suck, not just the rich ones.”
    Sighing, he said, “Don’t hassle me, woman. I’m tired.”
    He took a small, plastic bag from the dashboard and fumbled with it while he tried to drive.
    â€œHere, let me open that for you before you kill us both.” Savannah took the bag from him and unzipped it. Inside were half a dozen cinnamon sticks. She held one out to him. “How’s it going?”