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Two blond hostesses with perky smiles and equally perky nipples greeted us. " "Save it for the boys," Emma said. Cupcakes was bedlam fueled by testosterone and rock and roll. One glance told me that Cupcakes planned to lure its customers with the promise of barbecued hot wings and big-screen televisions tuned to sports, but primarily with the Cupcake Girls. Carrying a tray of drinks over her shoulder, a very young woman in short shorts and a T-shirt snug enough to have been sprayed on her body tottered past us in spike-heeled shoes so high her ankles wobbled.

I've had enough already, thanks," Delilah said. I noted two martini glasses on the table, one still showing a few sips. " "Club soda," Emma said, "coming right up.

He took two quick paces forward. Automatically, Emma followed him, but they both stopped again, in shock. Verbena clapped both hands over her mouth to stifle another of her screams. A person lay sprawled in a patch of dried lavender, as if making snow angels without the snow. An elderly man with a barrel-shaped beer gut, and wearing a fringed pony skin jacket. I could see his long grizzled hair shivering in the breeze, the only visible movement. His face was half turned away from me, but I recognized his profile.