Chapter 1

The Fourth of July

"Damnation, Smith, look at that!" Wetzon said, as a bouquet of chrysanthemums exploded and streaked across the sky. "We're missing the fireworks."

"I don't know why you're always in such a rush." Smith shifted down and pulled the Jaguar into a parking place on Liberty Street. She was in her most maddening mode: running on her own personal timetable.

Whistle, pop, pop, pop, whistle. Red, white and blue colors burst, forming a huge American flag. Held a moment, then melted into a brilliant arc.

The boat basin off the World Financial Center, with its variety of crafts, could have been a painted set, except that tonight almost every boat was a party. Glasses clinked, voices, mellow with wine and summer and holiday, rose and fell.

"Which one is it?" Smith demanded.

"Let's see, Laura Lee said the boat sleeps six and is called Bread Pudding. Straight down, first right, boat's on the left."

Wetzon, following the directions, called, "Down here, Smith."

"Hi, there," someone cried as another and another arrangement lit up the sky. Baby's breath, on fire.

"Hi, yourself," Wetzon responded, then looked back for her lagging partner, who would insist on wearing high heels. As if she needed the height. "Here we are, Smith." The Bread Pudding was like the other boats, full of people on deck, conversation flowing like the rippling water in New York Bay.

"Well, really," Smith said suddenly, outraged. She'd come up behind Wetzon, breathing disdain.

"Now what?"

"Would you take a swim in the Hudson?"

"What are you talking about? I'm not interested in swimming. Let's go." Wetzon raised her voice. "Hello, Bread Pudding!"

"Bread Pudding!" A woman's voice. "Do you believe it? Why not Creme Brulee?" The boats rocked gently against their moorings and the dock, with soft, sweet chungs.

Why indeed not, Wetzon thought, much preferring the latter to the former.

"Look at her if you don't believe me," Smith was insisting. "Get out of there! You'll get all kinds of diseases." Smith leaned over, yelling down at the water.

She's taken leave of her senses at long last, Wetzon was certain, as she peered over Smith's shoulder. What she saw made her jerk back, almost losing her balance. Good God, there really was someone in the water - a woman, in fact. She wore a long white dress and was wrapped in garlands of flowers.

"Oh poor Ophelia," Wetzon murmured.

The woman wasn't swimming; she was floating face down in the murky water.

And then the entire sky erupted, showering multicolored stars down on them.