Piper adored her downstairs neighbor, eighty-year-old “Berni” Berkovitz, but in the last few weeks, Berni had begun showing signs of dementia, and Piper was feeling too defeated right now to give her the attention she needed. Not that she had a choice. Berni was lonely, her eyes were still sharp, and she knew Piper was inside.

Piper trudged to open the door. “Hey, Berni.”

Berni didn’t wait for an invitation but came right in. Her neighbor’s short, Day-Glo-orange hair was uncharacteristically showing its gray roots, and her trademark crimson lipstick had gone missing. Before her husband’s death, Berni had worn exotic outfits, but now, instead of harem pants, a gondolier’s shirt, or a poodle skirt, she’d wrapped herself in Howard’s old cardigan with a pair of sweatpants.

Piper held up her beer. “Want one?”

“Not after Labor Day. But I wouldn’t say no to a vodka on the rocks.”

Piper had the remains of a bottle of Stoli Elit from her prosperous days, and she went to get it. “Your generation sure knows how to drink.”

“A source of pride.”

Piper forced a smile. In some ways Berni was the same person she’d been before her last cruise, when Howard had suffered a fatal heart attack off the coast of Italy. Piper wished everything could return to the way it used to be for Berni, but then Piper wished for a lot of things it didn’t look as though she could have.

“You’ve been gone so much lately, I’ve hardly seen you,” Berni complained.

“You’ll be seeing a lot more of me.” Piper tossed some ice into the glass of vodka and made herself say it out loud. “I bungled my big job.” Although Berni didn’t know the details of the case, she knew that Piper had an important client.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. But you’re smart. You’ll work it out.”

Piper wanted to believe that, but the reality was that tomorrow she had to let her client know Graham had identified her, and by the time that unpleasant meeting was over, she’d be fired.

Another knock sounded on her door, a knock that was purely ceremonial because her neighbor Jen let herself in without waiting for an invitation. She was still dressed for work in a sleeveless emerald-green sheath that fit her slim body perfectly. Her dark hair swung to her shoulders, and her makeup hadn’t moved since she’d applied it early that morning.

“Scattered showers tomorrow,” she said glumly. “We need the rain, so that’s good, but the ragweed count is going to be a bitch.” She sniffed, as if she were already suffering. Nineteen years ago, Jennifer MacLeish had been Chicago’s hot new television meteorologist, but she was forty-two now, no longer a fresh-faced girl, and she was convinced the recently appointed station manager was about to replace her with a younger model.

“Howard had a lot of trouble with ragweed,” Berni said. “I wonder if he still does.”

Jen exchanged a look with Piper, then made her way to the couch, her nude-colored pumps clicking on the hardwood floor. “Sweetie, Howard is gone. We understand how much you miss him, but-”

Berni shook her off. “I know you both think he’s dead, but he’s not. I told you. I saw him last week, right in the middle of Lincoln Square. He was wearing one of those foam cheeseheads. But Howard hated Green Bay, and I can’t think why he’d be wearing a cheesehead.”

Jen looked toward Piper for help. They’d heard the cheesehead story several times now, but since both of them had attended Howard Berkovitz’s funeral, they were disinclined to believe he’d resurrected-let alone as a Green Bay Packers fan.

As Piper poured the last of the Stoli for Jen, there was another rap on the door, this one tentative. Berni sighed. “It’s her.”

“Come in, Amber,” Piper called out. And why not? If her friends weren’t here, all she’d do was brood.

Amber Kwan, her downstairs neighbor, entered the apartment tentatively. “Is it okay? I wasn’t invited, but…”

“Neither were they,” Piper pointed out. Amber was a slightly overweight twenty-seven-year-old with porcelain skin, shiny black hair, and an insecurity that vanished only when she took the stage as a permanent member of Chicago’s Lyric Opera chorus. Most of Piper’s childhood friends had moved out of the city, and she was grateful to have these three in her life.

“Hello, Mrs. Berkovitz. How are you feeling?”

Berni gave her a tight-lipped nod. Berni didn’t like Amber because she was Korean, but since Amber believed Berni’s age gave her a pass for racial prejudice, she wouldn’t let Piper or Jen confront Berni about it.

“I’m out of vodka,” Piper said. “Beer?”

Amber settled on the edge of the ottoman. “Nothing, thanks. I’ll only stay for a minute.” Amber had moved into the building more than a year ago, but she continued to behave as though she were an interloper in their group, even though Piper and Jen had welcomed her. “I stopped by to see if you’re still thinking about subletting,” she said apologetically.

“No!” Berni declared. “Piper, you’re not going anywhere, and Amber, you shouldn’t have brought this up.”

“I don’t want you to sublet,” Amber said hastily. “But you said you were going to have to, and I have friend who’s a visiting professor at DePaul. He’s looking for a rental.”

Leaving her cozy condo would be like stabbing herself in the heart. But unlike Berni, who wanted to bring her dead husband back to life, Piper was a realist. “Let me sleep on it. I’ll give you an answer tomorrow.”

There wasn’t much to sleep on. She could no longer afford to pay the mortgage on the condo she’d scrimped for years to purchase, and she wouldn’t impose on her friends, despite their offers to let her stay with them. By renting out her condo and moving into the basement of her awful cousin Diane’s two-flat in Skokie, she’d be able to avoid selling this place for a while, and she’d also preserve her friendships.

“The last thing we need is a strange man living here,” Berni said. “I won’t have it.”

Jen didn’t voice an objection. She understood that this was a last resort for Piper. “He’s a friend of Amber’s,” she said, “so he won’t be a stranger.”

“He was one of my professors at Eastman,” Amber said. “A very nice man.”

“I don’t care,” Berni said. “We don’t need a man here.”

Apparently, the gay newlyweds in the downstairs unit didn’t count.

“Having Piper subletting is better than forcing her to sell,” Jen said. “And you know she won’t move in with any of us. It’ll only be until she gets her business on its feet.” She uncrossed her long legs. “Unfortunately, I’ll be unemployed by then. It’s me we should all be worried about, not Piper. She’s tougher than I am. And younger.”

This pronouncement wasn’t as self-centered as it seemed. Jen was taking the heat off Piper. “I know broadcasting too well,” Jen said. “The younger and the blonder, the more the powers that be want to hire them. And Dumb Ass is a sucker for twenty-one-year-olds.” Jen had referred to the new station manager as Dumb Ass for so long that Piper had forgotten his real name.

Jen took a swig of vodka. “Studying meteorology is the new go-to major for every pretty girl who has even a passing interest in science. The colleges are turning them out in macrobursts.”

“Talent is more important than looks,” Amber said loyally, and then quickly added, “not that you aren’t still beautiful.”

Amber was used to being judged only by her agile coloratura-soprano voice, and that made her naive about the television industry. Piper tried to encourage Jen, but growing up as the daughter of Duke Dove had let her see every facet of male sexism. Jen was being held to a different standard than the men at the station were, and she had reason to worry.

Berni shot up from the couch. “I know what I’m going to do!”

“Put out a contract on Dumb Ass for me?” Jen said glumly.

“I’m going to hire Piper to find Howard!”

Piper regarded her with dismay. “Berni, that’s not-”

“I’ll pay you. I’ve been looking for something special to spend my income tax refund on. Nothing could be more special than this.”

“Berni, I couldn’t take your money. Howard had a-”

Another knock sounded on the door, this one more forceful than the others. No one had buzzed her condo, and her usual visitors were already here. She set down her beer, made her way across the carpet, and turned the knob.

He filled the doorway-all long muscles, big shoulders, and powerful chest.

“Hello, Esmerelda.”

3

The barbarian was at her gate. Piper’s stomach plummeted. “How did you get in the building?”

He regarded her with the golden-brown eyes of a wolf ready to devour his prey, not because the wolf was hungry, but just for the hell of it. “Your downstairs neighbors are Stars fans.”

They weren’t the only ones. Berni squawked as though she’d laid an egg. “Cooper Graham!” She jumped up from the couch, agile as a teenager. “Oh, I wish Howard was here! Oh, my goodness.”

Cooper tipped his head to her. “Ma’am.”

“Howard was a Bears fan like Piper,” Berni told him, “but I was born in the western ’burbs in the days when hardly anybody lived out there. I’m Berni Berkovitz. Bernadette, really. I’ve been a Stars fan from the beginning. And Howard always rooted for the Stars. Unless they were playing the Bears,” she amended.

“Understandable.” He was all celebrity graciousness, waiting patiently as she rambled on. Jen, in the meantime, crossed her very shapely legs, dangled her pump from one toe, and swished her dark hair away from her face, waiting to be noticed. Amber, however, was mystified. She could name every obscure composer from the past four centuries, but she barely knew Chicago even had professional sports teams.

Berni was still gushing. “Oh, my, Piper. You said you had an important client, but I had no idea…”

“I’m not a client of Ms. Dove’s.” Cooper stomped on her name as if it were a cockroach. “I’m the person she was hired to investigate.”

Thank you, Officer Hottie, for your big mouth.

Berni sputtered, then turned accusing eyes on Piper. “Really, Piper? Why were you investigating Cooper?”

While Piper tried to unlock her jaw, Jen rose gracefully from the couch. “Jennifer MacLeish. Channel Eight weather. We met at the Children’s Charities Holly Ball last year, but I’m sure you don’t remember.”

“Of course, I do.” His hand engulfed hers. “It’s good to see you again, Ms. MacLeish. Although I can’t say much for the company you keep.”

Amber dashed toward the door. “I’ll leave.”

“Not you, Amber,” Jen said. “He’s talking about Piper.”

Graham nodded. “That’s true.”

Piper took a slug of beer, wishing it were the Stoli.

Berni couldn’t stand Amber’s ignorance. “Amber, this is Cooper Graham. He’s one of the most famous football players in the world. Even you have to have heard of him.”

“Oh, I’m sure I have,” Amber said, sure of no such thing.

“Amber sings with the Lyric,” Jen explained. “She’s both clueless and amazing.”

“I’ll bet I’ve heard you,” Graham said.

Fat chance, Piper thought. Graham would no more darken the halls of the Lyric Opera than he would throw a deliberate interception.

“Ladies, as much as I’ve enjoyed meeting you, I need to talk to Ms. Dove”-another cockroach stomped into oblivion-“about a business matter.”

Amber began to turn to the door, then stopped and moved next to Piper. Jen did the same thing. “Maybe we can help,” she said firmly.

Girlfriends stuck together, and none of them were leaving until Piper gave the word. With the greatest reluctance, Berni joined them. They were a unit: a ballsy television meteorologist, a Korean opera singer with the voice of an angel, and the number one Stars football fangirl. How screwed up could Piper’s life be when she had friends like this?

“It’s okay,” she said. “I can handle it.”

“Are you sure?” This came from Amber, who suddenly looked as formidable as Wagner’s Brünnhilde.

Not sure at all, but Piper nodded. “It’s business.”

“I’m certain this is a simple misunderstanding,” Berni said, and then, in a pseudo-whisper, “I’ll leave a retainer check in your mailbox, Piper. That’s how it’s done, right?”

“No check, Berni. We’ll talk tomorrow.” After today, what was one more challenge?

“Piper?” Jen said.

As much as Piper appreciated their concern, she couldn’t let Graham see her as a weakling. She forced a lazy wave toward the door. “Later.”

On her way out, Berni regarded Graham. “Piper is a very good person.”

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Berkovitz,” he said.

She touched his arm. “I make an excellent brisket. If you ever get hungry for brisket, you let me know.”