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“Could you please button up your shirt? And could you please remove your arm from my grandmother’s shoulder? This is a doctor’s office, not a bar. Thank you,” she added when Leo complied. Of course, to button up his shirt, he had to remove his arm from Gran’s shoulder. The minute he’d accomplished this task, the arm was right back, and Gran didn’t seem to mind one bit. It was… awkward.

“What?” Gran asked. “Leo’s a very physical man. I like it.”

“Well, maybe you should get physical on your own time,” she said. “Not when you’re working.”

“Hey, who died and made you boss? Show a little respect for your grandmother. I had men’s arms around me when you weren’t even born.”

“Gran, it just… isn’t proper,” she said, uttering words she’d never thought she’d speak to her grandmother, or to anyone else for that matter.

“Oh, all right,” said Gran, removing Leo’s arm. “But I’m only doing it as a favor to you,” she said. When Leo made a protesting sound, she patted his hand. “I’m off at three, honey. Come and see me then, all right?”

Leo left the office, giving Odelia a very unfriendly glance.

“I don’t think Leo likes me,” Odelia said once he’d left.

“Do you think?”

“I’m sorry, Gran. But I think you can do better than… that.”

“Honey, when you’re as old as I am you can’t take any chances. When you’re lucky enough to get hold of a live one you better hang on. You never know when he’s gonna die on you. Speaking of dying, did you hear about that celebrity chef that got cooked in his own oven?”

“Yes, I’m on the case.”

“And so is Chase, right?” she asked, giving her a saucy wink.

“Yes,” she admitted, staunchly ignoring the wink.

“I like that man. Too bad he’s into you or else I’d have gone after him myself.”

“Yes. You’ve made that abundantly clear, Gran,” she said. “So what’s this about a note in your sweater?”

Gran dumped the sweater on the counter.“This is the sweater,” she said, then plunked down a little piece of paper. “And here is the note. I told Leo and he was so surprised he spoke a complete sentence. First time I’ve heard more coming out of that man’s mouth than grunts and moans. Heh heh heh.”

She held up a hand.“Please, Gran. I don’t need to hear the details.”

“Why not? You might learn a thing or two. Have you and that cop done it already?”

She cast a quick glance at the two women and one man who sat patiently waiting for her dad to call them in. The women were studiously poring over copies ofWoman’s Day andFamily Circle while the man pretended to readField and Stream. She knew they were hanging on her and Gran’s every word, though.

She lowered her voice.“That’s none of your business, Gran!”

Gran arched a finely penciled eyebrow.“Oh? You come in here bitching and moaning about Leo’s buttons and I can’t even ask you a simple question?”

“That’s different. I don’t…” She dropped her voice even more. “I don’t do it where the whole town can see us.”

Gran’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “So you didn’t do it, huh? Thought as much. Better get a move on, girlfriend. A man like Chase won’t wait around forever. And you know what they say about women that don’t put out.”

“No, I don’t,” she said between clenched teeth. “And I don’t care.”

“They’re prudes. And you don’t want to be a prude. That’s the curse of death right there. You’ll never date in this town again. Only guys who’ll still want you are idiots, and you don’t want them mucking up the Poole bloodline.”

“Gran! That’s so wrong on so many levels I don’t even… Ugh.”

“Right or wrong, you better take a page out of my book, honey, or else Chase will chase after some other chick. Now, where were we? Oh, right. The note.”

Odelia, shaking her head, picked up the note. Her grandmother was right. It said,‘WE PRISONERS! PLEASE HELP PLEASE!’ It was a small piece of paper, and the writing was shaky, as if whoever had written it was under great duress.

She turned it over. There was nothing on the other side, and nothing whatsoever to indicate where it had come from. No identification, no clue as to where this person was being held prisoner or when the note was written.

“I think it’s from Russia,” said Gran. “Stalin’s got all those prison camps over there? In Siberia? One of ‘em prisoners must have smuggled out this sweater.”

“So how did the sweater get here? Besides, they don’t have prison camps in Russia anymore, Gran. They went out of fashion when Stalin died, remember? In the nineteen-fifties?”

“So who wrote it then, Little Miss Know-It-All?”

“Lemme see that sweater.” She studied the label. Ziv Riding. “Wow. Pretty expensive.”

Grandma beamed.“I told you. Leo’s into me.”

“Leo must be into you a lot. This is Ziv Riding.”

“Is he famous or something?”

“Only one of the hottest designers working right now. He shot to the top out of nowhere, and he’s been the star of New York Fashion Week three years in a row. Are you sure Leo didn’t steal this from someplace?”

Gran planted her hand on her hip.“Hey. Don’t insult my Leo. I’ll have you know the guy is loaded.”

She gave Gran a crooked smile.“I saw that.”