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“Must be a big safe,” said Brutus, “to keep all those billions.”

“She’s not a billionaire, silly,” said Prunella.

“She’s not? But I thought—”

“That’s just more media nonsense. They print a lot of lies about Opal. She’s a millionaire a couple of times over, but hardly a billionaire.”

“So where does she keep her money?”

Prunella pointed to a painting of Opal that was suspended on the wall behind her desk.“It swings open,” she said. “Behind it is her safe, where she keeps stacks of cash, jewelry, gold bars, and cigars.”

“Cigars? You mean, like, gold cigars?”

“No, real cigars. They’re Harlan’s, and he’s always afraid someone will steal them.”

“Rich people,” Brutus muttered.

“She shouldn’t go out there all by herself,” said Harriet. “It’s not safe.”

“No, that guy has tried to kill her three times already,” I said. “He won’t hesitate to try again.”

“Guy? I thought Opal’s assailant was a woman?” asked Brutus.

“I thought so, too, but Odelia said the voice on the phone sounded male.”

“He probably changed his voice when he called the salon yesterday,” Brutus said.

“Or maybe she altered her voice when she called Opal today,” said Harriet.

Both were distinct possibilities, and it was hard to know which one was correct.

“So what’s the plan?” asked Brutus.

“Opal will drive out there alone, to deliver the money,” I said.

“But she won’t be alone, will she?” said Prunella. “I—we’ll all be in the car with her. And if something happens, we’ll pounce on the assailant and rip him—”

“Or her,” I interjected.

“—to shreds.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Brutus agreed.

“And of course Odelia and the others will all be close by, keeping their distance so as not to spook the kidnapper, but close enough so that they can get there in seconds.”

“Minutes,” I corrected her.

“Minutes isn’t good enough,” said Brutus. “It only takes a second to fire a fatal shot.”

“Oh, dear,” said Prunella. “I knew she should have had those cloning people take a sample of her living tissue.”

The night crept on, with the clock seemingly ticking slower as midnight drew near.

“Oh, this is horrible!” Opal exclaimed as she traced a pattern on her nice Oriental rug. “This waiting around—it’s enough to drive me crazy!”

“That’s probably the idea,” said her boyfriend. “It’s a form of psychological warfare. They know this is driving you crazy, and that’s exactly what they want.”

“At least now we know for sure it isn’t Suzy doing this,” said Opal.

“Unless she’s working in cahoots with a second party,” said Gran, who still hadn’t given up on Suzy as the mastermind behind all of this.

“I think we can safely exclude Suzy from our list of suspects,” said Odelia.

The door opened and the hundred-year-old butler shuffled in. He was carrying a tray with a teapot, cups and saucers, and biscuits.“Tea and cookies, ma’am,” he announced in a reedy voice.

His hands were shaking, and I was nine-ninety percent sure he’d soon drop the entire tray on the floor. Much to my surprise, though, he kept on shuffling until he’d reached a little gate-leg table and managed to deposit the tray on top of it unscathed.

“Thank you, Barkley,” said Opal.

“Will there be anything else, ma’am?” asked the ancient retainer.

“No, you go to bed now.”

“Thank you, ma’am—sir.” And he shuffled out again, closing the door as he went.

“We never thought to put him on our list of suspects,” said Gran, annoyed at this oversight on her part.

“Barkley? He’s been with us for years,” said Harlan.

“Yeah, Barkley wouldn’t do such a thing,” said Opal.

“I think we can exclude the centenarian,” was Chase’s opinion. “You really don’t want me to hide in the backseat of the car, Opal?” he asked, reiterating an idea he’d launched earlier in the evening.

“No, if the kidnapper sees even a glimpse of you, they’re likely to open fire.”

“I could hide in the trunk,” Chase amended his original plan.

“And what good would that do? By the time you’re out of that trunk, the transaction will have either been concluded, or gone horribly awry. No, I have to do this myself. This is my mess. I put Marilyn in this position and I have to get her out.”

“I hope she’ll be all right,” said Marge, who was clutching her neck.

“If that bastard has harmed even a single hair on the poor woman’s head,” Harlan began, reddening beneath his tan, “I’ll… I’ll… Well, I don’t know what I’ll do but I’ll do something!”

“I know you will, darling,” said Opal, pressing her boyfriend’s hand. “I know. But we need to stay positive here. We need to think good thoughts and hope for the best.”

Soon it was time to leave, and Opal grabbed hold of the bulky bag with cash and walked out, followed by a procession of well-wishers and fellow positive thinkers. Except for Gran, who probably never read a positive thinking book in her life.

“We’re all gonna die,” she said now, earning herself a scowl from Opal.

We followed them into the hallway and then outside, where four cars were parked.