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  I twisted off the cap of a Miller High Life and took a deep swallow. Then, telling myself to calm down, I began creating. I started with sardines on cream-cheese-covered Ritz crackers. Delicious. I added sun-dried tomatoes dripping with olive oil to a few crackers and ate them as I stood, still looking in the fridge. I found a ripe red apple and was about to bite into it when there was a sudden noise behind me. I turned to see Allison Crane staring at me, laughing.

  "Don't you knock?" I said, feeling my face redden. I wondered how long she'd been standing there watching me gorge myself.

  "Sorry. I thought I heard you come in. I was out back, taking a soak." Indeed, she was wrapped loosely in a green terry robe and her red curls were damp at the edges.

  "Out back?"

  She walked over and helped herself to a sardine and cracker. "In the hot tub. It's very private. One of the reasons I wanted this particular cabin. That and the fact that it's a suite."

  Now that I was no longer in danger of keeling over, I looked around and noticed that she'd come into my room through the bathroom. There were two doors to the bathroom, one on my side, the other on hers.

  "We share a bathroom?" I asked, finally biting into the apple.

  "Yes, but you can lock your door from your side. In case you're afraid I might steal something." She grinned, hugging her robe around her.

  I walked through to Allison's cabin, a mirror image of my own, except hers already looked well-lived in. In fact, there was hardly a surface that wasn't covered with some article of clothing. A bra dangled over the back of the chair in front of the fireplace. A pair of panties had been tossed on the bed. Several shirts adorned the little kitchen table and a pair of jeans lay on the floor. When I arched an eyebrow, she giggled.

  "I was having trouble deciding what to wear," she said.

  I looked at her robe and grinned. "Good choice."

  "I mean for dinner tonight." She tightened the belt on her robe a bit self-consciously and straightened her hair. "I brought some pictures for you to look at before dinner. So you'll know who's who. I thought you could kind of check everyone out during dinner, size them up."

  "Allison, please. Let me decide what I'm going to do, okay?"

  She looked up, hurt. "Oh. Well, sure. I mean, of course. I didn't mean to tell you how to do your job."

  "It's okay," I said, feeling guilty. "Actually, that's exactly what I had in mind anyway. By the way, I noticed there's no phone in the room. Do you know where the closest one is?"

  "Back down the mountain at the T-Bone Ranch. There's a two-way radio in the lodge they use to contact the ranch but even cell phones don't work up here. It's part of the allure of the resort. All these business women and no phones! They don't know what to do with themselves the first few days. Half of them cart their laptops all the way up here, even though the brochure is very explicit about the facilities." I decided not to mention my own laptop. It wasn't really my fault. I hadn't seen the brochure.

  "A lot of people just can't imagine a place this isolated," she went on. "For me, the isolation and privacy are what make it so special. People really connect up here. Don't worry, Stella can radio down if you need something." While she talked, she held the top of her robe together in her fist and it suddenly dawned on me that she was probably naked beneath it.

  "Let me know when you want to look at those pictures," I said, turning back to my room.

  "How about now?"

  "Maybe you should get dressed first," I suggested.

  Her cheeks colored.

  "And I want to get myself unpacked anyway. Give me thirty minutes, okay?"

  "Take your time. I'm going back out to the hot tub."

  I hadn't meant to hurt her feelings, but I definitely didn't want to give her the wrong idea. Posing as her girlfriend was going to be hard enough. The last thing we needed was to complicate matters by letting real feelings surface. I thought again of Maggie, suddenly missing her as if I'd been gone a week already.

  It didn't take long to put my stuff away. As I hung up my clothes, I saw that my closet also backed up to Allison's. By standing in the closet and peering out through the slats, I could see into my room. If I were to make a small hole in the closet wall, I was pretty sure I'd be able to look from my closet into Allison's, and through the slatted door of her closet into her room. If I were to tape my video cam to the hole, I should have a pretty clear shot of her cabin from my closet, as long as none of her clothes were in the way.

  I went out to the kitchen and rummaged around until I found a good, sturdy knife. Outside, I found a suitable rock. I carried these to the closet, selected an eye-level site, and began hammering at the wall inside the closet. I was glad Allison had opted to go back outside. I hadn't decided yet whether or not I wanted her to know about the camera.

  The hole turned out to be a little bigger than I'd intended, but I didn't think it would be too obvious. I used the duct tape I'd brought to hold the camera in place against the closet wall. I'd also thought to bring an extension cord, but plugging it in would mean that whoever came into my room would see the cord and wonder why I needed it in the closet. The battery was good for a few hours, but would need constant recharging. I decided I'd just have to play it by ear, plugging it in whenever I could, tossing the cord in the closet whenever someone entered. It shouldn't be too much trouble, though. The camera was equipped with an electronic motion sensor and only started taping when the sensor picked up movement in the room.

  The other problem was Allison's clothes. I'd lined up the camera so that the wide-angle lens had a clear view between the slats, but what if she moved her clothes? Of course, given the fact she seemed to prefer them strewn around the room, this might not be a problem.

  For now, without moving the camera at all, I could see almost the entire cabin, with the exception of one corner of the kitchen. I was still fooling around with the focus when Allison came back in. Her hair was damp and the curls were stuck to her forehead. Her skin was pink from the heat of the tub, and perspiration dotted her brow. Suddenly, I realized I was spying on her and hurried to turn the camera off, feeling like a peeping Tom. But not before I'd seen the robe drop, and Allison's heat-flushed body beneath.

  A half-hour later, when she knocked on our adjoining door, she was dressed smartly in well-fitting slacks and a navy blazer. I had showered and changed from my riding clothes into a pair of white twill pants, white shirt with sleeves rolled up to my elbows, and a tan vest. Martha called this my off-to-the-races look. Maggie said it showed off my tan. I called it wrinkle-free wash-and-wear.

  "Ready?" she said, letting her gaze slide over me. I willed myself not to blush, ignoring the bold appraisal, and led her to the tiny kitchen table where we spent more than an hour poring over her pictures while I pumped her for information about her colleagues. By the time we were finished, I knew as much about most of the women as I knew about some of my own friends. But I was no closer to knowing which one of them might be trying to kill Allison.

  Chapter Six

  The dining room was already packed and the women kept pouring in. Allison had said they'd be sitting close to the stage at the far end because she was supposed to deliver a brief welcome speech. The plan was for me to find a spot close enough to her table that I could study the women in her group. After dinner, I was supposed to come over and ask her to dance, thus beginning our charade.

  I was still standing in the main entry, trying to find her table, when somebody clapped me on the back. I turned and smiled at Karen Castillo, dressed in a black turtleneck and black jeans. With her black hair brushed back off her forehead, she looked like a female Johnny Cash. I immediately recognized the woman with her as Reeva Dunsmore, the mechanic and vice president of Women On Top.

  "Hey, cowgirl. You find your cabin okay? This is the one I told you about," she said, winking at Reeva. "Chastity, right?"

  "Cassidy," I corrected. "Cassidy James."

  "Reeva Dunsmore," Reeva said. She didn't offer a hand, but rathe
r tossed her chin back in greeting. Her yellow hair was shaved into a flattop, and her right ear was graced with half a dozen diamond studs. She wore an unbuttoned flannel shirt over a white ribbed muscle shirt tucked into Levis which were tucked into ankle-high hiking boots. Her mouth was smallish, adding to the rather rough look she projected. "I hear you put on quite a show this afternoon," she said, but her gray eyes had already dismissed me, and even as she spoke, she was scanning the crowd.

  "Come sit at our table," Karen offered. "When you're up here by yourself, it's easier if you've got someone to introduce you around." She put her arm around my shoulder and steered me through the milling crowd. So much for plans, I thought, inwardly smiling at this turn of events. Now I'd be able to do more than just keep an eye on things.

  When Allison saw me walk up with Karen and Reeva, she raised an eyebrow and then turned back toward Billie Slater, who was engaged in an animated story as we took our seats. I recognized Billie from the photographs. A light-skinned African-American with close-cropped hair and long dangly earrings, she had intelligent, walnut-colored eyes and an easy smile. She wore all white and had a handful of bracelets on her wrist that jangled when she gestured. Allison had said she was a professional photographer, but my first glance told me she was on the wrong end of the camera.

  "So I said, 'You know why straight women are so bad at math? Because for years they've been told that this is ten inches.' " She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart and everyone at the table laughed. "I'm Billie Slater," she said, turning her smile toward me. "Which one of these lucky bums just snagged you?"

  It was my turn to laugh. "I'm Cassidy James. And thanks for the compliment. Actually, Karen was nice enough to invite me to share your table. We rode up the trail together today. I'm afraid I don't know a soul here."

  "Well, you do now. This is Allison Crane, the president of our little organization. And this is Lacy Watkins, our chief office assistant."

  "Glorified secretary is more like it," Lacy said, gracing me with a slightly buck-toothed grin. I recognized her too. She was a short, curly-haired brunette with hazel eyes and a big, crescent-shaped dimple in each cheek. Allison had said she worked in the insurance industry as an independent adjustor. To me, she looked more like a tap dance instructor.

  Allison stood and leaned across the table, offering her hand. I stood too.

  "Any friend of Karen's," she said, squeezing my hand. Our eyes were locked and I was aware that others were watching us closely. I felt heat traveling up my neck.

  "Thank you, it's a pleasure to meet you all," I said, trying to take my hand back.

  "The pleasure's all ours," Allison said, finally letting me go. I nearly toppled backwards and I could feel the barely suppressed grins around me.

  "Uh oh," someone muttered. I wasn't sure, but I thought it might have been Reeva.

  Karen began telling about my Diablo incident, and I watched Allison listen attentively.

  "So you're a real cowgirl?" Allison asked.

  "Yeah," Reeva interjected. "She likes to ride wild things. The wilder the better." There was strained laughter, and I felt I was missing the joke.

  Allison blushed. "I guess it's time to get started," she said, pushing away from the table. She made her way to the stage and took the microphone. I was relieved to have the attention off me and took the opportunity to look around the room. More than half of the expected hundred were already in attendance. I knew others would be coming up by bus tomorrow, and it was hard to imagine the place with so many women packed into it. As it was, the room was alive with laughter.

  "May I have your attention, please," Allison said softly into the microphone. The room fell silent. "Thank you. I'm Allison Crane." The crowd burst into spontaneous applause, with a good deal of whistling and table pounding. When the noise died down, she continued. "President of Women On Top." She smiled and shook her head at the fresh wave of applause. I could see a blush creeping up her neck, whether from pleasure or modesty I couldn't tell. When they'd finally quieted, she went on.

  "Some people say that Women On Top is committed to making sure all lesbians have access to success in the business world. That's not entirely true. We're not just committed to this cause. We're driven.

  "Each and every one of us in this room knows what it was like as a kid to sit in a classroom devoid of role models, to read history books that never mentioned the contributions of a single lesbian, to watch the media stereotype us as laughable, homely spinsters.

  "And while we sat in those classrooms, scared to death that someone would guess our terrible secret, there were more than likely at least two other students in the room feeling the same way. Even at the modest estimate of ten percent, in a class of thirty, there were probably two or three of us. We may not have always recognized each other then, but we've found each other now, and we can't afford to lose sight of each other ever again." Once again, the room filled with applause, but Allison held up her hands.

  "This week is about reaching out. The women in this room represent different races and cultures, different careers and different talents. But what we share is the common desire to make our place in the world, and to make room for others like us until the day comes when no child will have to sit in a classroom wondering who her role models are."

  This time the room exploded in applause and Allison bowed her head until the noise subsided. "As you attend the workshops this week, and participate in the team-building activities, think of the women we've yet to reach, who still feel isolated, unaware of our growing community. When we leave a week from now, it is my hope that each of us will take a renewed determination back with us. The determination to reach those women and make the world a better place for all of us." She held up her hands, silencing them one last time. "Oh, and one other thing. The staff here this week is one hundred percent lesbian-friendly, so be yourselves and enjoy the beauty around you, and no, I'm not just talking about the scenery." There were scattered chuckles before she added a final note. "Let's all make this a week to remember."

  The whole room applauded and I joined in, feeling strangely moved.

  "Nice job," Billie said, standing up to kiss Allison's cheek when she returned to our table.

  "Absolutely brilliant," Lacy said. Her dimples were huge as she beamed at Allison.

  Allison's cheeks were slightly flushed and her eyes danced with excitement. "Now that that's over, I think I'll have a glass of wine. Sabrina, would you do the honors?"

  Sabrina Pepper was a slender, waifish type with long blond hair and timid blue eyes. She was another of Allison's past amours, and during the speech she had watched Allison's every move. She was sitting at the far end of the table where a bottle of Kendall-Jackson Chardonnay sat chilling in a silver bucket. At Allison's request, she passed the bottle, after filling her own glass.

  "That's true what you said about kids in school not having role models," Karen said. "It makes me feel guilty for not coming out to my classes. But the parents would freak. And half the kids would be afraid I was looking at them in the shower. It's not worth it." She ran her fingers through her jet black hair and sat forward in her chair, propping her elbows on the table.

  "I liked what you said about reaching out to those women who are still isolated," Billie added. "Sometimes we forget that not all of us have support groups."

  Reeva cut in. "I still say ten percent is way too low. Half the dykes I know are married and don't even know they're queer. Nobody's even counting them, for God's sake."

  "What? You're not saying Goddess anymore?" Holly McIntyre asked, joining us. A devilish grin played across her tanned face. She had wide-set, brown eyes that twinkled with intelligence, and her blond hair was cut in a style reminiscent of Farrah Fawcett. She was wearing an expensive tan blazer and matching slacks. From talking with Allison, I knew she was a journalist by trade and the director of finance for Women On Top.

  Reeva scowled at her, and took a healthy swig of her beer.

  "What did you
think?" Billie asked, her dark eyes sparkling at me.

  "Very impressive," I said truthfully, looking at Allison. "You seem to be genuinely respected by the women here. Maybe you should run for public office."

  Allison threw back her head and laughed. "If the world were full of lesbians, I'd think about it."

  "If the world were full of lesbians, you wouldn't have time," Holly said. This brought on another round of laughter, and though it was directed at her, Allison laughed right along with them.

  "Pour yourself a glass of wine, Fay. It may be a working vacation, but no one's working tonight,"

  Allison said. Fay Daniels still wore her hair in the long ponytail that nearly reached her buttocks, but I noticed she'd taken the time to braid it. She'd come in late, halfway through Allison's speech and looked embarrassed to have missed it. She poured herself a dollop of the wine and passed the bottle back, smiling shyly. Allison had said her new assistant was hardworking and bright, but she seemed out of place in this crowd, I thought. She was the only reserved one in the bunch.

  Despite my earlier snack, I was still ravenous and was glad to see the food finally served. A waiter had come earlier to take our orders, the choices being limited but appealing. I'd opted for the lasagna and garlic bread with a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, promising myself I'd drink just one glass, lest someone try to off Allison at the table.

  Through dinner, the conversation moved easily, and it didn't take me long to see a pattern in their behavior toward one another. Interestingly, they all seemed to be showing off for my benefit. It was clear that there were two camps: those who adored Allison, and those who seemed to envy or resent her. Reeva and Karen were the most obvious in their resentment, while Billie, Lacy and Sabrina seemed to be ardent supporters. Holly McIntyre, or Farrah, as I now thought of her, seemed to vacillate between admiration and biting sarcasm. And who could tell about Fay Daniels? She seldom spoke. The woman had an amazing capacity for listening. She'd shown me a glimpse of humor earlier, but since joining the group for dinner, she'd remained practically silent.