Gus had chewed vigorously on the nicotine gum that was giving him absolutely no relief in his personal antismoking campaign. “What are the chances she’ll open up to you?” he’d asked.

“I don’t know. I stood to one side when Molly made her statement, but I’m pretty sure she saw me. Whether or not she recognized me is something else. It would be great to have her cooperation on the story. Otherwise I’ll have to work around her.”

“What did you think of that statement?”

“In person, I’d say Molly was very convincing when she suggested there was someone else in the house that night, but I think she’s whistling in the dark,” Fran said. “Of course, some people will believe her, and maybe her real need is to create that sense of doubt. Will she talk to me? I just don’t know.”

But I can hope, Fran thought, remembering that conversation as she raced down the hall to the makeup room.

Cara, the makeup artist, snapped a cape around her neck. Betts, the hairdresser, rolled her eyes. “Fran, give me a break. Did you sleep in your ski cap last night?”

Fran grinned. “No. Just wore it this morning. Perform a miracle, the two of you.”

As Cara applied base makeup and Betts turned on the curling iron, Fran closed her eyes and thought of her lead sentence: “At 7:30 this morning, the doors of Niantic Prison opened and Molly Carpenter Lasch walked down the driveway to make a brief but startling statement to the press.”

Cara and Betts worked with lightning speed, and a few minutes later, Fran was deemed camera ready.

“A new me,” she confirmed as she studied the mirror. “You’ve done it again.”

“Fran, it’s all there. It’s just that your coloring is monochromatic,” Cara told her patiently. “It needs accentuating.”