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and shoulders had appeared in midair, six feet or so beyond the railing. He was forcing a grin, but his face was blanched white as his shirt, and the sweat pouring from his forehead had dissolved the makeup and exposed his black eye. This man, this wonderful foolish man who was afraid of heights, had climbed the struts of a light tower, fifty feet into the air, leaving his tuxedo jacket and shoes behind and moving silently in his socks until he could give us the distraction that we needed to save ourselves.

Corinne whirled to face him, bringing the gun around with a wild cry of alarm. Aaron, exposed on his perch, clung to the metal bars and closed his eyes. In the same infinite moment, Roger Talbot bolted for the balcony door, Crystal slumped over in a faint, and Travis and I launched ourselves at Corinne. He went high and I dove low—the side slit in my gown ripped almost to the waist—as we knocked the gun from Corinne’s hand and brought all three of us crashing to the floor in a chaotic and very painful heap.

Travis seemed to have stunned himself, and Corinne went completely limp and began to weep and moan. As I struggled out from under their combined dead weight, I heard the pistol strike the Sky Church floor far below with a tiny, harsh clang and a drawn-out metallic clatter that seemed to go on echoing forever in my mind.

Chapter Thirty-Six

THANKSGIVING IS THE PERFECT HOLIDAY. YOU COOK, YOU eat, you count your blessings. Except for the dirty dishes and the indigestion, what could be better?

One of my blessings in recent years—having Lily as a friend—brought with it the fine fringe benefit of a turkey feast at her house. Who knew that I’d also be thankful for not getting splattered all over the floor of the Sky Church? But on this particular Thanksgiving morning, less than a week after the crisis, it was much on my mind. Especially with my mother on the phone talking about it.

Mom had called the day after the wedding, of course, because she buys The Seattle Times in Boise, and could hardly miss “Shooting at Experience Music Project Leaves One Critical, Suspect Arrested” on the front page. Now she was calling again, from my brother Tim’s home in Illinois, to wish me happy Thanksgiving and to fret some more.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I said again as I sat in my chilly kitchen, muffled up in my robe, and contemplated the culinary adventure before me. In a fit of holiday spirit I’d promised Lily a pie, and although she assured me that store-bought would be fine, I was determined to concoct the thing myself.

“But this crazy woman could have shot you,” said my mother. Now that she knew her darling daughter was safe, she seemed to almost relish the idea. What a story for her poker club. “You could have been killed.”

“Well, I wasn’t, and you’re beginning to sound ghoulish about it.”

“Don’t be silly, Carrie!” Only my mother called me Carrie. “I was worried sick. You should have called me before I read about it in the paper.”

“I was busy, Mom. It was a long night, and Tommy was in surgery for hours. I’m sorry, I just didn’t think about it.”

“But he’s all right now? The poor man.”

Lucky man was more like it. Boris had stopped Tommy’s bleeding with his wadded-up dress shirt, and clever Rhonda had summoned an ambulance crew the minute she heard there was a gun in the building. Tommy was back in a room at Harborview, but in satisfactory condition, and managing a faint wisecrack or two for his constant stream of affectionate visitors. The whole affair, dreadful as it was, could have been far, far worse.

Mom went on, “I read that the publisher, is his name Talbot? I read that he’s running for mayor over there. It’s wonderful, how brave he was.”

I sank my head in one hand, listening to her rattle on and deciding not to disabuse her of the heroic impression that Roger Talbot had managed to convey to the press. The man was a master. While the rest of us were at the hospital worrying about Tommy, he gave a long, nonexclusive interview to anyone with a mike or a pen.

Somehow the ugly little scuffle that brought Corinne to the floor of the balcony had evolved into a denouement featuring Roger and Travis as coolheaded heroes, with Crystal and myself as adoring onlookers, and Aaron