"Mules are very numerous in Sicily ... The mule is the mode of transport by which the poor man rides to work.'" Nolan Fisher stopped reading aloud and stared at the page. "Good God, what kind of place are we going to?"

"What on earth are you reading?" Casey McConnell asked, glancing at the photographer who was stuffed into the window seat beside her. She had foolishly hoped Sentinel would spring for first-class airplane tickets since it was such a long trip. But no, she and Nolan were sitting in coach, uncomfortable and restless after nearly twelve hours of travel.

Nolan showed her the cover of his book. "An Alphabetised Guide to Sicily and Its Environs, 1913, by Miss Winnifred Hampton."

"What environs? It's an island."

"According to Winnifred, there are a lot of islands around it. Pantelleria, Mozia, Ustica, Lampedusa, the Aeolians, the Aegades ... Hey, give me back my book!"

Casey eluded his grasp and glanced through Miss Winnifred Hampton's ancient publication. "You mean the entire book is compiled of alphabetical listings and her ... rather unique definitions?"

"I doubt if it made the bestseller list," Nolan admitted, "but it's fun reading."

"Well, don't worry about the mules, Nolan. I'm sure things have changed a bit since 1913," Casey said, idly leafing through the guidebook. Then she chuckled. "Listen to this. 'Plumbing is an unknown phenomenon in Sicily.'"

Nolan grimaced. "I suppose it's too late to turn back?"

"Absolutely." She skimmed another page and let out a low whistle.

"What?" Nolan demanded.

"'Corpses are hung out to dry at the ... '" She paused over the pronunciation. "'At the Convento dei Cappuccini in Palermo, dressed in their best Sunday attire. The custom began-'"

"No way," Nolan protested, forcibly grabbing the book back from Casey. "Let me see that!"

"Hey, you lost something," Casey said, leaning down to snatch up a folded piece of paper that had fluttered out of the book and had fallen to the floor between them. She handed it to Nolan.

He frowned briefly, unfolded the paper to read it, then cursed and slapped his forehead.

"Problems?" Casey asked mildly. Nolan had a tendency to dramatize, and she suspected the note was nothing more important than an overdue dry-cleaning bill.

"I'm sorry, Casey. It slipped my mind. The receptionist handed this to me just as I was leaving the office yesterday evening. You were already down in the street getting us a cab to the airport, and what with the rain, and the hassle, and that pervert on the corner of 56th Street who tried to--"

"Get to the point," she urged.

"This is for you. I forgot to give it to you. I'm really sorry."

"For me?" She took it from his fingers and opened it. The moment she read the brief message, her lips tightened. It was the only show of emotion she would permit herself.

"It's from your father," Nolan said unnecessarily.

"Yes." She shoved it into the loose pocket of her trousers.

"Are you gonna return his call?"

"Not from Sicily, I'm not."

"When we get back?"

"No."

"Come on, Casey," Nolan urged, rushing in where wise men wouldn't have dared to tread.

"Drop it."

"He's your father, Casey. Maybe he--"

"Forget it, Nolan. The man is a liar, an adulterer and a smooth talker. He's got about as much moral fiber as cream cheese. What's more..." She took a steadying breath, aware that her voice had risen. "What's more, the fact that he's trying to contact me for the first time in years can only mean he needs money, help, or ego boosting."

Nolan held up both hands. "Okay, okay, sorry I mentioned it."

After a long moment, Casey said, "Sorry I snapped at you."

"It's okay."

The subject of Casey's father came up seldom, but it always made her tense and irritable. She didn't want to think or talk about him. He was history as far as she was concerned.

She was glad Nolan was ready to let it drop. They had worked together often enough to be able to blow off steam without offending each other, and to recognize when to back off. It was one of the reasons she had requested that the magazine assign Nolan to accompany her to Sicily.