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Pamela had already made the picnic and packed it into a wicker basket when the boys arrived. She’d cleaned the kitchen as well, been a thorough little domestic goddess with her mom and dad away for the week. And finally she had changed from jogging pants and T-shirt into her costume. Nothing outlandish, just a simple white-muslin dress and sandals, and then to the garden to pluck daisies and buttercups and ring them into a crown and a necklace. She stood before her bedroom mirror adjusting the circlet of flowers in her hair and the one about her neck. Then she admired herself cheekily for a moment, just before the rap sounded on the porch’s swing door and ruffled her calm.

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