A/N: Sorry for the delay...I just can't seem to write a normal 3500 word chapter any more. I want to take a moment to thank my dear friend, Margaret, for wading through pages and pages of my writing and making it tighter as well as bucking up my confidence when it wanes. You're the best, Marg. Also, a shout out to my dear gf of 21 years for thinking everything I do is wonderful and my buddy Billy for coming up with the brilliant acronym O.R.G.A.S.M. years ago when we were teenage radicals. Looks like we will be renting a share on Cherry Grove this summer after being absent for a decade...party time, my friends!

Jane rapped three times on the door to the clinic's examination room then twice more for good measure. Her impatient hand was set to knock again when the door was opened by D'Fwan, no longer in his starched white nurse's uniform, but in a white cotton sari with a blue border. A matching headscarf draped loosely over his brow flowed down his back; the distinctive habit of a nun in the order of the Missionaries of Charity.

Her grimace was met by the practiced raising of a manicured eyebrow. "Medical emergency, Detective?"

"No. I'm just a little taken aback; twelve years of Catholic school left me wary of nuns."

"I bet you were a rebellious child."

"You'd win that bet."

He crossed his arms over a powerful chest. "No worries, Jane, Mother Teresa founded a nursing order, not a teaching one. I will not hit you with a ruler or paddle your bottom, no matter how much you beg me to."

"What's with the change in uniform?"

The nurse shrugged. "Partially boredom, partially the fact that I could be relaxing in the nude, sipping a mojito poolside at the Belvedere and watching the boys flex their muscles…my work here is charity and penance; I should look the part."

Jane squeezed his shoulder. "You sure do. You made me flash back to ninth grade algebra. Sister Thomas Aquinas caught me chewing gum and made me wear it stuck to the end of my nose all day. Is Maura with a patient?"

"No. We haven't had one all morning. Strange for a Saturday; with all the day trippers coming over there's usually a few sunburns or a case of poison ivy. The boys roll around in the Meat Rack and get so carried away, they don't know what they're rolling in. Dr. Argentina and I removed over a hundred thorns from a hapless gentleman's derriere on the Fourth of July."

"Ouch."

"Mmm-hmm, he was seeing stars all right, and I'm not talking about the patriotic kind."

He stepped aside and the detective entered the small exam room. It was empty, but Jane could hear the sound of laughter from the office beyond. Three coffee mugs sat atop a neat cherry wood desk. Maura and Faye, in matching burgundy scrubs were huddled over a Scrabble board.

Jane peered at the string of letters, jutting off at right angles and crossing one another from corner to corner. She rubbed her eyes and looked closer. Dropping into an empty chair, she looked a third time.

"Maybe I do need to see a doctor. I think I've developed a case of dyslexia. I can't read a freakin' thing on that board."

Maura reached across the desk and took her hand. "No, love, I can assure you that you're perfectly fine. We're playing in Greek.'

"Oh." She thought for a moment then turned to Faye. "How can you play if you can't see the board?"

The older physician smiled. "I can see it in my mind. Maura and D'Fwan set up my tiles and call out the graphed coordinates of every word they play. I've beat them twice already."

D'Fwan sat demurely next to Jane, crossing his muscular legs. "I'm catching up. I just played κλανιά for a triple word score."

"That's why we were laughing, Jane." Faye explained. "κλανιά is the Greek word for fart."

Jane released the soft hand resting in her own, a fit of laughter shaking her shoulders. "I knew it! There is absolutely nothing on this earth funnier than a fart; even nerds can't resist its power."

She wiped her eyes and turned to D'Fwan. "I wouldn't have pegged you as a nerd, though."

"Why, because I'm black?"

"No! Urkel, Obama, Carlton Banks, my partner Frost…some of the biggest nerds in the world are black dudes. You just seem…cool."

The nursing nun smiled. "I am cool. In fact, I spent one exquisitely cool year living with a hunk named Stavros on the island of Mykonos. He had the body of Heracles and eyes the color of the Aegean. That's where I learned my Greek, and I don't mean only the language."

The women smiled. "What happened to Stavros?

"Alas, it was not meant to be." D'Fwan sighed theatrically. "His mother made him marry a nice girl from his village, and I made my way back to New York. I still get a Christmas card. He has eleven daughters; can you believe it?"

The phone clipped to Jane's belt loop coughed in a burst of static. Kaye's gruff voice spit out of the speaker. "Lacey, can you read me? Over."

Jane freed the phone and raised it to her mouth. "I read you, Cagney. Over."

"Elvis has left the building. She's on the move. Over."

"Coordinates? Over."

"Heading southeast toward the ferry dock. The boat is coming in, looks packed. Over."

Jane frowned. "Anyone tailing her? Over."

"That's a negative. Over."

"Proceed with caution. B.O.L.O. Angela Rizzoli, 60, Caucasian, lots of luggage, big frilly mother- of-the-bride book clutched in her talons. Over."

The sound of Kaye's laughter bubbled through the speaker accompanied by staccato bursts of white noise. "Got it, Jane…uh, Lacey, I have a photo of your mother…the suspect, on my phone. I'll radio if she disembarks. Out."

Faye leaned back in her chair. "It's good to hear her laughing. Thank you, Jane, for letting her be a cop again. Yesterday was a difficult day. Annaliese cried her eyes out when we left her, but Kaye cried even more. Despite outward appearances, she's much softer than I am."

Maura wrapped an arm around her friend's waist and the older woman rested her head on Maura's shoulder. "It's for the best."

"I do hope so." She sniffled once and sat up in her chair, her perfect posture returning along with her good cheer. "So, Jane, how did Kaye convince you to play Lacey to her Cagney? I'm certain you both wanted to be the…more assertive character."

Jane shrugged. "No convincing. Kaye outranks me; she's a captain."

The phone vibrated in Jane's hand. "The ferry has departed. The subject was not on board. I am following Elvis to her home for a nap. Over."

"I read you. We'll rendezvous in fifteen on the beach. Time to search the dunes for our perp's lair. Over."

"Did you obtain the info from our C.I.s? Over."

"Er…not yet. Out." Jane returned the phone to her belt loop. "Shit. Where the hell is my mother? She's not answering her phone or responding to texts. I'm beginning to worry."

Maura glanced at the silver Tag Heuer on her left wrist. "It's just one o'clock. Even if she left at dawn, she may still be on the road. It's a summer weekend; traffic is bound to be difficult."

Jane fidgeted with her ring, her legs jittering against the floorboards. "I'm nervous."

"I can see that. I'm certain that Angela is fine."

"Yeah, I know, but you'd be just as nervous if your mother was joining us on vacation for a week."

Maura swallowed hard, the lukewarm sip of coffee seeming to stick in her throat. Her pupils dilated. "My mother…"

"Yeah, Constance. Have you called her lately?"

The doctor flushed. "No. I never know precisely where she is; she could just as easily be in Jakarta as in Jacksonville. With the time difference, it's hard to find the right…"

"Maura," Jane growled a warning. "Hives. Big itchy red pustules that will interfere with our sexy times."

Maura swallowed again, absently scratching at the blemish-free skin of her bare neck. "I haven't called her…but I will. Tonight." She let out a breath.

"Good. I doubt you have to worry about Constance rushing to Fire Island to hasten us to the altar."

"That's true. My mother has her own life. When we set a date, she will pencil it into her schedule, but she's no Angela Rizzoli."

"No." Jane took her hand. "Thank God. We only need one Angela in our lives."

D'Fwan changed the subject. "What's all this about code names and confidential informants? If there's a mystery in Cherry Grove, D'Fwan can be a naughty detective as well as a nurse. I have a lovely tweed skirt and Sherlock Holmes hat hanging in my closet."

Jane filled him in about Volga and her cyber stalker, the threats against her life and the measures she and Kaye were taking to ensure her safety.

"Volga hasn't been out of our sight since she got up this morning. I waited for her in front of her house and watched her eat breakfast with Olga at Island Breeze, tagged along while she did inventory at her three bars, nursed a Dr. Pepper while she waited on customers in Cherry's…I even cleared the bathroom and stood sentry outside the door while she pooped. Kaye joined me when she and Faye arrived on the 10 o'clock ferry."

"Anyone suspicious?" The nurse asked.

"Not really. There was a woman at the bar in Cherry's who was typing away on a laptop, but Kaye got a peek at her screen; she was posting a personal ad on Plenty of Fish."

"Did the personal say, 'Dorothy looking for my Rose?'"

Jane laughed. "Good one, Maur. No, but I wish it had. She was a bit younger than our suspect profile anyway."

"So, who is your confidential informant? Maybe I could meet with them. I'll be discreet." D'Fwan offered.

"Is there anything discreet about a man in a tweed skirt and a Sherlock Holmes hat?"

"We're in Cherry Grove, the rules of discretion are different here. Besides, I can go places that you cannot on account of your vagina…the Belvedere, the darkest recesses of the Meat Rack."

It was true. D'Fwan was a man and as such, had access to the shadowy underbelly of Fire Island. The thought that their culprit could be male had not crossed Jane's mind, but it was possible. For all she knew, there was a Golden Girl fetish among Cherry Grove's drag community; some older queens may very well dress as Blanche and Rose, Dorothy and Sophia. Perhaps Volga's killing off of a beloved character in her story was enough to push the man over the edge toward threats and even murder.

"Okay, you're in."

D'Fwan clapped his hands. "Can I pick a code name?"

"Sure."

He thought for a moment. "I'll be Kojak." His eyes grew dreamy. "I love a Greek man sucking on a lollypop."

"Okay, Kojak. I'm Lacey and Kaye is Cagney. Volga is code name Elvis. Give me your phone and I will program our numbers into it. Your first order of business is to make inquiries within the drag community. See if anyone dresses like a character from the Golden Girls."

"Or if anyone is a fiction writer, a journalist, poet…" Faye added.

"Good thinking." Maura stood. "I think it's time to close the office. Shall we leave the Scrabble board in place and continue tomorrow?" She turned to her fianceé. "Don't forget 69, Jane."

D'Fwan's eyebrows shot up. "Dr. Isles, I'm shocked." He laid a hand against his chest.

"The number, not the sexual position." Maura hastily added. "Our suspect's screen name is Rosothyluvr69. The number could refer to a date of birth; for example, my America Online address is MDIsles73."

"You still use AOL? I thought that was only for octogenarians."

"I think you're right, D'Fwan. I'm a septuagenarian and I've already moved on to Gmail." Faye laughed. "What about addresses? Are there any houses numbered 69 on the island?"

D'Fwan thought a moment. "I'm sure there are, and the Belvedere has a room number 69 on every floor."

Jane cleared her throat. "This is where our confidential informants can help." She looked directly at her future wife.

"Me?" Maura asked, confused. "I don't have any information to share."

Jane knew her phrasing would have to be just right; she would be asking Maura to take a stroll in the gray area between unethical and moral. Maura did not like anything that was not clearly black or white. She cleared her throat again and cracked her knuckles. Maura was looking at her through narrowed eyes.

"Jane? Are you hiding something?'

"Nope."

"Your tell gives you away. You always crack your knuckles when you're thinking of a way to lie to me without lying to me."

Jane stood and crossed her arms, shoving her guilty hands into her armpits. "Fine. I want to have a look at your records, the clinic's records. I know you and D'Fwan have been entering everything into some computer database. Can you do a search and tell me which of your patients were born in 1969?"

Maura's mouth fell open. "No. Those records are confidential. It would be a violation of HIPAA law to share them with anyone without the patient's written consent. You know that, Jane." She shot Jane a wounded look that made the nearly six-foot detective feel two feet tall.

"But, babe, I don't care about medical information, who has an ostomy bag or a third nipple. I just need dates of birth."

"Maura…" Faye, who had remained silent during the exchange, spoke up. "I have no problem turning a blind eye to such a request." She laughed softly at her own choice of words. "If we were in an episode of Law and Order, this would be where we leave the files on the desk and walk out of the room for a minute."

Maura licked her lips and played with the ring on her finger, her own tells; she was wavering.

"Maur?"

"I can't do it, Jane. I'm a physician and these are my patients."

Jane nodded. "I understand."

"Are you angry?"

"No. You are the most honest and responsible person I know. Your integrity just makes me love you more." She kissed the top of the doctor's head and Maura relaxed into her, resting her cheek in the hollow of Jane's prominent clavicle. The detective smelled of turned earth and cedar, vetiver and sweet cream; the lingering scents of her shower with the handmade goat milk soap, with just a hint of her own peppery skin beneath.

Jane pulled her closer, just as Kaye's voice sputtered out from the phone on her hip. "Lacey, where are you? Over."

Maura released her and Jane fumbled for her phone. "On my way, Cagney. Over."

"Bring me a beer. Patrolling the beach is thirsty work. Over."

"You got it. Any sign of our unsub? Over."

"That would be a negative. Out."

Faye made her way around the desk, hands stretched out in front of her, careful not to knock into the file cabinets or upset the Scrabble board. When she cleared the furniture, Maura took her hand and led her out of the office and through the small exam room.

"Faye, can I treat you to a nice glass of Chardonnay and a salad at Island Breeze?"

"That sounds lovely."

"D'Fwan, will you join us?"

"Another time, ladies. I have a date with a speedo and my Sherlock Holmes hat. I'll be at the pool in the Belvedere gathering intelligence."

When the two physicians were safely out of earshot, he turned to Jane. "I'm not a doctor and I don't give a rat's tit about no HIPAA law, especially when a woman's life may be at stake. Let's go get you those names."

The town was crowded with Saturday tourists; same-sex couples who strolled hand-in-hand through the busy downtown, eating ice cream and window shopping at the half-dozen stores that sold everything from rainbow spangled bikinis and pride beads to Swarovski crystal figurines and Lenox dinnerware. The residential walks were swarmed with day-trippers, admiring the quaint beachside architecture, snapping pictures and pointing out their favorite cottages.

Every ferry that arrived belched forth hundreds of people loaded down with beach gear, toting coolers and portable grills. Bass-heavy dance music from the Ice Palace warred with the more complex rhythms of Motown emanating from Cherry's. Both bars were jammed full of revelers. Short-haired women in cargo shorts and tanks danced next to spandex-clad drag queens, young men in polo shirts with the collars turned up, preppy-style, leaned over railings smoking cigarettes and chatting with heavily tattooed young women. The line at the pizza shop stretched nearly to the ferry dock and grew even longer as sun-worshipers made their way from the ocean, burnt and smiling, for a midday meal.

Maura threaded her way through the crowds, Faye holding tightly to her arm. She painted a tableau with words for the elder physician; a couple of indeterminate sex who had stepped off of the walkway to share a kiss, a handsome male couple, one pushing a double stroller, the other grasping the legs of a small girl who sat atop his shoulders, a dozen lesbians in pink breast-cancer-survivor tees passing out pink ribbons outside of the tiny post office, Butthole-Fly in his silk kimono tottering on wooden sandals next to a platinum blonde drag queen who must have been seven feet tall in his stiletto pumps, a pair of teenage girls, holding hands and gaping in delighted wonder at the queer world around them.

They stopped at the entrance to Island Breeze. Olga stood in the doorway clutching a clipboard and taking down the names of prospective diners. Maura caught her eye and waved, signaling that she wanted a table for two.

"There is long wait, Doctors, but I put you on top of the list. As soon as those two pay their check, you sit." She gestured to a couple at a small table in the corner who sat gazing into each other's eyes, an untouched plate of disco fries between them.

"Thank you, Olga. Is your sister in Cherry's today?"

The chubby woman looked confused. "Sister? My sister Svetlana is in Brighton Beach. Her husband, Yuri, has the cancer. Chernobyl. Very sick. Any day now she will call and we have to go to funeral." She shook her head sadly and turned to another diner. "Half hour wait for inside table, a little longer for outside."

True to her word, Olga sat the pair at the next available table. Maura followed the harried woman with her eyes, taking in the close cropped grey hair, the pale blue eyes, the weak chin under a heavy jaw. She wished Volga was here for comparison. She turned to Faye, a question on her lips, then bit it back. Her friend would be of no help assessing visual clues.

Faye was carefully taking inventory of the tabletop, feeling for knife and fork, water glass and pepper mill, memorizing everything she touched and its place so she could eat without fear of spilling her drink or pouring salt into her coffee. When she had arranged the contents of their table to her satisfaction, she sighed and rested her hands in her lap.

"Is Jane's mother so very terrible, Maura?" She asked.

"No, not at all. Angela is a bit…invasive, but she means well. Jane lived at home much too long, so her mother never learned to let go. Do you know that until we moved in together, Angela was still doing her laundry, cleaning her apartment, and cooking all of her meals?"

"Typical Italian mother." Faye laughed. "Kaye's mother cooked and prepared dinner for her every night even after we were living together. She'd ride the subway from Brooklyn and ring our apartment door with a tray of lasagna or a tupperware container of pasta e fagiole as if we were incapable of feeding ourselves, or more likely that my bland American food would poison her only child."

Maura nodded her head, forgetting that her friend could not pick up on her nonverbal agreement. "Angela mistrusts my cooking as well, but I don't take offense. If it wasn't for her meddling, Jane and I would still be merely best friends, each harboring a secret love, afraid to share our feelings."

"That's wonderful, Maura. Kaye's mother never acknowledged our relationship. Even after Tom was born, I was just the kind roommate who was helping her daughter raise her illegitimate child." The older doctor sighed. "She was a different generation. Does your mother love Jane?"

Maura grimaced at the thought of her mother. She owed Constance a phone call. She would be agreeable to the news of their formal engagement, but there would be no lace-covered mother-of-the-bride book, no giddy talk of dresses and cakes, no heated arguments about seating plans and venues. Constance loved her, but she was not the same sort of mother as Angela Rizzoli.

"Maura?"

"Oh. Yes, she knows that Jane makes me happy, and I suppose that's enough for her."

They ordered a bottle of Mer Soleil Chardonnay and an arugula salad, topped with plump strawberries, slivered almonds and crumbled gorgonzola. Maura glanced nervously at the woman across from her. She had eaten enough meals with Faye and her wife to observe the unobtrusive way that Kaye aided her spouse; cutting her food, placing her drink in her hands, anticipating her needs before they were verbalized. She debated offering her assistance, but Faye was fine; her hands moved assuredly to her utensils and she ate without issue.

Maura relaxed, sipping the pale liquid in her glass. Her tongue flickered briefly across her lips. "Delicious. Good choice, Faye. I taste pineapple and toasted coconut."

Faye sipped from her own glass. "Mmm, banana, mango, lemon meringue pie."

Maura tasted again. "You're palate is remarkable. I taste all those flavors." She laughed. "Jane would say we were full of shit. She'd say it tastes like wine."

"Kaye would say the exact same thing."

The growing crowd of people outside of the window heralded the arrival of the next ferry. Dozens of little red wagons lined the pier in anticipation of carrying provisions for a celebratory summer weekend to cottages across the span of the town. Maura scanned the crowd and caught sight of her future wife leaning against a piling, her wild dark hair blowing in the bay breeze, her habitual scowl on her face as she watched the approaching boat.

"What's that commotion outside?" Faye asked between bites of arugula.

"The ferry is docking. Hopefully Angela will be aboard and Jane can stop worrying."

Maura drank her wine and watched the tall form of her fianceé pacing the pier, frowning as passenger after passenger disembarked. When the boat was empty, she stalked on board and exited after a moment, shaking her head as if she had expected her mother to be sleeping on one of the white metal benches like a child left behind on a school bus.

"No Angela." Maura announced.

"Are you concerned?"

"Not especially. It would be just like Anglea to make Jane worry because she didn't call her for five days."

"Italian mothers." Faye nodded her head, understanding completely.

The doctors agreed to walk off their modest lunch. Skirting the bustling town hub, they headed east following the bay toward the Meat Rack and the Pines. Within a block the sounds of dance music and human voices receded, replaced by the gentle lapping of water and the whistling chirps of small seabirds.

"Is that a sparrow, Maura?" Faye asked, cocking her head to listen.

"I believe it's a piping plover. Their breeding habitat here on Fire Island is covered by the Endangered Species Act."

"Ah. I was quite the birdwatcher when I was younger. When Kaye was courting me, we spent hours in Central Park's Rambles on the trail of the elusive red-throated loon and northern pintail. It was years later that she admitted she found it unbearably boring."

Maura laughed. "The things we do for love; Jane took me to see a performance of the Peony Pavilion and sat through all 22 hours of it over the course of 4 evenings. Later I overheard her tell her brother that it sounded like cats in heat, but she told me she enjoyed it. I wish she had admitted the truth after the first night; I found it taxing to my eardrums as well."

Faye squeezed her arm. "Chinese opera is not for everyone."

They passed the Belvedere and Maura described the ornate hotel for her friend. "It's baroque, but not classically so; the color scheme is not unlike the pavilion at Catherine's palace, but elongated and out of proportion, a Disney version. The architect seems to have added turrets and cupolas haphazardly. It's truly awful."

A pair of men in tiny, form-fitting swimsuits exited the hotel and waved to the two women. "You should see the inside, ladies. It's like Michelangelo vomited after blowing Andy Warhol." They giggled and strode off toward the entrance to the Meat Rack.

"We'll never see the inside." Maura took Faye's hand and the women continued on their leisurely walk.

"Never say never!" Millie-Joyce Ming popped out from behind a broad holly tree. She was dressed in her Wimbledon whites and clutching a sheaf of papers in her hand.

"Is that you, Millie-Joyce?" Faye reached out into the empty air in front of her and Ming grabbed her hand, pulling her in for a hug.

"I was set to invade this place yesterday, but the V.U.L.V.A. collective held me back. These lesbians are like borg; no action without debate and consensus and processing of feelings. No one just gets up and does anything."

Faye patted the tennis legend on the shoulder. "You're a lone wolf howling in the forest, Millie-Joyce. I hear you, and your soulful baying is sweet music to my ears. I was active in women's liberation in the '70s and I can attest that very little was done at our meetings save the writing of manifestos, which were never acted upon."

Ming nodded, waving the papers in her hand. "I tried feminism too, but I had better luck picking up straight chicks in the supermarket than scoring with any of those sourpusses. I'm starting my own radical dyke group. I'm calling it O.R.G.A.S.M." She placed a flyer in Faye's hand.

The blind woman passed it to Maura who read it. "Organized Radical Gays Advocating Severe Measures! We demand: Access to the Belvedere, A Women's Cruising Area in the Meat Rack, Topless Karaoke at Cherry's."

Beneath the writing was a crudely drawn caricature of Ming herself, her large bubble head with oversized glasses dwarfed her tiny nude body. In one hand she gripped a broken tennis racket; in the other, a pair of testicles, held aloft as if she were preparing to serve the discorporated scrotum at her opponent.

Maura frowned. "Using the universal term 'gay' implies that both male and female homosexuals are advocating for this…agenda. Perhaps you should change 'gay' to 'lesbian.'"

Faye shook her head. "No, no, dear, O.R.L.A.S.M. doesn't have the same impact, does it?"

Ming snatched back the flyer and ripped it in half. She shuffled through her papers and pulled out another, passing it to Maura.

"C.L.I.T. Crazed Lesbians in Tandem! Let us into the Belvedere! We demand space to cruise in the Meat Rack! Topless Titties in Town!"

"Much better, Millie-Joyce." Faye reached for her arm, but her grasp landed square on Ming's left breast, setting off peals of squealing laughter from the tennis champion.

"Is that Millie-Joyce Ming, Barbara?"

"It must be, Joan, or else some sad queen is trolling the island in Wimbledon drag."

Jane's fairy godfathers emerged from the Belvedere, leaning tipsily on each other. Miss Pussy was conspicuously absent from their arms. It was the first time Maura had seen the couple without their beloved fur gayby.

"Where's your cat?" The doctor asked, concerned that the ancient animal had finally expired.

"Miss Pussy isn't welcome at the Belvedere. She has two strikes against her; she's female and, well…a pussy."

"Ha!" Ming snarled. "Discrimination extends into the animal world." She shoved her hand down the front of her tennis skirt and emerged with a sharpie pen. Uncapping it, she scrawled another line on her flyer. "All pussies should be welcome everywhere in Cherry Grove, two legged as well as four!"

"Brava, Ms. Ming." Joan and Barbara clapped. "We are tremendous fans of yours. We were there in Houston in 1973 for your historic victory in the the Battle of the Sexes. Despite being men, we rooted for you and when you won, we celebrated with a bottle of Moët in our hotel room."

"Really?" Ming grinned, then launched herself at the elderly gentlemen, hugging them tightly.

"Of course it helped that your opponent wasn't at all a hottie. Had you played against that delicious Jimmy Connors, we may have been cheering for the other side." Joan added.

Barbara slapped at him half-heartedly. "We followed your career for decades. Every year we took the Metro North Railroad down to Penn Station for the Virginia Slims Championships. We were a pair of roosters in the hen house, I'm afraid. Madison Square Garden was rife with lesbians."

"Those were the days." Ming wiped a tear from her eye. "I could randomly lob a ball into the stands and get laid by whichever woman caught it."

Faye reached for and found Maura's hand. "It's hard to imagine a time when a cigarette company sponsored a sporting event. 'We've come a long way, baby'; wasn't that their motto?"

Ming turned serious. "They were the only company willing to support women's tennis. I owe them my career." Her expression changed again. "That's why I continue to support Virginia Slims. I like to smoke a cigarette after I come…so I still have a pack a week habit."

Maura did the math in her head. Very impressive; that pack of cigarettes would last her and Jane nearly a month, and that would be with both of them smoking.

"We're headed to Ice Palace now. Rumor has it that Volga and Olga have invested in two new go-go boys to dance by the pool. They're trying to lure us old queens away from the Belvedere. We'd be glad to hang your flyer on the bulletin board there."

"These two boys had better be more attractive than the last pair; toothless and paunchy and not a day under fifty." Barbara rolled his eyes.

"You exaggerate, darling. The one with the body rash had at least six teeth."

Ming handed over a flyer, then pulled it back, adding another line to the bottom of the page. "Dancing GIRLS at Ice Palace."

"Be careful what you wish for, Ms. Ming." Barbara carefully folded the paper and placed it into the fanny pack he wore around his waist. "Volga and Olga are notoriously cheap. Their idea of dancing girls will probably be themselves, rubbed down with bacon fat in Soviet-era bathing costumes."

Ming's blue eyes grew wide behind her lenses. "Damn! I sure hope so."

Maura looked helplessly between the speakers; she was nearly certain that sarcasm was in play, but to what extent she was uncertain. She wished she could leap into a conversation with a witty bon mot, but she didn't know where to begin. The godfathers and Ming were expertly volleying quips through the air while she stood gaping. She was prepared to spit out statistics about the higher percentage of cigarette smokers among the LGBTQ community, but the others had already dropped that topic and were discussing body rashes and dentition. She searched her mind for a fun fact about psoriasis and was about to suggest that the unfortunate dancing boy might benefit from a long soak in a natural sulfur spring when the conversation had moved onto bacon fat. Bacon fat brought to mind data on heart attacks. Before she could raise her lecture finger, the trio had touched on soviet bathing suits, reminding Maura of the health benefits derived from the Russian culture of the Banya.

She shut her mouth and looked silently at her shoes, a pair of Chloé ballerina flats in cloud gray, baby soft with hand-stitched seams. If Jane were here, she'd be right in the mix of the conversation and she'd pull Maura along, coax an opinion out of her, let her in on the joke.

"Maura, are you alright?" Faye squeezed her hand. "You've grown so quiet."

"Yes, fine. I've been trying to think of something humorous say, but I'm afraid that's not my forte."

"Humor is subjective, my dear. Kaye can spend hours laughing over The Three Stooges knocking each other over the head and all I can think is that someone is bound to become concussed."

Maura smiled, her confidence returning. "Millie-Joyce, I have an idea."

The chattering trio grew silent. Three heads turned her way.

Maura licked her lips. "Instead of posting your demands and hoping for redress via deus ex machina, why not be proactive? Challenge the male population of the Grove to a Battle of the Sexes. If the women win…"

"Hot buttery nipple clamps!" Ming interrupted. "I love a good competition. Gimme back that flyer." She gestured to Barbara. "I'm going back to the drawing board. By drawing board I mean, I'm going to rub one out on the diving board at Swings Both Ways, then I'll smoke a cigarette and make up a new flyer."

She grabbed Maura around the waist, dipped her and kissed her full on the lips before sprinting away toward the beach side of the island.

"Don't worry, Maura dear, we won't tell Detective Jane. She strikes me as the jealous type." Joan patted her shoulder.

"And she carries a gun." Barbara added.

Jane jotted the names and addresses on a sheet from Maura's prescription pad and rocketed out of the door. D'Fwan had searched the database for the current year and came up with two women who were born the year that humankind first walked on the moon and half a million rock enthusiasts rolled in the mud to the sounds of Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and The Who in Woodstock, New York. Two women currently residing in Cherry Grove had a birthdate that ended in 69, and Jane was hellbent to find them.

"Cagney, our C.I. came through. Meet me on Ivy Walk in five. Over."

"Copy. Over and out."

Kaye was working her way down the boardwalk when Jane turned the corner at a jog. The retired NYPD captain waved and pantomimed drinking.

Shit! In her hurry Jane had forgot to grab a beer from the fridge.

"Sorry, Kaye, I forgot the beer. We'll stop for one at Cherry's after the interview."

"S'alright. I guess I can last a bit longer, but then I'm having a six-pack."

"Deal." Jane squeezed her shoulder. "We get through these two names and we'll relax on the beach with a case of Corona and watch our doctors frolic in the water. I hope Maura wears her green bikini; the top is way too small."

"Sounds great…um, the beer that is. I'll keep my eyes on my own doctor." Kaye blushed. "Who's gonna watch Volga while we're off duty?"

"Kojak." Jane replied.

"The fuck is that?"

"D'Fwan is our C.I. and the newest member of our squad."

"Ha! Faye and Maura wouldn't give up the names. I told you so."

"Maura wouldn't. I think Faye may have."

"That's my girl. She's getting mellow in her old age." Kaye laughed. "What's our plan of action? I suggest we go in friendly. Maybe pretend we're taking some kind of survey. You have a prize we can offer them?"

The two detectives strolled up the walk to a pleasant yellow bungalow with apricot colored shutters. Neat rows of yellow plastic flowers in green ceramic pots lined the walk. A sign next to the door read, 'Welcome to Paradise 40.6606° N, 73.0881° W'.

"Guess that's why the address is Paradise 40. In this place it could just as easily have been a bust measurement as longitude and latitude." Kaye snickered.

Jane knocked on the door and it was answered immediately. A tall, heavy-set black woman with a close-cropped afro and Nefertiti earrings greeted them with a smile.

"Two handsome butches on my doorstep. This town really is paradise. Thank you, Jesus!"

"Umm…" Jane stammered, flushing.

Kaye stepped forward. "I'm Kaye and this is Jane. We're doing a survey for our blog about lesbian culture in the 1980s. You look a little young for our demo. I bet you weren't even born then."

The woman laughed, revealing a mouthful of the most beautiful teeth Jane had ever seen, straight and snowy white against her dark red lipstick. "You are a charmer. I was a teenager in the eighties. Please come in. I'm Deirdre Moore, by the way."

Bingo! Jane quickly glanced at the prescription sheet in her sweaty palm. Deirdre was the first of the two names. They were lucky that she was at home and they didn't have to leave a message with a roommate or search her out on the beach or in the crowded bars, restaurants, and clubs on the island.

Deirdre held the door open and the detectives entered. "Have a seat. Can I offer you a beverage?"

Kaye was tempted to ask for a beer, but refrained; better to get this over with. Deirdre limped to the floral patterned sofa, leaning heavily on a cane. With a grim set of her jaw, she gingerly lowered herself down. Kaye and Jane sat in a pair of wicker chairs opposite her.

"I busted my hip and knee in May; car accident. Hurts like hell, but I'm looking on the bright side; I got the entire summer off to spend here in Paradise 40. Maybe I'll meet someone here and all the pain will be worth it. You two single?"

"No, sorry." The two detectives held up their left hands, Jane's adorned with her silver promise ring with the flush set diamonds, Kaye's with her plain gold wedding band.

"Damn!" Deirdre shook her head, attempting to look angry, but soon a dimple popped followed by her dazzling smile. "So…survey. Ask away. I'm an open book."

Jane pulled a notebook from her back pocket. "What was your favorite television show in the 1980s?"

Deirdre rested a manicured fingertip on her chin. "Hmmm. Is there a choice? The eighties were a long time ago. I liked Cosby, but that might be the '90s."

Kaye jumped into the conversation. "Other respondents have said…" She thought of the list that she and Jane had quickly come up with while strategizing on Ivy Walk. "Roseanne, Cagney and Lacey, Golden Girls, and Facts of Life."

Deirdre snapped her fingers. "Fact of Life! I loved that show. I had such a crush on Jo Polniaczek with her denim jacket and motorcycle. Mmm-mmm, she was the star of many of my teenage fantasies."

Jane leaned forward in her chair. "Did you know that people write fanfiction about the show? They make Jo and Blair a lesbian couple."

Deirdre smiled. "I'm not surprised; Jo would go for a girl like Blair. Unfortunately, I'm more of a Natalie with the skin tone of Tootie."

"What about the other shows?" Kaye asked. "Did you ever fantasize about Roseanne or one of the Golden Girls?"

"Roseanne was funny as shit, but she never rang my bell, if you know what I mean. The Golden Girls? Hell no."

Kaye held up her hand. "For an old broad like me, The Golden Girls are foxes. Would you rather see Dorothy with Rose or Blanche? Humor me."

Deirdre wrinkled her nose. "Flip a coin."

"Nope. You gotta answer." Kaye pressed.

Deirdre closed her eyes and sighed. "Blanche, I guess. Betty White is just…no."

"I think that's all we have." Jane rose from her seat.

Deirdre looked sad that their conversation was ending. "You sure you don't want a drink? I have a case of Sam Adam's Summer Ale chilling in the fridge."

Kaye almost caved, her mouth watering for an icy brew, but she held fast. "We'll let you know if you're a winner."

"A winner?" Deirdre looked confused.

"Yes." Jane added. "One random participant will win dinner for two at Top of the Bay."

Deirdre waved them off. "I'm a perpetual loser; at love and contests of all sorts. What would I do with dinner for two? It's just me. I suppose I could take myself or I on a date, but they're both bitches." She laughed, then grunted in pain as she lifted her heavy body from the sofa.

Jane felt ashamed scamming this friendly woman who was obviously not Rosothyluvr69. She made a mental note to stop by and invite the lonely woman to the next V.U.L.V.A. meeting. In fact, maybe she would mention the group today. She turned in the doorway, prepared to speak when her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out. A text from her mother filled the screen.

Janie, I'm running late. Don't want you pacing on the ferry dock worrying about me. I'll be there later with a BIG SURPRISE for you and Maura.

Big surprise? Jane groaned. It could be anything from a pair of matching tulle wedding gowns with hideous puffy sleeves to set of fuzzy nipple clamps for their honeymoon. Jane sighed and typed a quick reply.

I hate surprises and so does Maura; they make her vaso-vaginal.

Angela's response was immediate.

Tough shit.

"Everything okay, Jane?" Kaye asked.

"Umm, yes. My mother is running late."

"That's good. Now you can stop worrying that she's splattered across the Massachusetts Turnpike."

"Yeah, but she's bringing a surprise."

"That's never good." Deirdre commented as she let them out onto the porch.

Jane shot off a quick text to Maura, inviting her and Faye to meet them on the beach in half an hour. She mentioned how hungry and thirsty they both were, knowing her thoughtful future wife would arrived pulling a little red wagon filled with healthy snacks and more importantly iced cold beer. She mentioned Angela's delay, but not the surprise. She tucked the phone back into her pocket and turned to Kaye.

"Impressions?"

"Nice gal. Not our stalker. She's clearly not obsessed with the Golden Girls and she can barely walk across her living room. No way she's hiking through the dunes with a pair of binoculars and a sniping rifle."

"Agreed." Jane checked the second name and address. "Mercedes Morales on Lewis Walk. House is called Poker in the Rear. Weird name."

Kaye guffawed. "That's an old joke, Jane. I bet there are two apartments in that house and the other is called Liquor in the Front."

Jane thought a moment. "I think you're right and I bet I know just what house it is." She took off in the direction of the Sunken Forest and the ramshackle cottage called Hold Her Liquor.

Peppermint Patty was sitting in a weathered Adirondack chair on the front porch, reading a magazine and absently scratching the head of a goat that stood chewing at her side. The second goat could be seen rooting in the sagebrush beyond the house. Patty looked up from her reading as Jane approached.

"Hey! You ready for more singing? Marcia just downloaded the lyrics to 'Turn, Turn, Turn.'"

Jane was ready for more singing, but this wasn't the time. She was a woman on a mission. "I know that song; my parents listened to the Byrds. I'll be ready at our next V.U.L.V.A. meeting. My friend…" She pointed to Kaye who was just rounding the corner, unable to keep up with Jane's younger and much longer legs. "and her wife are eager to join as well."

"Great!" Patty smiled.

"Is Mercedes around? She lives here, right?"

"Yeah, she rents the studio at back, Poker in the Rear, but she's probably down at the firehouse."

Kaye had caught up, but was breathing heavily. "You have another studio called Liquor in the Front?" She panted.

"Used to, but we turned it into our goat shed." Patty pointed to a sagging structure, half hidden behind a copse of shadbush.

"Clever names." Jane was already backing down the steps, eager to get to the firehouse.

"They are, but we didn't name them. They already had names when we bought this place. Marcia thought it would be bad luck to change them; like a ship. You never change a boat's name once you purchase it."

"Yeah?" Jane stopped. "I wish I'd known that. My pop bought an old dinghy when I was a kid. The thing's name was Lucretia, but that was my Nonna's name, and he didn't want to insult her. He painted over the r-e-t-i-a and added a k-y. The Lucky sank the same night in the marina before we had a chance to go out in her, which I guess is a good thing."

"She wasn't very lucky." Patty joked.

"Who's not lucky? You must be talking about me, 'cause I ain't had a date in like a hundred years." Mercedes appeared, strolling from the yard with her CGFD hat in her hand.

"Hey, I thought you were at the firehouse." Patty bumped her fist.

"Nah, going now. Hey, Jane."

Jane hadn't formulated a plan for interviewing this suspect. Clearly, pretending to conduct a random survey wouldn't work on a woman she had already met and who vaguely knew her history. She would have to wing it, use the instincts that had seldom failed her in two decades of police work.

"Hey, Mercedes. I was looking for you. Since we're both altos, I thought maybe we could run through a few songs together. This is my friend, Kaye. She's an alto, too."

"Cool." Mercedes extended her fist and Kaye bumped it.

Jane ran her fingers through her messy hair, buying time. "I was thinking about a medley of 1980s television theme songs. We probably know most of them by heart."

"Great idea, Jane." Patty pulled a pencil from her pocket and began to scribble on the back of her magazine. "'Movin' On Up' from the Jeffersons, 'Happy Days,'…what else?"

"Oh, 'Fact of Life.' That was my favorite." Mercedes began to croon. "You take the good, you take the bad, you take 'em both and there you have the facts of life…"

"Did you have a crush on Jo?" Jane asked when the other woman had finished the parts of the songs she could remember.

"Jo? Fuck no. I wanted to be Jo. Living with those three smart, sexy girls; working on my bike and doing all the butch things around the house that the ladies couldn't do. Damn, I wish someone woulda taken me out of the Bronx and sent me to a school like that."

"Yeah, me too." Jane agreed, picturing her teenage self as the working-class outsider at Maura's elite girls school. "That would have been hot."

"What about Golden Girls?" Kaye asked. "It has a good theme song and those girls are hot, too."

Jane began singing the Golden Girls theme. "Thank you for being a friend, traveled down the road and back again…"

Mercedes half hummed along, but clearly didn't know the words.

"Didn't you watch that show? It was one of my favorites." Jane prodded.

"I watched it some, but really it's not my thing; a bunch of old ladies living in a nursing home in…New Jersey or something."

"Florida." Jane corrected.

"Right. That's the old capital of the world. I guess I'll wind up there too, one day. Probably alone."

Kaye caught Jane's eye and gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. Mercedes was not their stalker. Jane nodded back in agreement.

"What's with the secret signals, you two? I've been playing softball my whole life and you've been nodding and winking and twitching at each other like a catcher telling the pitcher what to throw." Mercedes pulled herself up to her full five feet three inches and stared at Jane through narrowed dark eyes.

"Alright, you caught me. I was feeling you out because we just met a really cool single lady and I immediately thought you would be perfect for her. I remembered you saying you were single at the V.U.L.V.A. meeting. She's a big fan of 80s TV, especially Facts of Life."

Mercedes broke into a laugh, surprisingly girlish for such a tomboy. "For reals?"

"Yeah. I wouldn't shit you."

"Where's she at? She thick? I don't like no skinny girls, no offense."

"None taken." Jane assured her. "You're not my version of a dreamboat either."

"Touché." Mercedes held up her fist and Jane bumped it.

"Her name is Deirdre and she's not at all skinny. Tell you what, you can take her to dinner tonight at Top of the Bay, my treat."

Mercedes frowned. "Why your treat? I can treat a lady just fine. I'm not a brokester. I own my own bodyshop and gas station in Mount Vernon."

Jane was quick to soothe the feathers she had ruffled. "I'm just trying to share my luck. This week I proposed to the woman of my dreams and she said yes. I wish the same for you."

Mercedes nodded. "Okay then. I could use some luck."

"Meet her there at seven."

"I'm on call with the FD until eight, then I gotta shower and dress to look my sharpest."

"Nine?"

"Yeah. That's good." She hugged Jane awkwardly and briefly.

Jane and Kaye stepped from the porch, leaving Peppermint Patty still scribbling on her magazine. "I'll have Marcia download all these lyrics. Our next meeting is going to be awesome!"

"Yes it is and we'll have three new members; Kaye and her wife Faye and Mercedes's future wife, Deirdre."

"Espero que." Mercedes whispered.

Kaye wiped a rivulet of sweat from her hairline. "That beer better be coming soon. I'm just about out of steam. I remember the days when I'd work a double shift, chasing drug dealers up and down the stairways in the Louis Pink Houses for sixteen hours without giving it a second thought. Now I can barely waddle a couple of blocks without feeling like a sack of potatoes and dog shit."

"Give yourself a break, Kaye, you've been running around the island since ten this morning including an hour up and down the dunes. I'm beat, too. Just one quick stop and we'll both be on the beach, sipping an icy cold Corona."

"An icy Corona? More like a dozen icy Coronas."

"You got it, now what should we tell Deirdre?"

The beach was still crowded despite the waning sunlight of late afternoon. Couples canoodled and dozed under rainbow-colored sand umbrellas, available for rental at $25 from Volga and Olga. A young man, or perhaps it was a topless young woman, paddled a longboard through the rough waves hoping to ride one back to shore. Three women stood in the roiling surf casting fishing lines. A dozen lesbians in burgundy and yellow Brooklyn College tees knocked a volleyball back and forth over a net, stopping between points to sip from cans of Budweiser nestled in a chest of ice. A freckled redhead helped her son construct a moat around a lopsided sandcastle while her partner changed the diaper of a younger child in the shade of their umbrella. Next to the young family, an older gentlemen baked in the sun, his body brown and leathery, naked save for a thatch of white chest hair.

Maura surveyed the shorefront from under the brim of a floppy straw hat, an amused smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. These were her patients, her community, her people; she had a place here.

"Do you see our detectives?" Faye asked.

"No, but I'm certain they will find us."

Maura had brought with her the large white flag, emblazoned with a red cross that usually hung beside the front door of Belly Acres. With great difficulty she had managed to wedge the metal flagpole into the loose sand until it found purchase. Now it furled in the stiff ocean breeze, fixing her location for anyone in need of emergency medical care.

She sat again in her low slung sand chair and covered her legs with a towel. She had liberally applied 60 SPF sunscreen and it was late in the day, but she would not chance another painful sunburn.

"Faye, would you like a beverage?"

"Yes, please. Did you pack any coconut water? The natural electrolytes should replenish any I lose through diaphoresis."

"I'll take a beer, Maur. I don't have diarrhea." Jane and Kaye appeared behind them, having cut through the dunes.

"Diaphoresis is…"

"…a fancy name for sweat. I know, babe. You used that word last week when that jogger collapsed in the Fens." Jane tilted her head and licked her lips, raising her right index finger in an exaggerated impression of her future wife. "Dehydration due to excessive diaphoresis."

Maura swatted at her, but missed.

"Give me another six months of living together and I'd probably be able to pass the MCATs."

"Did the jogger die?" Kaye asked, wiping at her own slick neck with the back of her hand.

"No. He just keeled over in front of us. We gave him some Gatorade and called his wife to pick him up."

"He sent me a lovely thank you note with a Starbucks gift card inside." Maura added, digging through the cooler. She extracted three coconut waters and passed them around.

"This doesn't look like beer." Kaye lowered herself to the sand next to her wife.

"It doesn't taste like beer either. It tastes like jizz." Jane wrinkled her nose, earning her a sour look from her fianceé.

"What? It does. It's all salty and metallic and funky, like watered down sperm."

Kaye tried to give back her unopened can. "I think I'll pass on this."

"Drink it." Faye instructed her spouse and she did, grimacing and nearly retching until it was done.

Maura opened her own coconut water and took a small sip, rolling the liquid around her tongue before swallowing. "Semen contains many of the same electrolytes found in Gatorade and other sports drinks; zinc, calcium, potassium, and cobalamin without the added dyes and sugars…"

Jane dropped to the sand, pulling off her damp T-shirt and using it to wipe down her sweaty torso. Maura stared at the taut abdominal muscles rippling under Jane's simple black bikini top. She chewed on her lower lip, nearly losing her train of thought.

Jane grinned at her, fully aware of the effect her lean form had on her lover. "So we should just give up and go play for the other team? Suck down some weenie juice?"

"Oh gross!" Kaye tossed the empty can aside and opened the cooler. "I need a beer to wash that taste from my mouth. Unfortunately, nothing will ever wash the thought of weenie juice from my mind. Thanks, Jane."

"You're welcome." She lay back in the sand, tucking her rolled up tee under her head.

Kaye popped the cap from a bottle of Corona and drained half of it in one long pull. "Ahhhh."

"Jane, you want a beer?"

"Nah, I'll have another sperm shake."

"Ugh, really?"

"Fuck no. Gimme a beer."

Faye sat, sphinx like on her beach chair, her sightless eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face and the salty breeze ruffling her hair. Kaye sounded happier than she'd been in months, and it brought peace to her heart. She turned to her spouse. "I think I'll indulge in a beer as well."

Maura pulled two more beers from the ice chest. "I suppose I could manage to keep one down myself."

"Said the woman who paid $50 for a cup of coffee made from animal shit." Jane snorted.

"Kopi Luwak?" Faye asked. "I've read about it, but never tried it. Some say it's the smoothest and tastiest brew they've ever encountered."

"Is it really made from shit?" Kaye asked.

"It's made from beans that have been digested and excreted by palm civets in Indonesia. Enzymes in the animal's digestive tract ferment the coffee beans and change their flavor. It was a rich and complex flavored coffee, but not the best I've tasted."

Jane chucked. "Can you imagine drinking a beer that was lapped up and pissed out by some animal?"

"Hell no." Kaye laughed, finishing her bottle and digging for another.

"Maura and I packed some healthy snacks; carrot sticks, sugar snap peas, almonds, and sliced apples."

"Meh." Kaye grunted. "No chips?"

"Yes! Kale chips; Olga made them herself. She gave us some in a paper baggie when we left Island Breeze." Maura dug through her beach bag, pushing aside sunscreen and towels, zinc oxide and her paperback copy of 50 Shades of Gray.

"I must have forgot to pack it." She sat back in her chair, pouting.

Jane patted her leg. "Don't worry, babe. Kaye and I will get over our disappointment."

"Sarcasm?" Maura brightened.

"Yes."

Maura smiled. "This has been a nearly perfect day." She took Jane's hand, rubbing gently at the rough scar tissue at the center of her palm.

Jane sighed, content to be petted and soothed under the warm sun, surrounded by friends. She allowed herself to forget Volga and her poison pen stalker, Angela and her irritating surprise, the dinner for Mercedes and Deirdre at Top of the Bay which would likely set her back $300 bucks, the city of Boston and all its inhabitants who seemed to kill each other at a steady rate of one per week. All that mattered was her hand in Maura's.

"Did D'Fwan's leads get you anywhere?" Maura asked quietly.

"What?" Jane sat up, her startled gaze meeting a pair of amused hazel eyes.

"I know he breached my patient records."

"How?"

"He left the computer on and you took notes on my prescription pad. You have a heavy hand, Jane, I could clearly read the indentations from your writing on the next page. Deirdre Moore and Mercedes Morales?"

Jane shook her head. "You'd make one hell of a detective, Doctor. Are you mad?"

"No. It was the moral thing to do, even if it was unethical. So…"

"They're not our stalkers, but they're perfect for each other. Kaye and I set them up on a date."

She glanced over at her friend who was sitting in the sand, her back resting against her wife's legs as Faye ran her hands through her damp hair, smoothing messy gray spikes. Kaye raised her beer and winked.

The beach began to empty as hundreds of day trippers, tired from hours of roasting on the sand began to pack up their blankets and chairs, umbrellas and picnic baskets, to head across the narrow island to the ferry.

The young couple with the two boys were burdened with diaper bags and toys in addition to their children and sundry beach gear. Jane watched lazily as one woman shifted both sleepy children onto her hips while her partner struggled with an umbrella, a cooler, two chairs and three beach bags. She was just about to get up and help when the naked gentleman rose, wrapped his towel around his waist and chivalrously offered his assistance. The redhead passed him a floral diaper bag which he hung over his shoulder and a dozing toddler whom he tenderly took in his arms. The trio headed toward the wooden stairway beyond the dunes. This was Fire Island at its best.

Maura shielded her eyes as she gazed westward toward the sun, still a bright ball of saffron hovering over the water. A lime green helicopter appeared from behind a bank of fluffy cumulus clouds, looking for a moment like the stem of a cotton plant. The thwack of its spinning rotors grew louder as the chopper approached then passed, flying low and torpid over the island, following the shore line.

"It's not a police bird." Kaye offered. "I thought for a minute it might be the Suffolk County PD, looking for our stalker."

The copter turned in a tight arc and headed back west, even slower than before, its blades clearly defined as they spun.

"I think it's looking for a clear spot to land." Maura stood up, reaching for her red cross flag. "Could it be a medical transport? No one notified me."

"Relax, babe, look at the sign."

"NYC Executive Heli-Charter" was painted in elegant black script along the chopper's flank. "It's just some pretentious douche who thinks he's too good for the ferry."

The women watched as the large copter hovered in place near the waterline, 100 yards to the east. A loud speaker crackled and a male voice, probably the pilot, asked the handful of people near the craft to step back. When they obliged, the green chopper came to rest in the wet sand as gently and easily as a rose petal falling to earth. The thwacking sound slowed and stopped as the pilot cut the engine and the broad propellers spun lazily before they too came to a stop. The pilot jumped from the craft and slid open a door, busying himself with suitcases and boxes.

Kaye described the scene to her spouse, who nodded absently, more interested in the scent of the sea and the last bit of sun warming the side of her face.

"Who do you think it is?" Kaye asked.

"One of my patients said that Paul Anka frequents the island, and Elton John has been known to show up here unannounced."

Jane sat up. She loved Elton John. It would be totally uncool to rush the celebrity and ask for a lame autograph, but she'd definitely snap a selfie in front of the singer to text to Frost.

Look at me, hanging with rock stars.

She had already composed the text in her head and was reaching for her phone when the pilot extended his hand into the passenger compartment. A white arm appeared followed by the slender form of a dark-haired woman. Constance Isles stepped from the helicopter and stood regally on the beach, smoothing her dove-gray pencil skirt.

Maura made a noise midway between a gasp and a groan. She dropped her flag and sank into her beach chair, both hands covering her astonished eyes.

A moment later, Angela Rizzoli leaped from the craft in a lavender terrycloth track suit. She looked around the beach, a happy smile on her face, waving to the hundreds of people who sat staring at the green craft and its passengers. Everyone waved back which made her smile even brighter.

Angela caught sight of her tall daughter, standing alone with her phone in her hand. She threw her arms up into the air.

"Surprise!" She shouted.

A/N: So the mothers are in place; let the awkward wedding planning begin.