That was news to Lisa, as Nola, who was perpetually on a diet, never ate dessert, and she knew perfectly well that Lisa, who sometimes did, didn’t have time. Pretending not to see Lisa’s look of surprise and smiling for all she was worth at Scott, Nola did a subtle wriggle and back arch that made the most of her curves. It was one of her trademark come-hither moves. Lisa reckoned she must have seen it a thousand times over the years. Scott’s eyes dipped just as they were supposed to, and Lisa realized he was doing exactly what countless other males before him had done: taking in the view. Nola’s neckline plunged to a deep vee that Lisa had little doubt provided Scott, from his vantage point above them, with a bird’s-eye view of a copious amount of grade-A cleavage. Which was just what Nola wanted, of course. She was a shameless flirt, always had been, always would be, and used her ample assets to maximum advantage. She’d been after Scott since she’d first hit puberty, so far without success. Until this moment, Lisa had always rather admired Nola’s aggressiveness toward the men she set her sights on. In private moments, Nola would wickedly sing “What Nola wants, Nola gets” about the men she was after, and Lisa would always laugh along, because it was pretty much true.
But this time she wasn’t quite so amused. Not when Nola’s sights were turned on Scott.
Though why it should bother her so she refused to let herself even begin to think about.
He must have felt the weight of Lisa’s gaze, because his eyes lifted suddenly to meet hers. She couldn’t help it: The look she gave him was downright frosty.
“Anyway, I guarantee we’re much more fun than the people he’s with,” Nola added. “They don’t look exciting at all.”
“Not polite,” Lisa warned her through a smile that she devoutly hoped didn’t look as stiff as it felt.
Nola ignored her.
“I wish I could.” Scott was once again looking at Nola—in the face this time—while the slightest of smiles touched his mouth. Lisa found she didn’t much like that smile. It was, she suspected, a reaction to her own cold glare. “But unfortunately it’s a business lunch. Much as I might like to, I can’t skip out on it. Not even to join two such beautiful ladies.”
At that piece of blatant, un-Scott-like flattery, Lisa’s smile turned into more of a sneer. Not that anyone noticed.
“That’s too bad.” Nola made a charming little moue. Then her eyes brightened. “You know, come to think of it, I am so glad we ran into you. Mark Thomas—you remember Mark Thomas?—and I were supposed to go with Lisa and Joel and some other friends to the Fourth of July party at the country club tomorrow night, but, um, I just broke up with him, so that’s out. But I still want to go. Which means I need a date.” Her smile beamed brighter than ever. “You could take me. If you wanted to.”
Lisa heard that with something very close to horror. Like Nola’s, her eyes fastened on Scott’s face. She had a feeling that the expression in hers was quite different, however. Appalled probably would come closest to describing it.
Scott’s smile widened. “Definitely I want to.”
For an instant Lisa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was sure her jaw dropped. Fortunately, Scott was smiling at Nola, and neither of them was looking at her at all.
“Really?” Nola’s tone was suddenly that of a thrilled little girl. But she made a quick recovery. “That’s wonderful. We’ll have such a good time, I know. The country club puts on the most amazing bashes.”
Lisa remembered that Scott had never, to her knowledge, been to one. The country club was very exclusive, and unless you were a member or the guest of a member, you didn’t get in, period. As a girl, she’d swum there, played tennis there, gone to dances and parties and Fourth of July celebrations there, year in and year out, without even thinking about it. It was part of the fabric of her life. But not Scott’s. Never Scott’s.
“How about I call you later and we work out the details?” He was still smiling at Nola. To her own annoyance, Lisa found herself suddenly feeling very much like a third wheel, and she didn’t like the sensation. And what she really didn’t like was the fact that she didn’t like it.
Nola beamed back at him. “Do you have my number?”
“If I don’t, I’ll find it.” He threw Lisa a smiling glance that made her think that he might have some small inkling of the depth of her displeasure. Immediately, she schooled her expression. The last thing she wanted to do was glare at him. “You don’t mind me horning in on your date, do you, Princess?”
Lisa was spared having to answer as the waitress came up to their table.
“Anything else, ladies?” she asked.
Lisa shook her head. “Just the check, please.” Her voice was probably crisper than it needed to be, and she vowed to work on that, too, before she said anything else.
“What about dessert?” Scott asked.
“I guess not today.” Nola should have been an actress: She sounded genuinely regretful. It was all Lisa could do not to roll her eyes.
“I hate to eat and run, but I have to go.” As the waitress left the check, Lisa pulled out a twenty—she knew exactly how much her share was, because she almost always got the tuna plate—and put it down on the table. “I have to be in court at one, and I don’t dare be late.”
“Yeah, I hear your boss is a real hard-ass,” Scott drawled, making Nola giggle again. The sound grated on Lisa like fingernails on a blackboard. Sliding from the booth, she shot Scott a withering look. He was the one she was finding excruciatingly annoying. Nola, bless her man-eating little soul, was just being Nola.
“Lisa, wait! Don’t leave without letting me give you those boxes,” Nola called after her as Lisa, with a nonchalant “Bye” and a wave for the pair of them, started to weave her way between the tables and toward the door. A glance back told her that Nola, following, was just a couple of yards behind her. Scott still stood beside the booth they had just vacated, saying something to the waitress. Realizing where her eyes were resting, she jerked her gaze forward again. Then, with Nola catching up, she did her best to eradicate the grim look from her face. As she pushed through the door and into the wall of bright, blazing humidity that was the parking lot, Nola was right behind her.
“Sweetie, I’m not stepping on your toes or anything, am I?” Nola sounded faintly breathless. Lisa realized she was walking too fast for a woman calmly exiting a friendly lunch, and slowed down. “If I’d thought you wanted him, I never would have asked him out. You know that.”
Clearly, Lisa realized with chagrin, her displeasure had been visible, and knowing Scott, she doubted he had missed it, either. Damn. Pinning a smile on her face, working hard to recover her equilibrium, she glanced sideways at Nola, who had fallen in beside her as they walked across the crowded parking lot toward where their cars were parked side by side.
“I’m not interested in him.”
“Are you sure? ’Cause I have to tell you, you’re putting out some pretty strong vibes that say otherwise.”
A sharp blast from a car horn somewhere nearby made Lisa jump, an overreaction that wouldn’t have happened if her nerves hadn’t been so on edge. Almost immediately identifying the sound, she was annoyed at herself. Fortuni’s was located on a corner, and the intersection in front of them teemed with midday traffic. The swoosh of tires and the stop-and-go sounds of vehicles braking for the light served as background noise for the click of their heels on the asphalt. The smell of gasoline-tinged exhaust hung heavy in the air. The new, twenty-story bank building across the street was fronted with mirrored glass that gave off a glare so blinding that Lisa had to shade her eyes with her hand. Was it any wonder that she was getting back the headache she thought she had controlled with regular doses of Tylenol?
“Lisa?”
Okay, be cool.
Lisa made a face. “It ’s just that he irritates the bejesus out of me sometimes. Did you hear those ‘Princess’ cracks? He ’s been calling me that for at least a dozen years, it ticks me off every time, and he knows it. Which
is why he does it, of course.”
“Oh.” Nola didn’t sound totally convinced. “I’d forgotten how you two always used to snipe at each other. Um, but if it is a problem, just tell me. I’ll call Mr. Hunky District Attorney and tell him it’s a no-go so fast it’ll leave a vapor trail. Bro’s before ho’s, or whatever the female equivalent is, that’s my motto.”
Lisa had to laugh. Nola would, she knew. All she had to do was say the word.
Not in this lifetime.
“No, it’s fine. Though I have to say, when you were asking my boss out, did it never occur to you that it might be a little awkward for me to go on a double date with him?”
Nola gave her a mischievous look. “You know, when I asked him out, I was thinking more about the hunky and less about the district attorney. And I definitely was not thinking anything about my best friend’s boss.”
“I take that as a no.”
“Yeah, it’s a no. But I don’t see why Scott being your boss matters particularly. What, were you planning to get hot and heavy with Joel in the middle of the dance floor? Wait till I tell him, he’ll be thrilled.” Nola stopped as she reached her white Lexus and pressed a button on her key ring to pop open the trunk.
“No, I wasn’t. And don’t you dare.” Lisa knew that Nola and Joel frequently ran into each other in the course of their workdays. Knowing Nola, that was just the kind of thing she would say to him. “It’s just awkward, is all.”
Walking on to where the Jaguar practically sparkled in the sunlight, Lisa popped her trunk, too, to facilitate the handing over of the big brown cardboard boxes full of clothes, one of which Nola was already lifting from her trunk. It wasn’t particularly heavy, Lisa discovered, as she took it from her and carefully put it in her own trunk on the opposite side from where Katrina lay, flat on her back, eyes closed, next to the pile of photo albums she had rescued. Glancing quickly away from the doll, which was taking on the uncanny ability to instantaneously creep her out, she was glad to be distracted by Nola’s thrusting the second box into her arms. She was just putting it down beside the first when a voice behind her said, “Lisa?”
She knew that voice. Stiffening, she let go of the box as if it was suddenly filled with lead, and turned to find Barty, tall and craggily handsome, blue eyes sparkling, silver hair styled to shining perfection, smiling that big crocodile smile of his, as though he were actually glad to see her, when she knew perfectly well that he was secretly cursing the fate that had brought them to this same small parking lot at the same time, striding toward her. The sad thing was, he looked like a judge, distinguished, responsible, honorable, which just went to show how deceptive appearances could be. Her last contact with him had been a phone message he’d left for her, telling her to call him if she or her mother needed anything. It was so obviously a duty call that she hadn’t even bothered to return it. Now everything about him, from his expensive suit to his carefully maintained tan to his aura of abundant good humor, set up her back. He looked a good decade younger than his sixty-eight years, too. Lisa thought of her mother and felt her hackles rise.
“Barty.” Her voice was flat. As he reached her, he looked for a moment as if he was thinking about hugging her, but something in her expression must have dissuaded him, because he stopped short. “I thought you couldn’t do lunch today because Todd had a track meet. Or—oh, wait—was it because your trial was running long? I never can keep your stories straight.”
Beside her, she could feel Nola, who knew how she felt about her father, moving closer in support.
Barty’s smile never faltered. He didn’t even have the grace to blink. “The track meet finished up early. You know it was at Paul Dunbar”—one of Lexington’s big public high schools—“so I was in town. Afterward, Jill and Todd headed on over to Danville to look at Centre College, so it just so happened I was free. Then Sanford called, and the long and short of it is we decided to stop in here for a quick bite before I headed home.”
“I was sorry to hear about your fire, Lisa.” Sanford Peyton nodded a greeting at her before transferring his attention to Nola. “Hello, Nola.”
Until that moment, Lisa hadn’t noticed him, but there he was, standing at Barty’s shoulder like the perpetual wingman he was. Joel’s father had none of his son’s good looks, although he could be very charming when he chose. Balding, barrel-chested, and still powerful-looking at about Barty’s age, with a fringe of short gray hair and some serious jowls, he had the look of a mafia enforcer gone to seed. As a longtime close friend and business associate of Barty’s, he was someone Lisa had known all her life. As Joel’s father, he was someone she saw with some frequency, certainly far more often than she saw her own father. Aside from his tendency to bully Joel, she actually knew nothing bad about him. But that and his friendship with Barty were more than enough to keep him off her favorite-persons list.
“Thanks,” she said. Nola, whom Lisa was convinced could not help herself where single men—Sanford was a widower—were concerned, beamed at him as she said hi.
“Nola, that’s right.” Barty sounded delighted. It hadn’t escaped Lisa that he’d been giving her bodacious friend a covert once-over, and her lip curled. “Nola Hampton. I remember now. Lord, I haven’t seen you since you were in high school. I—”
“I hate to interrupt, but I have to get going. I have to be in court at one.” Turning to close the trunk, Lisa cut Barty off without compunction. She glanced at Nola, whose legs were right up against the bumper. “Better move.”
“Oh. Right.” Nola took a couple of steps back out of the way, and Barty, who was just getting going again on how amazing he found it that the two of them were now all grown up, broke off in full spiel.
“My God, what’s that?” he croaked. His tone was odd enough so that Lisa, who had a hand on the trunk just about to slam it closed, turned to frown at him instead. His eyes were fastened on Katrina. He wasn’t moving, barely seemed to be breathing. In fact, the best word she could think of to describe his expression was stunned.
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Lisa watched him, riveted. She was ready to swear that beneath his tan, Barty’s face had paled.
“My old doll,” she said slowly, never taking her eyes off his face. “One of the few things of mine that survived the fire.”
“Oh. Oh.” Barty wrenched his eyes away from Katrina, took a deep breath, and met Lisa’s gaze. “Of course. Your doll. I don’t know what I was thinking. It just—it’s burned and . . .”
Sanford took his arm. If he’d noticed anything unusual in Barty’s manner, his easy smile at Lisa didn’t show it. “If Lisa has to be in court by one, we’d best be letting her get on her way.”
Barty glanced at him. Then he looked back at Lisa.
“Of course we should.” He seemed recovered now. At least—had there been beads of sweat on his upper lip before he saw Katrina? Lisa couldn’t remember. But there definitely were now. “As I can tell you from personal experience, judges hate it when anyone’s late to court.” He glanced down at his watch. “It’s already twelve-fifty, so—”
“I’ve got to go.” She had no time to waste. Why Barty was behaving oddly was something to ponder later. For now, her job had to be her priority. She slammed the trunk closed and called hurried farewells as she jumped into her car. As she pulled out of the parking lot, she glanced into her rearview mirror. Nola was gone, but Barty and Sanford still stood in the parking lot exactly where she had left them, looking after her, deep in conversation.
What were they talking about? She couldn’t be sure, but something about seeing Katrina had shaken Barty to the core.
The thought made Lisa feel cold all over.
Had Sanford seen Barty’s reaction, too, and were they even now talking about it as they watched her drive away?
She thought the probability was strong, but there was no way to be sure, and in any case, she couldn’t worry about it now. There was simply no time. She was on the verge of being late to court, and that just could not be allo
wed to happen, not twice in one week. Pulling into the courthouse parking lot, jamming the Jaguar into the sliver of space that remained between the yellow lines surrounding a dumpster and a poorly parked pickup, she snatched her newly purchased briefcase from the backseat and ran for the building and courtroom nine. The clock was just striking one as she slid into her seat at the prosecution table. Leroy Jones, the mercifully affable ADA who was the lead on the case, grinned at her.
“I knew you’d make it,” he mouthed. Then the judge entered and the bailiff called, “All rise!” and they did.
It was an embezzlement trial in which a church secretary was accused of siphoning off more than a hundred thousand dollars from the parish’s building fund. A plea bargain having been offered and refused, the Commonwealth was going for broke. It was a standard prosecution tactic, designed to scare the next defendant offered a plea bargain into accepting and thus saving everyone the time and expense of a trial. Lisa spent the next couple of hours whispering into Jones’s ear explanations of relevant material in subpoenaed bank records, credit-card statements, e-mails, and telephone bills. The defendant had a gambling problem, and Lisa had checked every casino within a day’s drive to find dates and amounts that corresponded roughly with the missing money. The upshot was that they had the woman cold. The plea bargain had included four months behind bars. A conviction would probably net the defendant three to five years. And they were going to get the conviction, Lisa was sure.
If so, it would be a harsh lesson aimed more at the public defender than the defendant.
By the time the case had gone to the jury and Lisa was back in her cubicle, it was getting on toward five. Five o’clock on a Friday, and every single desk around her was still occupied. Casting a single wistful glance at the clock while the memory of her previous job with its five-o’clock quitting time danced in her head, she tuned out all the hustle and bustle of the grunt room where the research assistants and administrative assistants and paralegals labored in busy anonymity and got down to dotting her i’s and crossing her t’s for the next case on her agenda. She’d been working on it off and on for the past month, and basically what she was doing at the moment was double-checking what she’d already done. It involved putting everything else out of her mind and being very, very careful to make sure that every single fact was in order. The material was in the system, having been sent to the defense in a timely fashion as part of the discovery process, but the case went to trial on Monday and the ADA was Kane. In other words, no screwups would be tolerated.
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