“You’ve already convicted her!”

“Not me, babe. I’m not on the case.”

“Sorry, but I’ve never known the police to move that fast before.” Lisa leaned forward. “There’s something more, isn’t there? What is it, Kurt?”

He sat there and stared into her eyes for a long tension-filled moment. She neither blinked nor backed down.

“Well, you’re going to hear about it from the prosecutor soon, I’m sure, so I’ll tell you if you swear you didn’t hear it from me. I don’t intend to lose my badge over this.”

Lisa’s pulse quickened. “For the record, no one will ever hear from me that you gave me any information, all right?”

“There was an eyewitness.”

Dear Reader,

This book began as a plot suggestion—quite detailed—from my editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey. Besides being a wonderful editor, this lady has a great imagination and I have truly enjoyed working with her.

She phoned one day with an invitation to do a book for Silhouette’s new Bombshell line. After some discussion I agreed and it took off from there.

At this point I would like to introduce my coauthor, Lori Myles, who is my daughter. Kaye, her real name, has always wanted to write, ever since she was a very young child. I still have her first book, written in block letters on lined grade school paper. It’s about an elephant and rather amazing because she set up the story and carried it through to an appropriate ending.

We have loved working together and plan to continue writing as a team. We both hope that you’ll be seeing many books on the shelves written by Jackie Merritt and Lori Myles.

Jackie Merritt

A note from Lori: It’s been a wonderful experience writing with my mother, and I would like to thank Mary-Theresa and Silhouette for giving me this opportunity.

Lori Myles

Her Best Defense
Jackie Merritt and Lori Myles

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JACKIE MERRITT

is still writing, just not with the speed and constancy of years past. She and her husband are living in southern Nevada again, falling back on old habits of loving the long, warm or slightly cool winters and trying almost desperately to head north for the months of July and August, when the fiery sun bakes people and cacti alike. She has written dozens of novels for Silhouette Books.

LORI MYLES

was born and raised in Idaho and moved to Nevada shortly after graduating high school. After college and many years of traveling for her job, including a two-year stint in Japan, she now calls Henderson, Nevada, home.

For the past several years she worked in the convention industry in Las Vegas, and while she enjoyed “show” business very much, her heart lay in the world of words. She still has boxes and boxes of stories she wrote over the years and her mother, Jackie Merritt, still has the first story she ever wrote, when she was in the third grade.

She is very excited to have this book out and hopes it leads to more and more and more…!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Prologue

Sixteen years ago

Chicago, Illinois

The alley was dark, lit only by lone streetlights at either end. At best, those lights illuminated no more then a few feet of the alley, casting shadows that bespoke of hidden, unspeakable things. The middle of the alley looked as if it had been swallowed by the night, and his stomach churned with dread. Was blackness and an eerie silence the reason that this particular place had been chosen for the meeting?

He looked around before entering the alleyway. The buildings on either side appeared to be deserted.

Again, not a good sign.

But it wasn’t just the lack of light that was unnerving; the lack of sound was equally as injurious to his normal courage. No cars passed by, no voices could be heard, no music wafting through windows. The only sounds now were those of his shoes softly shuffling against the pavement and a lone dog barking somewhere off in the distance.

“That’s far enough,” he heard from out of the darkness.

“Step out so I can see you,” he addressed the shadows.

“You don’t need to see anything.”

But he did see something. A glint of light, a flash of sorts, but all too late. He felt the bullets entering his body at the same time he heard the shots. Everything went black.

“You shot him! What the hell did you do that for? I thought we were only going to talk to him.”

“Shut up and get over there. Make sure he’s dead.”

“Hey, I want nothing to do with this.”

“Johnny, go make sure he’s dead while I have a little talk with Paulie here.”

“Sure, boss.”

The barrel of the gun jammed into his guts. For a few seconds, Paulie thought he was going to be next. Out of instinct, he grabbed at the gun; at the same time, he felt his boss releasing the weapon into his possession.

“Now you got something to do with this.”

Paulie knew he’d just been framed for murder. “What do you want me to do, boss?”

“Get rid of the gun, stupid. Unless you want to go to prison.”

“Yeah, he’s dead,” Johnny hollered back.

“Good, now let’s get out of here.”

Chapter 1

Present day

Lisa Jensen entered The Pub at 6:15 p.m. Polished wood and brass, indirect lighting, unobtrusive background music and friendly service made The Pub the perfect place to relax after a long and strenuous day of work. Lisa had stopped briefly to deposit files in her office at the law firm of Bonner, Drake, Ludlow and Kirten, a mid-sized firm in the heart of Chicago’s famed Loop with a reputation for successful litigation and criminal defense. It occupied the sixteenth and seventeenth floors of the Ridge Building, a gray, quarried rock structure just minutes away from the courthouse as well as most of the other city offices. Lisa had always felt that the original partners had chosen their place of business perfectly when they’d selected this site thirty years ago.

“Especially this part of the operation,” Lisa said as she spotted her friends and began walking toward the group. The Pub was located on the first floor of the Ridge Building and on Wednesday nights Lisa met—whenever she could make it—with others from work for a drink and some good conversation.

The place was busy so she had to wind her way through several other groups to get to hers. She knew many of the people she passed or bumped into along the way. Most were also attorneys, housed, as she was, in upper level offices.

She heard “Hey, Lisa!” coming from several different directions, but it wasn’t until she was within a few feet of her friends that they spotted her. And when she did get close, she almost wished she had bypassed The Pub that night. Everyone there from her firm stood and clapped, whistled and cheered as she approached.

“Will you guys stop?” she said as she looked around and saw that practically everyone else in The Pub had put their drinks down to grin and gawk at what was going on in the far corner.

“Hey, golden girl,” Larry called out. “What are you drinking tonight? The first one’s on me.”

“And you stop with that golden girl nonsense,” Lisa shot back good-naturedly.

“I don’t know, Lisa,” Darren McCaffery, another junior associate said, “I think Larry might have something there. What is this? Your twelfth straight win?”

“Actually, it’s my thirteenth. But who’s counting,” she said with a teasing grin.

A space was opened for Lisa at the two tables the group had joined together, and before she could say Jack Frost, an icy cold beer was set in front of her.

“You know, winning thirteen consecutive cases is an accomplishment to be proud of,” Pamela said as Lisa took her first sip. “And if you consider the type of cases Ludlow has given you lately, you really are the firm’s golden girl.”

“Come on, Pam, not you, too. You’re supposed to be my best friend.”

“I wonder if we’ll still be friends when you’re moved upstairs,” Pamela commented.

“Oh, please!” Lisa said, nearly spilling her beer. “You know me better than that. Besides, I don’t think I’ll be moving anywhere in the near future.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Madeline chimed in.

Madeline was the sixteenth-floor receptionist and crucial to everyone on the floor. It wasn’t just her expertise with the complicated telephone system or the way she handled visitors and clients that had her held in such high esteem by her co-workers. What made Madeline special was her knowledge of everything that went on in the firm. Some said it was because of a long-term affair she was supposedly having with one of the firm’s senior partners, Philip Bonner. Others speculated that it was simply because she had been there for so many years. Whatever the case, Lisa was glad she could call the woman a friend.

“You heard it here first,” Pamela said.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Lisa replied, making light of a subject dear to her heart.

Moving upstairs would mean a huge promotion and it was, of course, what every associate was working toward. Moving upstairs meant a junior partnership and that was something that wasn’t offered very often or taken lightly. Lisa felt her heart picking up its pace just from thinking about such a move.

“Hey, Lisa,” Larry called from the other end of the two tables, “tell us about court today.”

Lisa shook her head. Larry Lutz was the firm’s researcher and another valuable asset. He loved to tease her about her success because he knew she was never the type to brag, like the other lawyers they all knew.

“We can certainly find something more interesting than that to talk about,” she called back with her face screwed up in a comical expression that made the others laugh.

Then she unconsciously pushed her shoulder-length blond hair behind her left ear, and was completely unaware of how one particular light fixture beamed directly on her and turned her hair color to gleaming gold. She was a pretty woman, twenty-eight years of age, with dark eyes and beautifully shaped lips. She was five feet six inches tall and weighed in at 120. She loved high heels and extravagant shoes, and would willingly spend much more on a pair of elegant designer shoes than on one of the business suits she favored for work.

A round of jokes began, with everyone getting in on the fun. The group was laughing and cutting up when someone tapped Lisa on the shoulder. She glanced up and saw Grant Gowan, a handsome young attorney with one of the other law firms in the building. Grant was smiling down at her, his light brown eyes sparkling.

“You’re all having entirely too much fun over here,” he said and heard a round of good-natured boos in response. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, sorry. I really came over to speak to Lisa.” He put a hand on the table and leaned toward her. “Do you mind?”

“Mind talking to you? Of course not. But you might have to yell to be heard over this bunch.”

“I’ll lean in a bit more,” he said and did exactly that, putting his mouth very close to Lisa’s ear. “There’s a birthday party for Faith Unser tomorrow night. I know you know her and I thought you might like to go with me. It’s being held at John and Rita Bryant’s apartment. You’ve met them, haven’t you?”

Lisa gave a slight nod. “Yes, we’ve met. Sure, I’ll go with you.”

“How about I give you a call tomorrow and we’ll firm up our plans? It’s pretty hard to talk in here.”

“Good idea.” She smiled as Grant straightened up, nodded and walked away.

“Now, pray tell what that was all about,” Pamela said with a raised eyebrow. Madeline was all ears, too, Lisa saw. “Grant is quite a hunk,” Pamela added. “How long has this been going on?”

Lisa laughed. “Nothing’s going on, so put your wild imagination back in its cage.”

“A man whispering in a woman’s ear is nothing?” Pamela’s left eyebrow was still higher than the right.

Lisa playfully decided to let them all wonder about Grant. Even the men at the table wore expressions of downright nosiness, which brought out her devilish side.

“I never talk about anything that a man whispers in my ear,” she said with a teasing little grin. “That’s just the way I am.”

“Well, I can pretty much guess what it was, so there!” Pamela shot back.

“Taken up mind reading, have we, Pam?”

“You’re incorrigible. You know you’re going to tell me all about it sooner or later.” Pamela turned to the others at the table and began relating a joke.

Lisa chuckled to herself. She had unwound beautifully with one glass of beer and some laughs. The Pub was good medicine for a hardworking attorney who had spent most of the day in a courtroom, winning her thirteenth consecutive case.

Lisa was home shortly after nine. Home was a renovated town house, circa 1920, and she loved it. It was the most significant purchase of her life. After moving in, she had spent a lot of time and money on personalizing the two-story, long, narrow building with its small but wonderful backyard.

In the foyer, she set her briefcase and purse on the ancient library table she’d run across in a secondhand shop and fallen madly in love with—she was a sucker for furnishings from past eras—stepped out of her high heels and took off her suit jacket. She loved the smell of her home, a combination of old wood, furniture polish, her favorite perfume and something she couldn’t positively identify but liked thinking as her unique scent.

Shoeless, Lisa went into the kitchen, took some cheese and fruit, which she figured would do nicely for her supper, from the refrigerator and then returned to the foyer for her briefcase. She left her shoes and jacket to be put away in the morning, whereupon she went upstairs to the small room she used as a home office. Seated at her desk, she took a bite of cheese and dialed her mother’s telephone number. Claudia Caputo answered at once.

“Hi, Mom, what’s up?”

“Nothing new, honey. Another day, another dollar.”

Lisa had long ago formed the habit of calling her mother every day. They both looked forward to their daily chat.

“I won in court today,” Lisa said.

“Of course you did.”

“I’m not always going to win, Mom.”

“Well, if you don’t, you should have.”

“Always on my team, aren’t you?”

“Always, honey.”

“I dropped into The Pub for a drink with the gang,” Lisa said. “And a guy asked me to go to a birthday party with him tomorrow evening. What do you think of that?”

“Is he young, handsome and sexy?”

“Mom!”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, why would you want to go out with an ugly old coot?”

Lisa couldn’t help laughing. “He’s young and good-looking, but sexy? I don’t know about that.”

“You’d know, believe me, you’d know,” Claudia said dryly. “You knew with Bobby, didn’t you?”

Lisa had married Bobby Jensen while they were both still in college. It hadn’t lasted; he hadn’t been able to keep his pants zipped around other women. She had kept her married name for no particular reason and sometimes wished she hadn’t as it was an unneeded reminder of Bobby. Legally changing it back to Caputo would be a pain at this late date, though. She was Lisa Jensen to Chicago’s legal community, and Lisa Jensen she would remain.

“Yes, I knew with Bobby,” she said quietly. “And so did every other woman on campus. Mom, I’m going to say goodnight. It’s been a long day and I’m beat.”

“All right, honey. Get a good night’s sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Lisa hung up and finished eating her fruit and cheese while staring off into space. She hated thinking about her short-lived marriage, she really did. For one thing, Bobby’s overactive libido and almost constant infidelity had left her extremely cautious with other men. She believed with all her heart and soul in total faithfulness between committed partners, and had to wonder—from firsthand experience—if there was such a thing as a man who felt the same way.

“Oh, to hell with it,” she muttered, getting up from her desk, turning out the light and going to her bedroom to hit the sack. She hadn’t lied to her mother about being beat; she was asleep shortly after her head hit the pillow.

It was May, pleasantly warm during the day and chilly at night. Not consistently, of course. Chicago was known for its erratic weather, and at this time of year it could be hot and sunny one day and snowing the next. Lake Michigan was beautiful to the eye, a fabulous playground for water and beach enthusiasts, and essential to Chicago’s commerce, but it could stir up a dilly of a storm in the blink of an eye. Lisa enjoyed the good weather when it came along and endured the bad without complaint; it was, after all, Chicago, and she loved the city.

Thursday dawned sunny and bright, making Lisa feel especially good. Arriving at work around eight, as usual, she stopped at the reception desk to pick up yesterday’s phone messages and mail from Madeline. They chatted a few moments about last night’s fun at The Pub. Then Lisa put herself into work mode.

“Thanks for these, Madeline.” Lisa eyed her mail and messages. “Looks like a load of work here.” With her briefcase in one hand and the stack of items Madeline had just given her in the other, Lisa walked down the hall to her office.

She left her door open, as was her habit, and was getting settled at her desk when the intercom line on her telephone beeped. “Lisa Jensen,” she said after hitting the Speaker button.

“Just checking to make sure you were there. Mr. Ludlow is on his way down to see you.” The caller was John Ludlow’s private secretary, Audrey Muldaney.

“I’ll be here,” Lisa said. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence for a senior partner to visit the sixteenth floor, but it happened often enough that Lisa wasn’t at all uneasy about the meeting. She tidied her desk a bit and waited. In mere moments, she saw Ludlow walking toward her office. When he entered, he shut the door behind him.

“Good morning, Lisa,” he said.

She stood and smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Ludlow. Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you, I will.”

Ludlow was a tall, gaunt-looking man well past sixty. He no longer did trial work, but his reputation from former years, Lisa had learned, was that of a brilliant litigator, a real tiger in court. Given his present soft handshake and nonabrasive personality, Lisa had trouble picturing him as a tiger at anything.

But he was always polite and pleasant around the firm, and Lisa liked him. They sat down and Lisa waited for him to speak, which he did with little pause.

“I’m sure you are well aware that the firm in general, and I personally, appreciate your intelligent approach to the many intricacies of the law. There are a lot of good attorneys, some of them right here in this firm, but only a few of the mass rise to the very top of the heap, like cream in a container of whole milk.” He smiled. “That analogy harks back to my youth, as I grew up on a farm. Lisa, I believe you’ve been proving right along that you’re one of the chosen few. In time, you’ll be a full partner in this firm, but I’m sure you already know that.”

Lisa’s heart skipped a beat. “I’ve been hoping, sir.”

“Of course you have. I didn’t come down here to talk about your future, but I began thinking of your accomplishments in the elevator. I’ll get to the point of this meeting now. Lisa, I have a bit of a problem waiting in my office. I’m sure you’re familiar with the Witherington name?”

“Most people in this part of the country are, I believe.” The Witheringtons were an extremely wealthy family that had, reputedly, begun amassing their fortune during the early 1900s. She’d never had reason to look into their background and find out how they had become so wealthy; in fact, other than seeing their name in the society pages of various newspapers, she really knew nothing of consequence about the family. “But name recognition is about the extent of my knowledge,” she added.

“That’s about to change,” Ludlow said. “There’s been a serious mishap at the Chandler and Glory Witherington home. A young man was found dead early this morning in their driveway, obviously a victim of foul play. I’m speaking of young Chandler and his wife, with whom I’m acquainted because of my long association with his father, Chandler Sr. You may recall his passing from several days of publicity surrounding his death two years ago. I want to say first of all that young Chandler’s premonition of impending doom, by way of the police coming down on Glory because she was the only one at the house all of last night, could fizzle out to nothing. Personally I’m leaning in that direction, but there’s also a chance of this case becoming quite serious. I thought of you at once because of your enviable flexibility. I think you could deal with Glory’s, uh, shall we say, little eccentricities, better than most.”

Lisa waited a moment, then realized he was waiting for her to say something. “Little eccentricities? Could you give me a hint as to what that term actually covers?”

“Well…perhaps I should have used another term. Yes, I think so. Glory is lovely and can be very charming, but she can also be as scatterbrained as they come.”

“Scatterbrained,” Lisa repeated, wondering if that was a polite word—and abbreviated version—for a more accurate phrase, nuttier than a fruitcake. What Ludlow was doing was appeasing the Witheringtons, she suddenly realized. They had come in asking for legal support for some imagined threat and Ludlow had chosen her because of her “rising star” reputation in the firm, which might impress them.

She could impress the hell out of them, if that was what Ludlow wanted, she thought. Of course, at this point that idea was mere conjecture. She would play it by ear, she decided, take her cue from the Witheringtons themselves.

“I would be happy to meet with the Witheringtons,” she said.

Ludlow got to his feet. “Give me about ten minutes, then come up to my office.”

Lisa rose. “Yes, sir. Ten minutes.”

Alone again, she wasn’t quite so subservient, and it struck her that she wasn’t overly thrilled with what sounded like a time-wasting, kiss-ass project. She loved really tough cases, the kind that made her work hard and think hard, the ones that she became so immersed in that she lived and breathed every segment of the legal process necessary to defend her client to the fullest.

She heaved a sigh and put that bit of rebellion aside because she knew in her soul that she would give the Witherington case her all, as she did with every one she worked on. When it came down to the nuts and bolts of her life, she was happy to have this job, and she would never do less than her best for even a dud of a case.

Checking her watch, she stood, straightened her skirt and jacket, picked up a notebook and pen, and left her office to head for the elevators. In minutes, she had arrived at the seventeenth floor, greeted Audrey and been ushered into Ludlow’s office. John rose to his feet and introduced her to Chandler and Glory Witherington. The first thing that Lisa noted about Chandler was that he had remained seated while John had acknowledged her presence by standing. He also wore an arrogant, condescending expression and his “Pleased to meet ya,” sounded as lame as a one-legged duck.

Lisa sized him up over a limp handshake and from behind the businesslike smile she gave him. He was starting to bald, appeared to be in his fifties and looked physically fit in an obviously expensive custom-made suit. He was also, in her estimation, a jerk.

She turned to Glory and felt struck by lightning. The woman was flamboyantly gorgeous. Flashy as all get-out in a hot pink-and-orange outfit, with flaming red hair and eyes so blue they didn’t seem real. Actually, Glory didn’t seem real, Lisa thought. She looked more like a life-sized doll than a human being. She was obviously very high maintenance and well tended, and it wasn’t hard for Lisa to picture Glory spending a great deal of time in Chicago’s best beauty spas, which offered every procedure known to mankind to keep a woman—or a man—looking young.

So far, she hadn’t moved a muscle or uttered a sound. In truth, she intrigued Lisa. Certainly Lisa knew that she had never met anyone like her.

Lisa stepped over to her and held out her hand, obviously requesting a handshake. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Glory.”

Glory looked at Lisa’s hand for a long moment and finally touched it with hers. “Thanks,” she said in a bored-sounding voice.

Lisa almost laughed. These two were something else. Questions about them began piling up in Lisa’s mind, questions that she would definitely remember and get the answers to, directly from their own lips or indirectly by other methods.

John Ludlow, who was still standing, said, “Lisa, I think it best if you and the Witheringtons get acquainted in the small conference room.”

Lisa looked into his eyes and thought she saw a message: Get these two out of my office. Whether or not that was an accurate interpretation of the vibes she was picking up from Ludlow, she hastened to deliver on his suggestion.

“Please come this way,” she said to the Witheringtons. “The room is just down the hall.”

It was tastefully decorated and offered comfortable furniture on which to sit and hopefully relax enough to converse without reservation. Lisa indicated the sofa for the Witheringtons and took a nearby chair for herself.

She opened her notebook and asked Chandler to relate the story he’d told John earlier.

Almost sullenly, obviously because he had to repeat himself, Chandler said, “A man was found shot to death in our driveway. Someone called the police and all hell broke loose.”

“Who made that call, Chandler?”

He glanced at his wife. “You did, didn’t you, hon?”

“I think it was me. Everything was so confusing after Maria started screaming.”

Lisa was busily writing, wondering if she should perhaps be using a recorder. But she had discovered that the sight of a recorder often made people uncomfortable and cautious of what they said, so except in extreme cases she relied on her own brand of shorthand to get down nearly every word spoken between herself and whomever she was interviewing.

“Do you know who the man was?” Lisa asked, expecting a fast and forceful denial.

“Mateo Ruiz,” Chandler said.

Lisa was surprised, although her demeanor didn’t change. “Did you actually know him, or merely overhear someone mention his name? A police officer, for instance.”

“No, I knew him. Not well, but…well enough.”

Chandler’s answer struck Lisa as a bit strange, but she accepted it and turned to Glory. “Did you know him, Glory?”

Glory’s hot pink lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. She looked Lisa directly in the eyes and drawled with that odd little smirk still on her face, “I did from his waist down.”

Chapter 2

Lisa was so stunned she couldn’t speak. She felt as though her jaw had lost a screw and was now wobbling somewhere near her knees. Had she heard this woman correctly? Had she actually said, in front of her husband, that she had been having a physical relationship with another man before his untimely death?

“Don’t look so shocked, dear,” Glory said, smirk intact. “People do these things all the time.”

At first, Lisa couldn’t take her eyes off of Glory. She kept expecting her to say something like, “For heaven’s sake, Lisa, I was only kidding.” When that didn’t happen, when, in fact, she reaffirmed what she’d said in the first place, Lisa couldn’t help but turn her attention to Chandler. Didn’t he mind that his wife had just admitted to having an extramarital affair?

But it appeared as if she were the only one in the room who was the least bit taken aback by Glory’s comments. Was she the prude? Or was it that Glory and Chandler lived by a different set of rules? She finally reasoned that the latter must be true, although if it were prudish to be revolted by a cheating spouse, then prudish she would remain.

She wrote a line about the affair on the open page of her notebook and then moved on. “Other than the obvious, how did you come to know Mateo?”

“He did something around the house,” Glory answered absently.

“I beg your pardon?”

“He worked with the gardener,” Chandler clarified, taking over the conversation.

“He was an employee?”

“Not one of ours. We hired a service to come in and take care of the lawn and gardens. He was an employee of theirs. Part-time, I think.”

“I’ll need the name of that service.”

“Our housekeeper, Maria, will have that. You can call her later.”

Lisa knew she was going to have to start asking some difficult questions. So far, neither Glory nor Chandler seemed the least bit perturbed by what had been said, so obviously the discomfort was hers alone. She must set it aside, she told herself. There was no room for a defense counsel’s personal opinions in a courtroom, nor even during an initial interview of a client.

With her face expressionless, she continued. “How long had he worked for you, or rather, how long had he been coming to your house as an employee of the service?”

Chandler looked at Glory questioningly. She just shrugged and looked away. “I think it was only a few weeks,” he finally said.

Lisa couldn’t help but wonder if Glory’s indifference was real or an act. Did this woman know that from now on, every statement she made and every gesture she used would be noted by anyone and everyone who happened by accident or by design to be in her vicinity?

“Is that what you remember, Glory?” she asked her point-blank.

Glory looked surprised that Lisa was addressing her again. “Yes, I suppose that’s about right.”

“And is that when your…relationship with him began?”

“Yes,” she said, finally answering without hesitation and looking Lisa straight in the eye once more.

It appeared to Lisa that Glory enjoyed causing uneasiness in those around her. Was this a game to her? Or was it that her social standing in the community led her to believe that she was above common decency and good manners? And what about Chandler? He didn’t flinch, bat an eye or even seem to take notice. Didn’t any of this bother him at all?

But if they truly believed they were bulletproof, why on earth had they run to an attorney so soon?

Lisa pondered that question for a moment, then asked, “Was anyone in your household staff aware of the affair?”

“Not that I know of,” Glory answered. “I always gave them the night off when I planned on seeing him.”

“Where were you last night, Chandler?”

“I was in Detroit.”

Lisa wrote, Check Chandler’s alibi. “When did you leave?”

“Yesterday morning. It was a short trip. Just one day.”

“What hotel did you stay at?”

Glory huffed as if to tell Lisa that this was all a waste of time. Lisa ignored her.

“The Radisson, downtown.”

“And you returned just this morning?”

“That’s correct. I was on the six-fifteen flight.”

All of that would be easy enough to check. With security measures being what they were these days, Chandler would not have been able to board an aircraft without first showing identification. Of course, with the weird relationship he and Glory obviously had, Lisa couldn’t quite believe that he had gone off to Detroit, only to return sometime in the night to kill Mateo, then fly back and return in the morning as if nothing had happened. However, there usually was very little logic to murder, and Lisa had learned years ago that anything was possible.

She turned her attention back to Glory. “So, you were alone in the house with Mateo last night?”

“I was until whoever it was came along and killed him.”

“Can you tell me what you remember about the night?”

“Do you want all the gory details?”

“Just the ones about letting the staff off and then everything surrounding the time Mateo was killed.”

Glory looked almost disappointed. “Very well. I guess it was around sixish when I told everyone, including Maria, to leave.”

“Why do say, ‘including Maria?’”

“Maria is our only full-time house staff,” Chandler explained. “She oversees the daily routines of running an efficient household, which includes managing the part-time help…maids and such…we employ. She’s quite adept at it all. And when I’m out of town, she makes sure everything is taken care of for Glory.”

“Does she live on the property?”

“She stays occasionally when her duties cause her to work late. Other times, she goes home.”

“Where is home?”

“You’ll have to get that from her.”

Lisa reverted back to her original line of questioning. “Did everyone leave right away, Glory?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“What time did Mateo get there?”

“I guess about an hour later.”

“Without too much detail, can you tell me about the rest of the evening?”

“After Mateo arrived, we got a bottle of wine and went out to the spa. He liked water sports,” she said with a salacious little grin. Tossing her head, making her fabulous hair bounce a bit, she added, “Then, we went up to my room and spent the rest of the night there.”

“What time did he leave?”

Glory shrugged, which Lisa noticed that she did quite beautifully. Watching this woman was more entertaining than watching a movie, she thought with a slight frown. Truth was, she would like to really know Glory Witherington, through and through. Did Glory ever let anyone get that close?

“I couldn’t say,” Glory said. “I took a pill and went to sleep. I have a hard time sleeping when Chandler is out of town so I always take something that will knock me out.”

“Was Mateo still there when you did this?”

“Yes, I suppose he was.”

“So, you were asleep before he even left?”

“That’s how I remember it, yes.”

“And you heard nothing?”

“Honey, a bomb could go off in that house and I wouldn’t hear it after I’ve taken one of my pills.”

“This could present a problem if the police decide to go after you, Glory.”

“I believe that’s why we’re hiring you, dear, to make sure they don’t.”

Lisa’s intense interest in Glory’s entertainment value came to an abrupt end. In fact, she could stand this woman’s condescending attitude no longer and put pure ice in her voice to respond to such patronization.

“I don’t think you quite understand, dear, but I don’t have any control over what the police decide to do. My job is to defend you, should it come to that. And from what you’ve given me so far, I wouldn’t be able to do that very well.”

Glory appeared to be on the verge of another huff when Chandler intervened. “I think what Glory meant,” he said, patting her hand as if to tell her to cool it, “was that we would like you to do whatever is necessary to prevent that from happening. Use your connections, if you have any, to find out what their intentions are and if they have any suspects. We know Glory didn’t murder Mateo, but then I guess that leaves the question of who did. Why don’t you start there?”

Chandler’s last sentence was more of a directive than a suggestion and Lisa could feel the hair on the back of her neck bristling. Where did these people get off coming in here and ordering her around as if she were simply the hired help? She wasn’t on their personal payroll, and she certainly had other things to do besides catering to them. She would, of course, do absolutely everything in her power to give the Witheringtons the best possible legal advice and, should it come to it, defense. That was her job. But she would not be ordered around and told how to do her job by anyone!

“Mr. Witherington,” she began. “I assure you I will do everything I can for you and Glory—”

“That’s all we’re asking,” Chandler said, interrupting her. He then rose from his seat, bringing Glory up with him. “If that’s all, then we’ll be going. Be sure to keep us informed.” And before Lisa could utter another word, the pair was out the door.

What the hell just happened here? Lisa wondered, dazed by the past few minutes.

Lisa’s head was still spinning as she rode the elevator back down to the sixteenth floor. She hoped that the police had found some evidence of an intruder and that Glory would be ruled out as a suspect. Otherwise, she wasn’t entirely sure what she was going to do to prevent the woman from being arrested. Perhaps something in Mateo’s background would help find his real killer. Of course, finding out everything she could on Glory and Chandler might help her better understand this strange couple, as well. A stop at Larry’s office was definitely in order.

“Hey, good morning,” Larry said with a smile as she entered the research department. He was seated at a computer desk, one of several in the department, and he did that thing that men do to show their respect for a lady. He lifted himself about a foot off the chair, lingered a second and then sat again.

Lisa, still focused on the Witheringtons, barely noticed that he’d moved and only offered a wan smile in recognition of his greeting. “I’ve just spent time with my newest clients, and I don’t mind admitting that I’m confused and unnerved. Larry, I need anything and everything you can dig up on Chandler and Glory Witherington.”

“I heard their name on the radio this morning while driving to work. Something about a corpse in their front yard? Imagine waking up to that.”

Lisa was in no mood for humor. Ignoring Larry’s comments, she plopped into the nearest chair and moaned, “It’s already in the news?”

“The Witherington name is always news. Anyone with money is news. What are Chandler and Glory like in person?”

“You know I can’t discuss clients. But I don’t think I would be too far out of line by mentioning raw nerve endings and the threat of a massive headache lurking on the fringes of consciousness.”

“All happening to an unknown person, of course.”

“Whatever you say. Larry, the dead guy is Mateo Ruiz. From what I’ve gathered so far, he was an odd-jobs yard boy. Look him up, too, would you?”

Larry wrote the three names on a pad and murmured, “The multimillionaires and the yard boy. Makes for some interesting speculation, don’t you think?”

Lisa got to her feet. “I’m looking for facts, not speculation. Give me a buzz when you have anything, all right?”

“Perfectly all right, but don’t try to convince me that a good lawyer—and you are the best—doesn’t do reams of speculation when putting a case together.”

“Larry, you’re too much for me today. Talk to you later.”

Lisa was back in her own office for only a few minutes when she got a call from Grant Gowan. It was difficult for her to even take the call, let alone not sound as though she had just been run through a hay bailer, but she did her best.

“Hello, Grant.”

“Lisa, how’re tricks?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

He chuckled lightly in her ear. “I can take a hint. You’re swamped, right? Okay, we’ll make this short. The party starts at seven. Are you planning to go home first, or what?”

“No, there isn’t time for that. How about we meet in The Pub and go from there? I should be able to get away by six.”

“That sounds fine. See you then.”

As Lisa hung up, she hoped that the conservative three-piece taupe suit she was wearing would work for tonight’s party.

Do you really care?

“Not a whit,” she mumbled and got to work.

The rest of Lisa’s day was much calmer than the beginning. She filled it with paperwork from her previous case and a little research of her own on her new one. Lunch with Pamela took up an hour and a half and then several phone calls later, she was finally out the door to meet Grant.

Over lunch, she and Pamela had discussed the evening ahead. She had tried in several ways to argue that it really wasn’t a date, but in the end had to admit that it probably was, although Pamela should not think of it as a romantic date. It was funny, but until Grant Gowan had actually asked her to attend Faith’s birthday party with him, she had never considered him as anything but another lawyer.

Grant was attractive and Lisa had heard his name mentioned more than once during a gab session between the single women in the office. He was, after all, an eligible bachelor, a successful attorney and, supposedly, from a good home and background. All the makings of Mr. Right. But to her, he’d always just been a colleague of sorts and as she rode the elevator down to the first floor, she couldn’t help but wonder why she’d never been drawn to him, as so many of the other women in the building were.

Oh, well, maybe by the end of the evening I’ll have my answer.

True to his word, Grant was waiting in a booth near the front doors of The Pub when Lisa entered. He was alone and drinking a beer. “Would you like something before we go?” he offered. “We have a few minutes, unless you want to be the first to arrive at the party.”

“A beer would be good,” she said, sliding into the booth opposite him. What was it about arriving somewhere first that had such a stigma attached to it? Someone always had to be first, so why didn’t anyone want it to be him?

Lisa watched Grant go to the bar for her drink. He wasn’t particularly tall but he was tall enough for her, and his body was lean and fit. Of course, it could just be the suits he wore that made him look so good. Nothing off the rack for Grant Gowan, Lisa was sure of that. His clothes looked as if they were made for him.

“Here you go,” he said, placing a cold glass of beer in front of her.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he replied, resuming his seat. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Why is that?”

Grant shrugged. “I don’t know. You always seem a little distant, I guess. I was beginning to wonder if I smelled bad or something.” He made his last statement with a chuckle.

“Why? Because I don’t throw myself at you like some of the other women in the building do?”

A boyish grin crossed Grant’s lips. “Well….”

He understood exactly what she was talking about, Lisa knew. He was a hot commodity in the singles scene, a role he was obviously enjoying. And it was a role that was putting Lisa off. Perhaps she already had her answer about why she wasn’t all that attracted to him.

“Maybe we’d better get going,” she said as she stood up and straightened her skirt.

Grant stood as well. “I think we still have a little time. We don’t need to rush.”

“I really don’t want to be out too late, Grant. I have a new case and I’d like to get into the office early tomorrow.” Besides being the truth, it was as good a reason as any to cut the evening short, she figured.

“Oh, all right, then.”

They left The Pub and went around the corner of the building to the parking garage. “I’m on the second floor,” Grant told her as he steered her to the elevators.

When they reached his floor and then his car, Grant opened her door first and then went around to the driver’s side and slid in behind the wheel. His car was as elegant and expensive as his suits. Lisa took note of the plush leather she was now seated on, as well as the dark mahogany trim. She also noticed the hood ornament—a leaping jaguar. Grant Gowan reeked of money, old and new.

“Nice car,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said proudly.

The party was just getting under way when they arrived. Lisa recognized several other attorneys in attendance as she and Grant passed through each room of the apartment that had been opened up for the occasion. There was food—mostly yummy little bits of finger food—set up in the dining room and drinks in the kitchen. To get to either, one had to pass through the living room where Lisa saw two junior partners from her own firm. She nodded at them and received friendly smiles in return.

“Grant!” Lisa heard some woman exclaim from across the room. “Where have you been keeping yourself?”

Lisa watched as a flashy blonde approached. The curvaceous woman had a martini in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She stopped about a foot away from Grant and bent forward, kissing the air on either side of his cheeks. It was a scene right out of the movies.

“Oh brother,” Lisa said under her breath.

“Hello, Deidra,” Grant said to the woman. “How have you been?”

“Fabulous, as always. And who is this gorgeous creature by your side tonight?”

“Deidra Upton, Lisa Jensen.”

Lisa politely said hello, as did Deidra while snuffing her cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “At least now I know why you haven’t called lately, you naughty boy,” Deidra said. She flirtatiously flipped the lapel on Grant’s jacket and walked off to gaily greet someone else.

Grant was quick to explain that he and Deidra were just good friends. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.

“Not just yet.”

“How about something to eat?”

“I think I’d just like to find Faith and wish her a happy birthday right now,” Lisa said.

“You aren’t ready to go yet, are you?” Grant asked.

Lisa was ready to go, but she shook her head for Grant’s sake. She had always liked Faith Unser, but the rest of the crowd gave off an aura of pretense that Lisa didn’t much care for. Were these the people Grant regularly socialized with?

Lisa put up with the party for an hour before she told Grant she was tired and had to leave. “But you stay, Grant. I’ll take a cab.”

“Like hell you will! I’ll drive you home.”

“You certainly don’t have to leave on my account,” she said. “I’m perfectly capable of getting home on my own.”

“I have no doubt of that, but you came with me so I’d appreciate your leaving with me. I’ll drive you home. No debate, please.”

Within a few minutes, they were outside and walking down the street to where he had parked his car.

“You didn’t have a good time tonight,” Grant said.

“That just isn’t my crowd,” she said with a sidelong glance at him to see his reaction. “I’m sorry, but I guess I’m more of a meat-and-potatoes kind of girl.”

“Don’t apologize. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.”

Grant stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Why am I doing nothing right tonight? What is it about you, Lisa Jensen, that gets me all tongue-tied and flustered?”

Lisa was surprised by Grant’s outburst. Did she really have that effect on him? Or was this some kind of ploy to get to her? Stop being so suspicious, she scolded herself. But she couldn’t help doubting. Her past kept creeping forward in her mind, reminding her that she had one failed marriage already and if she wasn’t careful, there could be more, and that was something she didn’t want. The next time she walked down the aisle would be the last time, she had vowed on more than one occasion.

Still, Grant looked so cute and rather hapless standing there on the sidewalk with the streetlight shining down on him that her heart softened toward him.

“Oh, stop,” she said while taking a step back to him, looping her arm through his and pulling him the rest of the way to his car.

Lisa lived only a few miles away from the apartment where the party had been held, so it didn’t take long for Grant to drive to her place.

“It’s still early,” Grant said as he pulled up in front of her home. “I mean, if you’d like we can do something else.”

“Another time, Grant,” she said. “I’m pretty beat tonight.”

“We wouldn’t have to go anywhere,” he tried again. “We could just sit and talk for a while. I’d really like that, and I’m sitting here hoping that so would you.”

Lisa finally got the hint. He wanted to be invited in—something she wasn’t at all ready for. “Can I get a rain check?” she asked quietly.

He hesitated a long moment and finally shrugged. “Sure.”

He was disappointed, but then, what did he expect? This was only their first outing together, with no promise of any others to follow. She wasn’t even sure at this point if she wanted to see him again. What was he thinking? Maybe that she should invite him into her home and possibly her bed after only a few hours together?

Stop it! she told herself again. All he wants is get to know you better. But if she really believed that, why was her left hand curled into a nervous fist?

“I did have a nice time,” she said. “Can I call you in a day or two?”

“Sure,” he repeated, a little more strongly this time.

She quickly bent toward him and gave him a quick kiss. “Thanks again,” she said as she climbed out of his car. As soon as Lisa entered her house, she felt relieved. Her home was truly her sanctuary.

“What a day this was,” she mumbled as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

It had started out with those two crazy people that she hoped she would never have to see again and had ended with a date with a man she really wasn’t attracted to. And why not, she wondered. Why wasn’t she attracted to Grant Gowan like so many of the other women in the building were?

“Building, hell,” she said out loud and quite sarcastically. “How about Chicago’s entire legal profession!”

Lisa kicked off her shoes as soon as she got to her bedroom. Next, she slipped out of her work clothes and hung them up. Grabbing a fresh pair of pajamas from a drawer, she went to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. She usually checked messages and e-mails when she got home, but not tonight. Tonight she was heading straight to bed, after a call to her mother, of course.

“Hi, Mom,” she said when she heard Claudia pick up.

“Hi, sweetheart. How was your date?”

Lisa expelled a brief, brittle laugh of self-mockery and then spent the next five minutes reciting the details of the evening to her mother.

“Why, I think you should have enjoyed yourself!” Claudia exclaimed. “A nice party and a handsome escort? Yes, you should have had a pleasant evening. Grant sounds like a very nice young man. You should give him a chance.”

“But I’m not attracted to him, Mom.”

“Sex isn’t everything, sweetheart. That goes away and then what’s left? That’s what you should think about.”

“Was there ever a time you weren’t attracted to Daddy?”

Claudia was silent for a few moments. “No, I can’t honestly say there was ever a time I wasn’t attracted to that man.”

Lisa could hear a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone.

“I’m sorry I brought him up, Mom.”

“Don’t be. And don’t listen to me, either. You go find your Mister Right. He’s out there.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Chapter 3

Lisa arrived at work at her usual time. Instead of going straight to her own office, though, she stopped by the research department to see what Larry had come up with on the Witheringtons. If she had to deal with those people, it was in her best interest to know as much as possible about them. Of course, if things went as she ardently hoped, the police would eliminate Glory as a suspect and Lisa wouldn’t have to deal with them ever again.

“Good morning, Larry,” she said as she entered his domain. “What did you find for me?”

“No time for chitchat? Sounds like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I guess maybe I did wake up a little cranky.”

“Rough night?”

Had she had a rough night? Not really. So why was she feeling so on edge this morning? Her date with Grant really hadn’t been all that bad. She knew she wasn’t attracted to him and that she probably wouldn’t be seeing him in that way again, but that wasn’t a reason for her to snap at people this morning. So why was she feeling this way? The Witheringtons, she almost said out loud.

Ever since she’d met them yesterday, she’d had a bad feeling. There was just something about those people that rubbed her wrong. Of course, she couldn’t admit that to Larry. She couldn’t even admit it to Pamela. It was her job to advise and defend her clients to the best of her abilities, no matter how appalling she found them.

“I had a lot on my mind,” she finally told Larry. “I guess I didn’t sleep well.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Larry replied, accepting her answer without question. “Here are my preliminary findings on the Witheringtons and that Ruiz fellow.” He then handed her a large manila envelope.

“Preliminary findings?”

“I’m on the trail of something,” Larry said with a gleam in his eyes that energized Lisa as no other segment of the morning had done.

“Like what?” she questioned with unconcealed eagerness.

Larry’s entire demeanor seemed to Lisa to shut down, an observation bolstered by the unreadable look he gave her. “I’d rather not try to explain at this point,” he said. “Not until I know more.”

What is this? Her ire rose at such unnecessary drama, though she kept a lid on it. “But it has something to do with this case? Surely you can tell me that much.”

“Lisa, that’s exactly what I’m not sure about.”

Mysterious remarks she didn’t need, she thought, and she couldn’t hold back a frustrated sigh. “This is damn confusing, Larry.”

“Let’s just say that I found some interesting history on the Witherington name and leave it at that for now.”

Lisa couldn’t imagine what Larry had run across, but obviously he wasn’t going to say any more than he already had and she might as well accept his attitude, even if it did chafe her nerves raw. Irritated, she couldn’t keep from saying, “Just don’t charge your time to this case until you do know for sure. You know how Ludlow is about that kind of thing.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Larry laughed, and laughed again when her face got red. “Don’t worry, Lisa, I’ll only charge related time.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, angry for embarrassing herself. “Try not to hate me for being a bitch today, okay?” She got to her feet.

Larry rose, as well. “Don’t worry about it.”

Lisa took the manila envelope to her office, regretting every bitchy word she’d said to Larry. He didn’t deserve that from her or anyone else in the firm. Without him and his computer brilliance—bordering on pure genius—everyone in the firm would be bogged down with his own research.

But what was the big mystery he’d apparently stumbled onto? Something to do with the Witheringtons, obviously, and it certainly had him intrigued. Well, it had her intrigued, as well, but all she could do was bide her time and try to keep herself on her own track until he was ready to explain.

Lisa began reading the computer-generated pages from the envelope. The first report was all about Mrs. Witherington. Glory had been born a Quenten, another very wealthy family, about forty-four years ago. She had grown up mostly in the Chicago suburbs, having left for several years in her early teens to attend school in Europe.

Lisa thumbed through the pages attached until she came to something a little more interesting than the background of a spoiled rich kid. The last few pages were police reports. Glory had been arrested several times for driving under the influence and drunk and disorderly conduct, and while the police had been called out to the Witherington home on several occasions for domestic disputes, no charges had been filed in connection with those incidents.

“Good job, Larry,” Lisa said out loud.

She moved on to Chandler’s report, flipping quickly to the end to see what skeletons she might find there. But there weren’t any. Chandler had no arrest record. In fact, he was downright boring compared to Glory.

The other reports included their marriage certificate, hospital admittance forms for Glory for an emergency appendectomy, and a list of real estate holdings.

Then there was Mateo Ruiz. He was in his mid-twenties, mostly a drifter and by trade, it appeared, a drug dealer. His arrest record—most of it drug-related—had begun at the age of twelve and had continued throughout his entire life. Had he been using Glory for money? Possibly stealing small items from around the Witherington mansion for resale? Lisa made a note to ask Glory if she had ever noticed anything missing.

Just then her telephone rang.

“Lisa Jensen,” she said as she put the receiver to her ear.

“Kurt Sandoval is on line three for you,” Madeline’s rich voice told her through the phone.

“Kurt? Really? Thank you, Madeline.”

Kurt Sandoval was a homicide detective with the Chicago Police Department. He was tall, dark and handsome in a disheveled sort of way. His hair was thick, black and always attractively disarrayed. His clothes were rumpled and he always had a little dirt under his nails. But it was his wild blue eyes that attracted the most attention. Lisa had worked with him several times. She had gotten to know him fairly well over the past few years and felt she could justifiably call him a friend. She secretly wished she could call him more than that. Her heart raced anytime she came near him.

But he was a married man. Of course, he hadn’t ever shown her any interest beyond work-related issues. Not that he wasn’t a flirt; he just never took it too far and neither did she.

“Hey, Kurt,” she said, as she pressed the button for line three on her telephone.

“Hey, blondie,” he returned.

“What’s up?”

“I heard you have a new case.”

“Boy, news sure does travel fast. How did you hear about it?”

“Your client’s just been arrested. I thought you should know.”

Lisa barely remembered hanging up the telephone. Her blood was boiling. Why hadn’t Glory or Chandler called her? What was the matter with them? How did they think she was going to help them if they didn’t even bother calling when the police actually slapped on the cuffs?

She had her purse in her hand and was reaching for the telephone to call John Ludlow when it rang again. Surprisingly, the caller ID displayed Ludlow’s name. The Witheringtons must have called him instead of her! Lisa shook her head. She was their attorney of record, not John Ludlow. She felt like picking up the phone and telling Ludlow to get someone else, someone more suitable to the Witheringtons, to take her place.

“Yes, Mr. Ludlow?”

“Lisa, I just got a call from Chandler Witherington.”

“I figured you had. I just got a call from a source in the police station. I’m on my way down to the women’s correctional facility now.”

“Good, good.”

There was a brief and somewhat awkward silence, and Lisa was about to say that she needed to run when Ludlow finally spoke again.

“Lisa, I know the Witheringtons can be a little odd at times, but that was one of the reasons I chose you for this case. I felt you could handle them.”

Lisa wanted to question Ludlow further on that. Handle them? What was that supposed to mean? And if she did a great job would that guarantee a promotion? She was earning it.

“Thank you, Mr. Ludlow. I appreciate your confidence in me.”

“All right then. Call me later and let me know what’s going on. I want to be kept informed on this one.”

“Will do, sir.”

Lisa didn’t have time for the train or a bus, so she hailed a cab as soon as she exited the building. The distance to the women’s correctional facility was only a few miles, but with daytime traffic it would take at least twenty minutes. She pulled out her cell phone and began to dial. The first call she made was to the district attorney’s office to find out if Glory’s arraignment had been scheduled yet. Of course, she didn’t get an answer. No one seemed to know anything about it, and she was told someone would call her back with the information. The second call she made was to Chandler’s cell phone.

“Chandler, it’s Lisa Jensen,” she began once he’d picked up.

“Lisa, I thought I told you this was the very thing we wanted to avoid!”

“Chandler, I—”

“We pay your firm a lot of money annually, not to mention a large retainer for your services. The least you could have done was warn us that this was coming.”

“Chandler, I—”

“And another thing, where the hell are you?”

Lisa couldn’t take any more of this man’s verbal assault. “If you’ll shut up for thirty seconds, I’ll tell you!”

Chandler began to sputter so Lisa took that opportunity to let him know she was on her way to the women’s facility and that she had only been informed after the arrest was made. She also told him that she didn’t appreciate being the second person in the office to know what was going on, not if they wanted adequate representation from her.

She also told him to be at the arraignment, which she would do her best to get scheduled for that afternoon, and to be prepared to put up a large bail bond. She also asked him to bring Glory’s passport in case the judge wanted it.

“I’ve just arrived at the women’s correction facility, Chandler, so I’ll speak to you later.”

“Very well, but please keep me informed.”

“And I would appreciate it if you would do the same.”

Lisa had been to this building several times over the past few years, but it never ceased to give her chills every time she walked through the front doors. The simple truth was that she could have very easily ended up on the wrong side of these bars had it not been for her mother.

Lisa had been only twelve when her father had been gunned down, shot in an alley, murdered for no apparent reason. The toll on both her and her mother had been monstrous. Her mother had fallen into a deep depression that had lasted for months. At the time, Lisa had felt as though she’d lost both parents that fateful night, and in a way she had. With no one left to turn to, she had turned, as so often happened with children growing up in Wellston, to the streets. Her friends became the kids who lived and worked in the neighborhood as lookouts and runners for drug dealers and usually ended up in the life themselves.

What had finally snapped her mother out of her depression was the night Lisa came home with a pocketful of money. She had worked as a lookout all night and was given a small percentage of the take. It was a fortune to Lisa and she thought she’d found her calling. Claudia thought otherwise. And after making Lisa return the money, she began taking a strong and parental interest in whatever her daughter was doing.

At first, Lisa hated it and hated her mother for watching every move she made. Later, she loved her mother more than she could say and thanked her with her nightly phone calls.

“There but by the grace of God and Mom go I,” Lisa whispered as she passed a group of young women, obviously prostitutes, waiting to be booked.

Lisa showed her identification and bar association card to the guard at the front desk. “I’m here to see Glory Witherington,” she explained. “I’m her legal counsel.”

The guard directed Lisa down a long corridor. There were several small rooms on either side for attorneys and clients to use for consultations. She had been told that Mrs. Witherington was in the third room on the left.

A guard was posted at each end of the hall behind a wall of bars. A third guard followed the attorneys to their rooms to unlock the doors from the corridor side. Apparently this was a vulnerable spot in the correction center, being the last chance for anyone wishing to make a break for it, so every precaution was taken to ensure that didn’t happen. All the guards were armed, and none of them looked the least bit interested in playing games. Lisa could only imagine what these men and women, after working here for several years, had seen, and she could honestly say she didn’t envy them their jobs. However, she did respect them immeasurably.

Glory was seated at an old wooden table wiping her hands with a tissue. Lisa guessed she was still trying to remove the ink from the fingerprinting that had occurred earlier. Either that or she was just trying to wipe away the day.

“It’s about time!” Glory snapped as soon as she saw Lisa. “Can I go home now?”

Lisa bit her tongue. How was she ever going to get through an entire murder trial with this self-centered woman and her condescending husband?

“You won’t be able to leave until after the arraignment, and only then if the judge agrees to bail.”

“The what?”

“It’s called an arraignment and it’s where we tell a judge what our intentions are.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s where we plead you guilty or not guilty, Glory. If it’s not guilty—”

“Of course it’s not guilty!” Glory shouted.

“Glory, please, I’m simply trying explain the procedure to you. We’re not holding the trial yet.”

“All right then, explain it to me.”

“When we tell the judge that you are not guilty, the district attorney will make a motion requesting your incarceration until trial and—”

“What! Are they insane?”

“Glory, it’s part of the procedure. It doesn’t mean they actually expect you to go to jail. They know Chandler will put up a bond and since you don’t have a…” Lisa paused for a moment. She had wanted to say that since Glory didn’t have a record, there would be no reason for the judge to even consider putting her behind bars. However, Glory did have a record and even though it was for drunk and disorderly conduct, it would be considered and brought up. But did she really want to tell Glory about that now and have her fly off the handle again? “Since you have never been arrested for anything serious before, there shouldn’t be a problem with your going home as soon as Chandler writes a check. It’s possible that you will be home by this evening.”

“I can’t believe this is happening at all,” Glory said under her breath, almost to herself. “Chandler said he could fix anything.”

“What did you say?” Had she heard Glory correctly? And if she had, what had Glory meant by it?

A funny look crossed Glory’s face briefly before she spoke. Lisa likened it to a child being caught telling a lie or swiping a piece of candy he had been told he couldn’t have.

“You know men,” Glory finally said with a laugh. “They think they can fix anything.” She then went back to wiping her hands. “But even the great Chandler Witherington can’t make the world stop turning.”

Lisa studied her client for a few moments. The woman’s hands were perfectly clean; the tissue she was using was nothing more then a small wad of cotton, crumpled and torn and barely recognizable. What had just happened here? Had Glory just admitted something?

For the first time since their initial meeting, Lisa detected a touch of vulnerability in her client. Lisa’s heart softened. She certainly didn’t know Glory well enough yet to judge her harshly or otherwise, but it was strangely satisfying to realize that even though Glory Witherington brimmed with better-than-thou eccentricities, she also had a human side.

Still, she was a strange one, Lisa had to add to her adjusted understanding of Glory. Most people—men and women alike—just arrested for murder were emotional, showing it in varying ways, of course—some weeping, some angry and cursing. The only evidence she could see of what Glory might truly be feeling was that ragged piece of tissue in her hands.

She got to her feet. “Glory, you will be informed of the time for the arraignment and delivered to the scheduled courtroom. I will be there, as will Chandler.”

And then Glory destroyed all of the softness Lisa had just felt toward her by speaking like a queen to a lowly subject. “Be sure and get me out of here,” she spat. “This place is a sty!”

The arraignment was held late in the day. The courtroom was packed and they had to sit through a dozen other criminal indictments before Glory Witherington’s name was called. Lisa took over and handled the proceeding like the pro she was. Although the prosecutor argued against bail on the basis of the defendant’s past record, and her wealth, which would permit her to easily leave the country, Lisa beat him at every turn. Glory’s arrest records were ancient history and should not be permitted to taint this case. The judge ruled in her favor after asking for Glory’s passport to be surrendered. Just as Lisa had expected.

As for bail, the evidence provided by the prosecution was circumstantial at best, and Lisa put it before the court that Glory could easily be an innocent woman. The state’s case was not strong enough to deny bail, and again the judge agreed. Bail was set at a million dollars, and Chandler wrote a check for that amount. His expediency at this juncture made a good impression on Lisa; he must truly believe in his wife’s innocence. The final task was to set a date for the preliminary hearing, which the judge did without preamble. It was over. Chandler escorted his wife out and Lisa followed them into the corridor.

Not that Lisa expected any great gestures, but neither Glory nor Chandler thanked her, so she spoke coolly and professionally to them. “We have about six weeks until the prelim, and I will be investigating every nook and cranny of your lives during that time. Expect to see a lot of me and possibly Hal Hannigan, an investigator who works for the firm. I intend to interview everyone who works in your home, your friends, along with close friends of the victim’s.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Chandler said sharply.

“No. If you want your wife free instead of growing old in jail…or worse—Illinois has a death penalty, you know—then nothing or no one is off limits to me. If there’s anything at all about that night that you haven’t told me, please give some serious thought to doing so right away. I’m prepared to listen at any time, and you have my phone numbers. We’ll talk again soon. Goodbye.”

She walked away with her back straight and her head high. She was outside when someone called her name. Turning, she saw Kurt Sandoval heading toward her. Her mood changed drastically, although deep down she wondered if she would ever be the same after being forced to huddle for several hours in a crowded courtroom with two snobs like Glory and Chandler.

“Hi,” she called before he reached her. “I saw you in the hallway, but everyone was so lost in the crowd there wasn’t an opportunity to say hello.”

“Yeah, I’m here on the Garrow case. You know, the one where the guy killed the three hookers?”

Lisa nodded. “How’s it going?”

“We’ve got him. By the way what’d you think of the ME’s report on the Witherington case?”

She had received a copy of the autopsy report from the prosecutor’s office. “It seems pretty straightforward to me. The vic was shot once and killed.”

“Shot in the back, Lisa.”

She frowned. “Yes, in the back. That could mean he never saw or even knew his killer, Kurt.”

“It could also mean that he trusted whoever pulled the trigger.”

“I’ll tell you what it does mean to me at this juncture…that both the prosecution and defense teams have a lot of work to do before trial.”

“She did it, Lisa.”

“You have absolutely no proof of that, and you definitely shouldn’t be talking that way to me. It’s not even your case.”

Kurt grinned, and he looked so damned cute that Lisa felt sexual tingles moving around in her body. “I shouldn’t be talking to you at all,” Kurt said. “This is war. You know it, I know it, and we’re on opposite sides. But how can I resist your many charms?”

She felt her face color and become warm. “You’re really full of it today, Sandoval. Maybe you should figure out why a courtroom full of alleged criminals and legal types turn you on.”

He laughed. “Long legs and blond hair turn me on, sweetheart.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Really. Now that you mention it, I did see a lawyer that fits that description very well. I believe his name is Aaron Richardson.” She tossed her head at him and walked away, listening to him chuckle all the way to the curb, where she hailed a taxi.

What a cad he was! Married and coming on to her. Well, she’d handled him well enough, hadn’t she? But damn him, anyhow. How dare he be the only man who could thrill her with a look when he had absolutely no right to even cast his eyes in her direction?

She leaned forward, gave the driver her home address and fell back against the seat. God, she was tired, she thought, and by the time she got home, she faced total exhaustion. A leisurely hot bath helped and so did some hot food, although it was a chore to even enter the kitchen knowing she had to cook something.

Still, she was thinking more clearly and feeling much better when she finally climbed the stairs to her home office. First, she retrieved voice mail messages from her phone at the firm. There were three: one each from Grant Gowan, Pamela and Larry. She listened to each and made notes. Grant’s words were flirtatious and suggesting another date, Pamela had merely wondered what was going on with her, but Larry’s message got her blood pumping.

“Lisa, I know you’re in court so I’ll skip a call to your cell. I just wanted to bring you up to speed on what we discussed this morning…you know…Witherington history? Well, it’s like this. I believe I found proof of a connection between the Witherington name and some of Chicago’s underworld figures. Chandler Sr., especially. I know the old guy is dead, but I can’t help wondering if his son has carried on a family tradition. I’ll let you know what I turn up.”

With her heart beating a mile a minute, Lisa dialed her mother’s number. “This is just a quick call tonight, Mom. I’m truly done in, but I never could have gone to sleep without hearing your voice first.”

Claudia understood and they only said a few words before signing off. Lisa doused the lights and crawled into bed. Her pulse was still racing from Larry’s message. My Lord, she thought, was Chandler Witherington connected to the Chicago mob? And if so, had Mateo’s death been set up by Chandler, even though he had the perfect alibi of having been hundreds of miles away? Maybe he hadn’t liked a gardener sleeping with his wife?

It was a theory with teeth, she realized, one that could not be discarded without further investigation.

“Thank God for Larry,” she murmured, her last words before sleep took her.

Chapter 4

Lisa was usually awake in the morning before her alarm went off. In fact, her alarm clock was merely a precautionary measure. So when it started buzzing somewhere in the background of a vague and shadowy dream, it took her a while to figure out what exactly was happening.

“Good Lord,” she said aloud, fumbling around on the night table until she found and stopped the noise of the alarm. What time was it, anyway, and how had she managed to sleep so late?

“First, some coffee,” she said as she padded down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Once she got the coffee brewing, she went to the front door. Finding the newspaper every morning was usually a new and interesting challenge. For whatever reason, the person who delivered her paper couldn’t quite seem to locate the front porch of her house. He could, however, find the bushes that ran under her living room window or the flower bed at the front corner of her property. As she opened the door, she wondered where the paper would be today.

It took only a moment to spot it. It was laid out neatly on the porch, her face peering up at her from the front page.

“What the hell…?”

Her picture was not the only one. Next to it was one of Glory and next to her was a picture of Chandler. The headline read Chicago Heiress Arrested For Murder.

“Oh, no!” Lisa practically shouted. This was not the kind of publicity she wanted or needed right now. She quickly retreated inside and went back to the kitchen where she could sit down and read the rest of the story.

Lisa laid the newspaper out on the table and poured a cup of freshly brewed coffee. She usually put a little cream in her coffee just to take the bite out of it first thing in the morning. This morning, however, she needed all the bite she could get. After a sip of the hot brew, she began to read.

The story started with Glory and Mateo and their “special” relationship. It stated that Mateo Ruiz had been the Witheringtons’ gardener and then intimated that pulling weeds and mowing lawns was not all he’d been paid to do.

“How clever,” Lisa said sarcastically. “And who in God’s name told the reporter that?”

It went on to describe the murder, and how and where Mateo’s body had been found; it even mentioned the fact that Mateo had been shot in the back. Next, there was a paragraph about the Witherington family’s wealth, reportedly derived from its import-export business. The final paragraph was about Lisa and her law firm.

“This is just great,” Lisa mumbled as she got up for another cup of coffee. How on earth did the press get wind of all of this so soon? Obviously Glory and Chandler were big news in the Chicago area—and a front yard homicide was probably the most sensational thing with which either of them had been involved. All Lisa could really be thankful for right now was that the story hadn’t mentioned Glory’s other run-ins with the law. Everything would eventually come out, but Lisa hoped that by then she would have been able to run a little interference. So far, all she was doing was running blind, and that was something she was going to have to change.

Lisa decided she’d better get into the office early on this sunny Saturday morning. She could imagine the kind of hoopla this front-page story could mean for the firm and she wanted to be prepared for the repercussions. However, she only made it to the top of the stairs before her telephone started ringing.

“Hello?” she said, grabbing the phone in her bedroom on the second ring.

“Hi, sugar plum.” It was her mother.

“Mom, it’s ten minutes after six. You never call this early unless something is wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong. I just saw your picture in the morning paper. Front page, no less.”

“Oh, that.”

“I take it this is a new case for you? When did you get this one? I thought you’d just finished up on another.”

“Mom, I’m usually juggling half a dozen cases and so is every other lawyer in the place. I did just finish up another, but Mr. Ludlow asked me personally to take this one. You just don’t refuse a senior partner. I do think one of the reasons he asked me to handle this was because he didn’t think it would go this far.”

“What do you mean? Mrs. Witherington is being accused of murder, isn’t she? Why wouldn’t it go to trial?”

“That’s just it. Mrs. Witherington didn’t do it. Someone else did. We were hoping to clear her name before it got that far. Actually, even before her arrest.”

“Well, honey, I’m no attorney, but it seems to me that if the police have enough evidence to arrest a person for murder, then they must know something.”

“The police can arrest anyone for anything, Mom. So far, all they have on Mrs. Witherington is circumstantial evidence and a coroner’s report. Look, Mom, I don’t mean to cut you short but I really need to get into the office early this morning. I’ll call you tonight. Okay?”

“Sure, honey. I’ll talk to you later. Have a good day.”

The next time the phone rang, Lisa was in the shower. Was it going to be like this all day? Was this what life was like for those attorneys who specialized in the biggest and most notorious high-profile cases?

“Maybe I’ll move over to penny-ante crimes and divorce cases,” she grumbled as the hot water from the shower ran down her face and body.

The phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Whoever was calling was persistent; maybe the call was from one of the firm’s partners. With a sudden sinking sensation, Lisa turned off the water, wrapped a towel around herself and ran for the phone.

“Lisa Jensen,” she said, striving to sound all business in case it was John Ludlow or one of the other partners.

“You been running?”

“What?”

“You’re out of breath.”

“What I am is wet. You got me out of the shower.” Kurt Sandoval was calling this early? What on earth for? Possibly to badger her about the headlines? “Shit,” she whispered.

“What was that?”

It suddenly occurred to her that the police could have released the story to the press, and she became stiff with righteous indignation.

“Did the department release the Witherington story?” she asked without answering his question.

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, somebody did it.”

“That seems rather apparent, doesn’t it?” Kurt drawled. “Actually, I called to find out if you might be the mouth that roared. Publicity is sometimes good for defense counsel.”

“I hardly think premature publicity is going to help Glory’s case,” she said with some sarcasm. “Besides, the entire article is slanted against her.”

“Oh, now I think that’s an exaggeration.”

“What I’d really like to know is why the reporter interviewed the prosecution attorneys and didn’t even try to make contact with me so I could present something positive about my client.”

“Do you have something positive to present?”

“Did you call at this most inconvenient time to insult my intelligence? Look, I’m dripping on the carpet. If you still feel the need to add insult to injury later on, call me at work.” Lisa slammed down the phone and ran back to the bathroom. She was seething on the inside and shivering on the outside.

Damn Sandoval and all married men who thought they were so damned cute that they could get away with anything, she thought resentfully as she turned on the hot water again.

Because it was a Saturday and everyone who had to go in to the firm on a weekend dressed casually, Lisa put on a pair of freshly cleaned and pressed jeans and an ivory-colored cotton sweater. High-heeled light tan leather boots, for which she’d paid a small fortune, and a luscious pink suede jacket completed her ensemble for the day.

But she didn’t waste time in admiring herself, and she gathered her purse and briefcase—in which she’d stashed the newspaper—and left the house to hurry to the nearest bus stop to catch a downtown bus.

The ride was about thirty minutes long and she noticed at least a dozen newspapers in the hands of wide-eyed passengers. Wishing she’d thought to put on a hat with a brim she could pull down over her face, she settled for her dark glasses and dug them out of her purse.

Then she thought of the case and the discomfort of unwanted publicity. Why in God’s name would anyone deliberately seek the public’s eye, she wondered uneasily. Obviously Sandoval had believed that was precisely what she’d done. He might flirt with her and even leer at her at times, but he sure as hell didn’t know her!

“And he never will,” she vowed, renewing her postdivorce pledge to never take up with a married man because of the pain it would cause his wife, which she’d felt firsthand with Bobby’s sexual escapades.

Lisa was at her desk, trying to better organize the notes she was amassing on Glory’s case. She also had a copy of the coroner’s autopsy report, and she studied again the few lines citing the cause of death. A .32 caliber slug had been removed from the body. The bullet had lodged in the upper torso and entered through the victim’s back.

Sitting there pondering the coroner’s learned opinion, it was clear that if Glory was as innocent as she proclaimed, then someone else had been at the Witherington home that night. It was time she visited the crime scene and met the household staff.

She pushed away from her desk and began returning items to her briefcase. Her intercom line buzzed and she picked up the phone. “Lisa here.”

“Larry here. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Larry, just miles away when the phone rang. Did you call for a reason? Oh, I just realized that you’re here at work.”

“Saturday is just another workday in this business, Lisa.”

“How true. So, are you on the trail of something interesting?”

“If you’ve got a few minutes, come on by Research, okay?”

“Will do. I have a phone call to make then I’ll be along. See ya.”

Lisa pushed Larry—along with his “questionable history” remarks about the Witheringtons, plus her avid curiosity about what gains he might have made—to the back burner and dialed the Witherington home. Waiting for someone to answer her call, she thought of how much more she would rather talk to Larry than to Glory. Oh, well.

A woman answered; Lisa identified herself and asked for Mrs. Witherington. In a minute, Glory’s voice said, “So, what’s up, kiddo?”

“Well, you sound in a good mood,” Lisa said.

“And you sound as though you disapprove.”

“Sorry, that wasn’t my intention. Glory, I’m leaving in a minute or two to pay you a visit. I would like to interview your household staff, view the crime scene and clear up a few more details with you.”

“Not today, Lisa. I have a tennis afternoon all planned for the country club.”

Lisa sucked in an irritated breath. “What time are you leaving? I can be there in twenty minutes.” A definite exaggeration. She couldn’t possibly get across the city in twenty minutes.

“Well, honestly,” Glory said impatiently, as though no one had ever opposed her on anything before. “I’m not leaving for another hour or so, but this whole thing is a terrible bother and an intrusion on my life. I’m already so tired of it I could spit.”

“Spit a bucketful if it makes you feel better, but I’ll be at your house very shortly.”

“Couldn’t you interview Maria at her home and then talk to whichever part-time maids she digs up for you to question without my being present?”

“No, Glory, it doesn’t work that way. I’ll see you soon. Goodbye.”

Unnerved and perplexed by Glory’s head-in-the-sand attitude, Lisa left her office and headed for the research department. She walked into the place and saw that Larry was the only employee working at a computer today.

He got up when she approached and moved a chair close to his desk. “Have a seat. Is that steam I see coming out of your ears?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Lisa plopped down. “Glory Witherington just may be the death of me. I can’t tell if she’s simply stupid or so damned spoiled that no one has ever said no to her.”

“How about a soft drink or some coffee? Maybe some nice herbal tea?”

“If you had a tranquilizer, would you offer that?” Lisa drawled. “It would probably do me more good than all the tea in China.”

“No drugs in here.”

“I know, I’m just kidding. Okay, whiz kid, what did you dig up?”

“You know I’ve been coming up with bits of information that I hadn’t wanted to pass on without confirmation, but what I’ve found is some very interesting data on criminal connections to Chandler Witherington Sr. The apple doesn’t usually fall far from the tree, and maybe that murder had more to do with Chandler’s activities than with Glory’s.”

Lisa sat very still and absorbed the implications. If Chandler were connected to mob activities—hiding behind a legitimate import-export business—maybe he’d been the intended victim that night instead of poor Mateo Ruiz.

But wasn’t that theory just a little too farfetched to even consider? Chandler Witherington might be a total jerk in person, but around Chicago he was regarded as an upstanding member of society.

“Larry, I think that’s really reaching,” she said.

“Yes, I know it is. But it’s not impossible, either, Lisa.”

“No, nothing’s impossible. But have you found one single thing that links Chandler to the wrong side of the law?”

“No, but I have this gut feeling…”

Lisa got up from her chair. “Sometimes gut feelings are nothing but gas, my friend. But you’ve definitely piqued my curiosity…and my imagination. Dare I request that you continue searching and keep me informed? I have to run, Larry. I told Glory Witherington that I was on my way to her house, and I don’t want to disappoint her by being late.” Lisa smiled wryly. “I’m sure she would much rather that I disappear from the face of the earth than show up at her front door to ask more questions. Thanks for everything. Talk to you later.”

Her smile faded as she walked from Larry’s domain to her own. As she entered her office, the phone began ringing. She picked it up and said, “Lisa Jensen.”

“Well, and how do you like being the center of attention?”

It was John Ludlow. Lisa’s heart sank. “I had nothing to do with that article, Mr. Ludlow.”

“From its tone, I’m sure you didn’t. Do you have any idea who did?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Journalists are persistent busybodies, Lisa, but they can also be extremely helpful at times. The byline on the article is the name J.D. Fields. Do you know him or her?”

“No, but maybe I should meet him or her. What do you think?”

“In good time, Lisa, in good time. Leave it lie for now. It’s too soon. You don’t have a solid case for your client yet. When you do, perhaps before trial, perhaps immediately following, the opportunity will arise for you to set your worth before the public.”

“My worth?”

“Don’t sound so down in the mouth, Lisa. The firm knows your worth, and so should you.”

She felt the burden of her job suddenly increase tenfold upon her shoulders. Had Ludlow intended to remind her of her responsibility to the firm, or had his compliment been genuine?

God, did she know anything for certain anymore? Everything and everyone seemed to have a dozen sides.

She chose to accept Ludlow at face value. “Thank you for the call,” she said quietly. “I have an appointment with Glory Witherington and must leave soon if I’m to be on time.”

“Good, glad to hear it. Forget that article and have a good day, Lisa.”

She put down the telephone, took her things and departed her office, the firm and the Ridge Building. A long breath of fresh air helped clear her head, and she set off for the Witherington mansion with renewed determination.

Chapter 5

At the Westbrook Depot, Lisa detrained and hailed a cab for the rest of her journey into the land of wealth and privilege. She was amazed at the size of what people called houses in this neighborhood. Each estate she passed seemed grander than the last. Each “house” was surrounded by tall rock or block walls covered in greenery, with only the roofs showing above them. The actual homes could only be glimpsed through security gates that allowed visitors access to the grounds—by invitation only, of course. The Witherington mansion was no exception. The only difference between that stunning property and others in the neighborhood was the herd of reporters camped out on the street in front.

“Does someone famous live here?” the cab driver asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” Lisa said dryly. “Whatever you do, don’t stop.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The cab driver pulled up to the gate so that Lisa could speak through the intercom system that was connected to the house, her picture being snapped all the while her head was stuck out of the backseat window. Soon the gate swung open, and the drive up to the main house began. Lisa, trying to ignore the barrage of flashes and reporters shouting questions, took note of the absence of a keypad anywhere near the gate so that a code could be entered to gain entrance onto the estate grounds. That meant that each car coming in either had to be admitted by way of the intercom or had to be outfitted with some sort of device similar to a garage door opener. She made a mental note to ask Glory how many of these devices they owned and in whose possession they might be. Did she pass them out to prospective and current boyfriends, for instance?

The driveway was long and U-shaped. Near the house, the place where Mateo’s body had been found was cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape, and a chalk outline was still visible on the pavement and grass. What appeared to be bloodstains also remained.

“What the hell happened here, lady?” the cabbie asked. “Hey, is this the place where that rich broad murdered her boyfriend? Is that why all those reporters are out there?”

Oh, the power of the press, Lisa thought. To the driver she said nothing. She just threw some money at him and climbed out of the backseat.

“You want me to come back later and get you?” he asked, as she walked up to the large, elaborate front doors.

“I’ll call if I need you,” Lisa threw over her shoulder.

“Ask for Danny White,” he yelled out the window.

Lisa nodded but didn’t turn around. She was too interested in the crime scene at the moment and she certainly didn’t want the cab driver hanging around any longer than necessary, asking her questions she wasn’t going to answer. Soon she heard the cab moving back down the driveway.

Lisa rang the bell. In moments, one of the ornate doors opened and she found herself looking at a young Hispanic woman who appeared to be still in her teens.

“Are you Maria?” she asked.

“Oh, no,” the young woman said with a heavy accent. “Maria no feel well.”

“That will be all, Connie.” Glory seemed to appear out of thin air behind the young woman. “Come in, Lisa. Is this going to take long?” There was blatant impatience in her voice.

“It will take as long as it takes, Glory,” Lisa said, managing to keep the edge out of her voice. Obviously Glory was still planning on her tennis match, as she was dressed in a sleeveless white sweater with a long-sleeved white sweater wrapped around her shoulders, a white sweatband on each wrist, a pair of white tennis shoes and a short, short white skirt. Lisa couldn’t help wondering how she managed to have such a good tan at this time of year. Probably a tanning salon, but maybe she’d spent a month in the Caribbean. Oh, the advantages of great wealth, she thought with an inner sigh.

“Fine,” Glory huffed as she walked Lisa into a room that was easily recognizable as a library because of all of the beautifully bound books lining the walls. “We can sit in here.”

The room was exquisite; the whole house was beautiful. Spectacular, actually. Lisa had been in extraordinary homes before, but none quite like the Witherington mansion.

“Have a seat. Over there by the fireplace,” Glory said with a careless wave of her hand.

The fireplace was without flame or heat, neither of which was needed for temperature or atmosphere during this rather strained meeting. Not that it should be strained, Lisa thought, telling herself again, as she had on the train, to overlook Glory’s grating personality and behave with grace and unruffled professionalism.

Lisa chose one of the butter-soft leather chairs and set her briefcase down on the carpet next to it, thinking that Glory would immediately join her. Instead, Glory approached a few steps and asked, “What would you like to drink?”

“I would love a glass of cold water.”

“Now that’s exciting,” Glory drawled, and turned away to head over to the bar that Lisa had noticed, albeit with very little interest.

Now she took full note of it. The bar and six stools were constructed of an uncommon wood—to Lisa, at least—possibly imported from some far-off exotic place, elaborately carved and stained. The back bar was a series of glass-fronted shelves that suddenly showed their wares when the lights came on. Obviously Glory had hit a switch, and while Lisa watched, she poured some kind of amber liquor into a small glass and drank it in one swallow.

Lisa gaped but said nothing. She had no right to judge Glory, even though she would much rather have her client totally clearheaded while they talked.

Glory walked from the bar to Lisa’s chair carrying two glasses, one with water and ice chips, which she handed to Lisa, and the small shot glass, refilled of course, for herself. She sat nearby in another leather chair.

Lisa murmured “Thanks” for the water, took a drink and then held the glass with her left hand while picking up her briefcase with her right. “I need my notepad and pen,” she said, noticing Glory sipping from her glass. She also noticed Glory’s facial expression—impatient and petulant—and her body language. The woman was poised to jump and run. Lisa had to bite her tongue not to harangue Glory again about her unbelievably naive attitude. Anyone who didn’t take a murder charge seriously couldn’t possibly be operating with a full set of marbles.

Lisa frowned as she pondered an insanity defense. Given Glory’s complete absence of fear or even an appearance of understanding or caring about the charge against her, that might be her best bet, Lisa thought.

“Glory, would you consent to talking with a psychiatrist?”

“What for?”

“Well, you have no memory of the homicide. Is it completely impossible that you did shoot Mateo during a blackout and simply don’t recollect it?”

Glory looked pained. “If that’s the best you can do, we should probably find ourselves another attorney.” She leaned forward, her blue eyes blazing. “I’m not talking to a psychiatrist, I am not pleading temporary insanity, I’m not going to jail! Did you get all of that or would you like me to repeat it?”

Lisa was stunned. This woman, who most of the time acted as though she were living in some sort of dream world, was fully cognizant of the situation. What Glory Witherington was, along with being drop-dead gorgeous and wealthy beyond measure, was either a sensational actress or a split personality.

Lisa opened her notebook and took her pen in hand. With her mind racing a mile a minute behind a passive expression, she said calmly, “I understood every word perfectly, plus I learned that you’re not the airhead that you normally pretend to be. Perhaps you and I are finally getting to know each other. Let’s get started, all right?”

Glory knocked back the second shot and put the glass on a small table to her right. “Started and finished,” she retorted. “I have plans, remember?”

“Oh, yes, your tennis game. First, let me mention Maria. Connie, the young lady who answered the door said Maria wasn’t well. Is it something serious?”

“She’s just hysterical over finding a body in the driveway when she came to work that morning.”

“So she isn’t ill, she’s upset?”

“I thought Maria was strong and sensible, but she lost it that day.”

“Lost it? Isn’t that understandable? It surely must have affected you in a similar way.”

Glory shrugged. “I don’t happen to be a hysterical female, and Maria is. She’ll get over it.”

“I certainly hope so. I need to talk to her. What’s her telephone number and street address?”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Glory complained, but she got to her feet and started for the door. “I’ll get it. Wait here.”

She was back in a few moments with a piece of paper. “Here, I wrote it down.”

“Thank you.” Lisa glanced at the scrawled information on the paper, then tucked it into her briefcase.

Glory returned to her chair but sat stiffly with her arms folded across her midriff. “What else?” she demanded.

“What time did Mateo leave this house the night he was killed?”

Glory’s jaw dropped. “You sound extremely accusing!”

“I sound like your attorney. Please answer the question.”

“Well, how in hell would I know? I told you I’d taken sleeping pills.”

“So he was still here…and alive…when you went to bed?”

A frown drew Glory’s perfectly arched eyebrows closer together. “I guess so.”

“But that’s only a guess? Let me put it another way. Do you recall the time of night you took the pills? Incidentally, when you mentioned sleeping pills before, you gave me the impression that you’d taken only one pill. Now you’re using the plural. How many pills did you take that night, Glory?”

“God, I hate being questioned like this!”

“If you hate this, wait until you’re on the witness stand and a prosecuting attorney is doing the questioning. Glory, you must cooperate with me. I would work myself into an early grave to attain justice for a client, but the client has to freely cooperate. Now, think back and do your utmost to remember how many pills you took, and if Mateo was still here and alive when you took them.”

Glory looked sullen but she said, “I probably took three…maybe four. I don’t usually keep count.”

“And what were they?”

Glory shrugged. “I don’t know. It was something my doctors gave me for my nerves and to sleep. All perfectly legal, counselor. I don’t do street drugs.”

“Never?”

A flush crept into Glory’s cheeks. “I never say never, Lisa, and neither should you. I’m sure you’re not nearly as perfect as you want people to believe.”

“I’m not perfect, nor have I ever tried to trick or charm people into believing I am. But neither am I going to have to appear before a judge and jury to stand trial for murder. You are, so let’s continue, shall we?”

“Fine! But I was out cold when Mateo was shot, so even a fool could see that I couldn’t have pulled the trigger. And the trigger of what gun? Where’s the murder weapon? Did the police find it?”

“You’re saying there’s never been a gun in this house?”

“That’s what I’m saying, yes. Other than Chandler’s collection of hunting rifles, that is.”

“Did the police see those?”

“They saw everything. They practically tore the house apart, which I’m sure is perfectly obvious. The place is still a mess.”

“Your house is immaculate. I don’t see any mess.”

“It’s gradually being put back together,” Glory said crossly. She looked at her watch. “Can we please hurry this up?”

“Gladly. Chandler was in Detroit that night, right?”

“Right.”

“He was there on business?”

“What do you think he does, fly to Detroit and spend a night in a hotel for the hell of it? Of course he was there on business.”

“I’ll get the receipts for that trip from him. Glory, do you have even the tiniest recollection of saying good night to Mateo?”

“No.”

“Did he always come and go through the front door?”

“What?”

“From the angle of the bullet into his back, the shot had to have been fired from the front door, or very close to it.” Lisa was reaching with that comment, as the only thing she knew for certain was that Mateo had been shot in the back. But from the chalk marks outside and their distance from the house, it appeared that he’d been shot while leaving the house through the front door. She felt that she’d gained a little ground when Glory didn’t totally discount the theory, although there was some denial in her reply.

“Someone could have been hiding in the shrubbery at the front of the house, waiting for him to leave.”

Lisa pressed her slender advantage. “True, but maybe the killer was waiting for Chandler to walk through that door. Did you ever consider that possibility?”

Glory’s face paled. “Chandler wasn’t home.”

“Yes, but did the killer know that?”

“Why are you trying so hard to confuse me?” Glory got up, went behind the bar and found a small pill bottle. She took a tablet from the bottle, put it in her mouth and swallowed it without water.

Lisa watched the whole thing in amazement. “What did you just take?”

“Something for my nerves. You’ve got me all worked up.”

“Glory, didn’t the police ask you these same questions?”

“I don’t know.”

“Glory, were you ever aware of any sort of relationship between one of your housemaids and Mateo?”

“No, but since I’m not in the habit of following the help around to keep tabs on their activities, I suppose there could have been something going on.”

“Hmm,” Lisa murmured. Romance gone sour was the motive for countless homicides. She quickly wrote down notes on that theory for later consideration.

Lisa put her notebook and pen back into her briefcase. “I have one more question, then I’ll go and let you get on with your tennis party. Did you ever notice anything of value to be missing after one of Mateo’s visits?”

“Something of value such as the plasma TV in the screening room?”

Her sarcasm was almost more than Lisa could take, but she replied evenly, “No, something of value such as one of those gold ashtrays, or perhaps a piece of jewelry.”

“I hardly maintain a running inventory of small items scattered throughout the house, Lisa, nor do I leave my jewelry lying about. Why do you ask?”

“Just a theory I was working on. Oh, one more thing. Do you and Chandler carry electronic gate openers in your vehicles? Perhaps Maria, as well?”

“Everyone who comes and goes from this place has one.”

“Did Mateo?”

“I don’t keep a list, Lisa. He might’ve, but I really don’t know for sure.”

Lisa was suddenly weary of this song and dance. Maybe Chandler and Maria would be more cooperative, she thought as she put her things back into her briefcase. “I’ll call a taxi on my cell from outdoors,” she said. “I want a better look around the grounds.”

“Have fun playing detective,” Glory said sweetly. “As for me, I’m off to the tennis club.”

In spite of all the high-minded promises Lisa had heaped upon her own head during the trip out there, she couldn’t stop herself from whispering, “How on earth am I going to defend this fruitcake?”

The day got away from Lisa. After the fiasco with Glory, Lisa took care of some errands that had been stacking up all week, finishing up around five with grocery shopping. Finally at home again, she unloaded her goods into the refrigerator and cupboards, then went upstairs to her desk and checked her voice mail for messages. There were none of any importance. Next, she dialed into her telephone at the firm and listened to half a dozen messages, mostly business-related. They could wait until Monday.

One was from Grant Gowan.

“Lisa, you’re a hard woman to catch up to. I know you’re busy with the Witherington case, but I sure would like to see you again. You do take time to eat once in a while, don’t you? Give me a call and we’ll have a nice relaxing dinner somewhere quiet. Please call. You have my number.”

Lisa sat staring out the window over her desk and thought about Grant. She should call him. She didn’t have to go out with him, but he deserved the courtesy of a phone call.

She picked up the phone again, but instead of dialing Grant’s number she dialed Pamela’s. “Pam, it’s me.”

“Glad you called, since we missed each other at the office this morning. But you don’t sound exactly perky. What’s going on?”

“I can’t deny that I’m pretty far down in the dumps, but there’s no major catastrophe causing it…unless you want to call Glory Witherington a catastrophe.” Lisa and Pamela often talked to each other about their respective cases. Neither talked out of turn to anyone else about what had been said in their gab sessions, so Lisa felt completely confident that anything she told her friend about the Witheringtons would go no farther.

“What’s she doing?”

“Acting as though being arrested for murder is barely worthy of notice. I’ve dealt with all sorts of clients, but not one of them before this acted as though the whole thing was just going to vanish on its own. I can’t get a straight answer out of her to save my soul.”

“Maybe you should get Ludlow’s permission to turn the case over to someone else.”

“And admit defeat so soon? You know I can’t do that. Neither could you.”

“True, but if you’re beating your head against a stone wall…”

“I saw her take a pill—she made no attempt to hide it—and when I asked her what it was, she said it was something a doctor prescribed for her nerves. I can’t get the name of any drug she takes out of her. I’m beginning to think she’s a prescription pill addict, although she does have moments of lucidity. But she says she popped sleeping pills the night Mateo was shot and apparently takes other drugs during the day.”

“Well, the police searched her house, didn’t they? They would have a list of her medications and drugs?”

Lisa fell silent a moment, then said slowly, “Yes, of course. I should have thought of that myself.”

“Lisa, didn’t they move awfully fast on this case? I mean, Glory was arrested within days of Mateo’s murder.”

“The prosecution is positive she did it, even though the premise behind their certainty has more holes in it than an old sweater. The evidence they have against her that I’ve been given is entirely circumstantial.”

“And yet they’re so certain. You have to find out why. There’s something you haven’t yet figured out, Lisa.”

“Yes, and I think I know what it is. Drugs. I have to see a complete list of everything they found in that house during their search.”

“They’ve withheld that information?”

“So far, yes. I’m sure I’ll get it on Monday.” Lisa’s wheels were turning faster and faster. “Pam, I’m going to sign off. I have to make some other calls. Talk to you later, okay?”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Lisa began thumbing through her personal phone directory, wondering whom to call about the drugs that might have been found in Glory’s possession. She couldn’t wait until Monday. In the end she sat and stared at Detective Sandoval’s name and accompanying phone numbers. Calling him on a Saturday night didn’t feel quite right to her. If he wasn’t on the job, then he would be home with his wife and kids; if he was on duty, he might be busy and annoyed with an interruption.

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