The social worker hurried after her. “I suppose we could look at one at the nurses’ station.”

Bennie was already heading towards the nurses’ station, ignoring the other nurses and orderlies, looking at her funny. She walked around the high counter to an empty computer and was about to hit the computer keys with her splint when the social worker stepped in front of her.

“Please, allow me. Do you want to get on the Internet?”

“Yes. Please. Google my name and Alice Connelly.” Bennie spelled her name, the social worker plugged it in, and a long list of blue links appeared. Bennie pointed to the top one. “Try that.”

“Let’s see.” The social worker clicked the link, and Bennie couldn’t have asked for more. Side-by-side were pictures of her and Alice, looking identically happy, under the headline, TWINS WIN. The social worker gasped. “My, my!”

“How about that?” Officer Villarreal smiled, but Officer Dayne remained reserved, saying nothing.

Bennie looked over at the social worker. “Can you lend me some clothes, please? Now?”

Alice twisted her hair into a topknot, then clicked the barrette into place while Grady slept like the dead. She slipped into a khaki suit, white cotton shirt, and brown shoes with low heels, then checked her reflection in the bedroom mirror. She looked like Bennie, no makeup, no frills. It was almost criminal for a lawyer to go to court this way.

She got the messenger bag from the chair, then went under the bed and pulled out the cloth bag. She unzipped it and transferred as much money to the bag as she could carry without it looking suspicious. She shoved the gym bag back under the bed, went to Bennie’s jewelry box, took her passport, and stowed that in the messenger bag, too.

Grady was finally waking up, even though he’d conked out in his clothes. She couldn’t leave him here, now that Bennie was alive, so she squeezed his shoulder. “Grady? Grady? Time to get up.”

“What?” His eyelids fluttered, and Alice turned on the bedside lamp.

“Wake up. We have to get ready. I need your help, with Alice.”

“What’s going on?” Grady opened his eyes and shifted upward onto his elbows. “Is she here?”

“No. I’ll fill you in on the way to the courthouse.”

“Man, did I conk or what?” Grady sat up, shaking his head. “I fell asleep in my clothes?”

“Sorry to rush you around, but I figured you’d want to come to court.”

“Sure, yes, I’m up.” Grady slipped on his glasses and got out of bed as the BlackBerry rang.

“Excuse me a sec.” Alice went to the messenger bag and found the phone. It was DiNunzio. “What’s happening?” she asked.

“I’m on my way back from the Roundhouse.” Mary sounded excited. “I filed the complaint for criminal impersonation, and they didn’t need your statement. We have an emergency hearing on the restraining order set for eight o’clock.”

“Good girl.” Alice watched Grady stumble around the bed, stepping over the discarded Birks.

“Should I meet you there or pick you up in a cab?”

“Pick us up, but not in a cab.” Alice would have to leave the money bag in the car. She couldn’t take it into the courthouse, through security. “Call a hired car, and it can wait for us after court.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. But who’s ‘us’? You said ‘us.’ ”

“We’ll have co-counsel today.”

“What? Who?”

“My other partner,” she said, smiling at Grady.

Mary had to pretend she wasn’t nervous, so she couldn’t scratch the blotches under her high-necked white blouse. She sat in the second pew of the packed gallery with Bennie and Grady, waiting for their case number to be called. It wasn’t easy to get a restraining order, because courts are loath to restrict a person’s civil liberties without a convincing showing of threat. Mary had only gotten one or two restraining orders in her career, and even they were a long time ago-and her boss wasn’t the client. She sent up a prayer to Saint Jude, patron saint of lost causes and lawyers who were in over their heads.

The Honorable Francis X. McKenna was presiding, a bald, blocky, ruddy-faced judge in his sixties with steel-rimmed glasses and a permanently even temper. He was known to be compassionate and smart, but there was an outside chance he could deny their restraining order. There hadn’t been any physical threat to Bennie, which was usually necessary.

The courtroom was old, with a dull gray marble bench, high ceilings painted a fading cerulean blue, and a brown Emerson air conditioner that rattled in a tall, mullioned window. The bar of court was made of dull mahogany, its top rail supported by ornately carved spindles, and behind it were the mismatched wooden desks of the law clerk, court crier, and court reporter, who went about their business, filing papers and tapping away on the stenography machine, their faces professional masks. Suddenly, the judge ruled, and the court crier rose and called for case number 53263, which was one away from theirs.

Mary watched as one restraining order after another was issued to the women and children of the City of Philadelphia, each one telling its own horror story of fathers attacking children, boyfriends stalking girlfriends, and grudges taken out on beloved pets. It made her feel even worse, but she told herself that they were getting what little justice the law could offer.

She glanced over at Bennie, who smiled back at her. Bennie had gotten a million restraining orders in her day, but she hadn’t tried to interfere when Mary had fumbled her way through filling out the forms in the Clerk’s Office. But that was Bennie Rosato for you.

“DiNunzio,” Bennie whispered, patting her hand. “Have faith in yourself. I do, in you.”

Mary felt a surge of gratitude, and when the court crier called out their case number, she felt taller than she ever had before. She went to the podium, stood before the judge, and said, with pride:

“May it please the Court, I’m Mary DiNunzio, of Rosato & DiNunzio.”

Bennie sat in the police cruiser, parked outside of Alice’s house. The day was sunny and hot, and it was sweltering in the car, but Officers Villarreal and Dayne had made her wait while they’d gone inside. She’d led the cops to the house, though she knew that Alice would have flown the coop by now. Oddly, it looked as if she’d left her front door unlocked, because they had walked in easily.

Bennie felt strange, sitting where criminals usually sat, in the backseat behind a perforated metal grate. It only added to her feeling of not being herself, and she had on clothes unlike any she’d ever wear, a blue tank top with glitter around its plunging V-neck, tight jeans shorts, and shiny gold flip-flops. The outfit was all that the social worker could scrounge up at the hospital, evidently left behind by a country hooker, if not Daisy Duke herself.

The cops emerged, Officer Villarreal frowning in the sunlight and Officer Dayne behind him. He was the older of the two, thin and taciturn, playing up his elder-statesman role. They walked to the cruiser, and Officer Villarreal went to see her in the backseat, since he was the nice one, who did all the talking.

Bennie shifted to the half-open window. “She’s gone, huh?”

“Not exactly.” Officer Villarreal eased the brim of his cap upward on his forehead. “Alice Connelly doesn’t live here. The house belongs to someone else.”

“That’s not possible.” Bennie tried to think. It was the right house. She’d remembered the address. “I was in this house. This house belongs to Alice Connelly.”

“You’re confused.”

“No, I’m not,” Bennie shot back. “Let me go in. Let me look around. I have to see it.”