Bennie braced herself, with a bolt of new fear. All of a sudden, the box had started to vibrate. The scratching and rumbling had grown so loud they blasted in her ears. What was going on? The box shook harder, the noise intensified.

She hollered and pounded on the lid. Something was scratching on the lid. Just then she heard growling. It had to be an animal. Frantic, she pounded on the lid to scare it away, but it kept growling and scratching. The rumbling got louder and the shaking stronger. She kept pounding and screaming and fighting. She refused to die this way, spent, crying, broken, bleeding.

The growling and scratching grew frenzied, faster. It sounded as if the animal was trying to get away from the noise. She pounded harder, her heart hammering, her chest heaving, the wood shaking on all four sides.

Suddenly the scratching and the growling stopped, leaving only the rumbling, deafening. The animal had gotten away but she couldn’t. The box shuddered like an earthquake.

She screamed at the top of her lungs as the box shook, rattling her teeth, jolting her bones. She gave way to a terror she could never have imagined, the unknown. She had no idea what was coming toward her. It had the force of a tornado, the power of an express train. The clamor intensified to ear-splitting levels. Her head slammed against the box. Her shoulder banged against the side. Roaring surrounded her, obliterating all other sounds. She didn’t know if she was still screaming, because her cries disappeared into its unearthly maw.

Swallowing her whole.

It was a sunny morning, bright and early, and Alice locked Bennie’s front door behind her, dropped the keys in her messenger bag, and trekked down the street, heading to the office in her Bennie Rosato costume: curly topknot, oversized Penn Rowing T-shirt, baggy khaki shorts, and old-school tan Birkenstocks that made her walk like a duck. No wonder her sister couldn’t get laid.

She headed down the Parkway to the business district and in no time approached Bennie’s building. Skyscrapers lined the street, and people filled the sidewalks, some slinging backpacks even though they were middle-aged, proof positive that they were lawyers. She knew the MO; to an attorney, the weekend was the time to work even harder.

“Hey, Bennie!” called a man, and Alice startled a moment, then flashed him her sister’s big, easy smile.

“How’ve you been?”

“Great! Nice article in the Journal!”

“Don’t believe a word of it!” Alice shot back, and the lawyer laughed and kept walking.

She powered ahead, channeling Bennie, and it worked like magic. Her duck-walk changed to a stride, and she eyed the lineup of shops and office buildings. Ahead should be number 1717, and though she’d never been to the new digs, she had a hunch which building was Bennie’s. Most of the office buildings were modern with reflective windows, but one was smaller than the others, with a smooth limestone front and art deco- type brass plaques. Its entrance was a pair of old-fashioned glass doors, and their shiny brass handles glinted in the sun.

“Big Ben!” shouted a voice behind her. “Where’s my hello?”

Alice glanced back, uncertain about the nickname. Behind her, an old man in a turquoise street-cleaner uniform was leaning on a pushbroom, and she waved at him, like Bennie. “Sorry! Didn’t have my coffee yet!”

“I hear that!” he called back, grinning.

“Take care!”

“You, too!” Alice suppressed an eye-roll. The test-drive was going well, but she was feeling like a combination Mayor, Girl Scout, and Lawyer Barbie. She crossed the street, and next to the doors of the small building, a discreet brass sign read 1717, so she made a beeline for the entrance, opened the doors, and hit the lobby. A security guard, an older man with bifocals and a blue uniform, sat behind a wooden desk, reading a newspaper.

“That air-conditioning feels good, huh?” he called out, looking up.

“Sure does.” Alice managed a smile, but remembered that Bennie used ex-cops as guards, so this geezer was no dummy and she didn’t know the building’s security procedures. She wiped her forehead. “Boy, is it hot out.”

“We shoulda taken vacation this week.”

“Agree. I feel like Cinderella.” Alice sneaked a glance at the guard’s nameplate, STEVEN PALMIERI. She didn’t know if he went by Steven or Steve, and she’d have to get the details right. “You want my license and registration, Officer Palmieri?”

“Nah, you’re above the law, boss.”

“Thanks.” Alice walked past the desk.

“But sign in for me, will you?”

Alice froze. She had forgotten what Bennie’s signature looked like. It would be on her driver’s license, but that was in her wallet and the guard was already pushing the black log across the counter toward her.

“Need a pen?” he asked, handing her a Bic.

Mary was too nearsighted to read the bedside clock, but it was morning, she guessed around nine o’clock or so. The bedroom was bright, with the curtain over the air conditioner trying vainly to block the sun. Anthony snuggled with his back to hers, and she stayed still not to wake him up. They hadn’t made love last night, and she knew why.

She’d been thinking of Mike, running a mental movie of their life together, until the inevitable unhappy ending. Their marriage had been cut short by his death, and even in their few years together, back when she was a rookie lawyer, he’d been so supportive of her, even bringing his grade-school class to the courtroom to watch her. He would have been thrilled that she was up for partner, cheering her every step of the way. Maybe that’s why he’d been so much on her mind lately, and thoughts of him popped up at the strangest times, the ambush of true grief. She shouldn’t have slept at Anthony’s, but she hadn’t wanted to make him drive her home so late. She should have known better, after meeting Fiorella, the woman who gave a bad name to widowhood and witchcraft.

Her gaze wandered over the neat modern dresser, bookshelf, treadmill, and a rack of free weights. It was a man’s bedroom, and she felt like a hypocrite, in bed with one man, thinking of another. She heard Anthony turning over, and in the next minute, he ran a palm along her bare shoulder.

“You up, babe?” he asked, his voice soft.

Mary considered not answering. She could pretend she was asleep. She had done it before. “Yeah,” she answered after a minute.

“You hardly slept. You still thinking about that witch?”

No, that ghost. “Not really.”

“Is it work?”

“Yeah.” Mary went with the easy answer. They had been house-hunting, and that played into it, too. Everything was coming to a head at once, but she couldn’t tell him that. The truth would cut too deep, and sometimes a lie was merciful.

“What’s up at work?” Anthony threw an arm around her, drawing them together. “What’s bugging you, the partnership thing?”

“Yes.” Mary’s thoughts turned to the office. Bennie had told her she’d decide whether to make Mary a partner in September. “She decides in, like, ten days, remember?”

“Sure. You going in today?”

“Yes, I have to. Sorry, I know it’s Saturday.”

“I figured. Will Bennie be in today?”

“She usually is, but I’m not sure. She never tells anybody anything, you know that.”

“So if she’s in, ask her. Go for it.”

Mary shuddered. She was still intimidated by Bennie, who was older, smarter, and the best trial lawyer in the city. They rarely socialized, and as the boss, Bennie maintained a professional distance from the associates. “We don’t really talk, except to say hi. Our practices are so separate, lately.”