"Hank? Same as you." Or, we're not speaking.

Angus's cell rang, and he checked the display. "Sorry, I have to take this." He opened the phone. "Frank, thanks for getting back to me. My extern program is on hiatus, and I need a litigator to get me a continuance from Padova today, at two. Can you help?"

Nat looked away. On TV, The View had given way to the local news at noon. An anchorwoman came on, and the scene switched to a living room. A young woman talked into a station-logo microphone as she sat teary-eyed on a couch. The living room looked familiar. So did the woman.

"He picked up a possession charge," Angus was saying. "Coke, second offense. But he's a good kid. He got caught doing a line in the bathroom at a club, Privato. Oh, yeah? Then don't go back, or don't pee.

It took Nat a second to recognize the woman on TV. It was Barb Saunders's sister, Jennifer. The living room was in the Saunders' house. It must be a follow-up story to Ron Saunders's murder at the prison.

"Angus, look." Nat got up, crossed to the TV, and hit the Volume button.

"Hold on, Frank." Angus glanced at the TV screen. "Lemme call you back, bro."

The voiceover said, "The widow and her three children were at the funeral when the burglar struck, absconding with two computers, cash, and jewelry. It seems heartless that someone would take advantage of such a terrible tragedy, but state police say it isn't uncommon. Burglars read the obituaries, too, and know that homes will be empty at that time."

"She was burglarized?" Nat watched as the camera panned a ransacked living room. Children's DVDs and picture books had been torn from shelves. The drawers of the computer workstation had been dumped on the floor. The couch had been slashed, its pink stuffing yanked out. It looked like the room had been searched. As if someone had been looking for something.

It's under the floor.

The anchorwoman reappeared. "In other news, a warehouse fire in the city's Tioga section…"

"What the hell?" Nat lowered the volume, trying to process the information, and Angus crossed to his computer. "Let's get the full story," he said, and Nat joined him at his laptop.

He hit a few keys and found the news article. The headline read, Chester County Widow Burglarized During Funeral, and the story confirmed the TV account, adding that $378 had been stolen from the Saunders home. Nat felt a clutch in her chest for Barb, having to endure so much. Then she had a darker thought.

"Something odd is going on," she said. "This isn't a random act. It has to be connected to the riot, and maybe the phone calls."

"You know, call me crazy, but I don't think that was a burglary. I think that person was looking for something."

Bingo. "What makes you say that?" Nat wanted to test his rationale. He didn't know yet about the message Saunders had given her.

"The couches were slashed. No burglar slashes couches. I see that in our drug cases. Drug dealers keep cash in the cushions. It's the first place a rival gang looks, or the cops."

Two heads are better than one. "I should tell you what Saunders said to me before he died. He said, 'Tell my wife it's under the floor.'"

"Are you serious?" Angus's blue eyes widened, now that the swelling had gone down. "Whoa."

"Exactly."

"So you think whatever they were looking for is under the floor?"

"Maybe. But what could it be? I was thinking maybe a will or some money. Now you have me thinking drugs or drug money."

"Maybe Saunders was crooked."

"I can't believe it." Nat thought of Barb, the modest house, and the kids with the Game Boy. "I know there are crooked prison guards, but I can't believe it of him, of that family."

"You don't know anything about Saunders, or what he did while he was alive. Drug money can corrupt anybody." Angus handed her his cell phone, which was still warm. "Call Barb Saunders now. With this burglary, break-in, or whatever it was, she needs to know that something is under her floor. Assuming the burglars didn't find it already."

"Agree." Nat opened the phone, dialed information, and got the number, which rang and rang. Then the Saunders's answering machine came on, catching her short. It was a man's voice on the recording, and she realized it was Ron Saunders's. Shaken, she waited to leave a message, but the machine was full. "No answer," she said, uneasy. "I'll keep calling. Sooner or later, I'll get through."

"She must be avoiding the press calls." Angus puckered his stitched-up lip. "If you want, I'll stop by the house and tell her on my way back from the prison."

"So you're really going?"

"Of course. I've gotten threats like that before. It's an occupational hazard. Most of them are from landlords. Those guys are power trippers of the first order. That's why Donald Trump is the way he is. It's not the money, it's the ownership of the planet."

"What if I went with you?"

"Why?" Angus's expression turned grave.

"I want to see what's going on out there. Check it out. It's all so fishy, and I care about Barb." Also, I'm feeling a little Nancy Drew.

"That wouldn't be staying out of Chester County."

"No, but it's daytime, and I'm with you."

"I don't like it."

"You're not the boss of me."

Angus smiled. "What will Mr. Greco say?"

"He isn't, either." Plus, I won't tell him.

"I promise to protect you better this time. I have to."

"Why?"

Because you're my friend, and I don't have that many.”

“Aw. How about Deirdre?" Angus rolled his eyes, and Nat got up to go.

The day was cold and overcast, but the drive still starkly beautiful, the white snow and black trees washed with gray by a pewter sky. Angus spent most of the ride on the cell phone, and Nat tried again to call Barb Saunders, but had no luck. She'd try calling again later rather than going over there. She didn't want to barge in yet. She focused instead on the scenery, trying not to think about Barb Saunders or the phone call last night. She had as much right to be in Chester County as anybody else. Not that she didn't check the outside mirror-a few hundred times.

Angus pulled up to the entrance, and Nat could see that the prison was back to business as usual. They didn't have to produce their IDs for Jimmy, who was back in good humor. In the parking lot, families sat in minivans with the engines running, waiting for visiting hours. Angus parked, and they walked in the cold up the driveway, now unobstructed by mobile crime labs or black sedans. They waved to the marshals and entered the prison the way they had that first day, going through the sally ports. Nat left her camelhair coat in the locker room before they entered the prison proper.

Tanisa met them with her characteristic smirk. "Well, I'll be damned. You lived, freak."

"So did you!" Angus scooped her up in a bear hug, and she left the floor, kicking her black work shoes.

"Oh hell no! Put me down!"

"Thanks for the jacket," Nat said, hugging her impulsively.

Tanisa reared back, laughing. "I'm on the job, white people! What the hell's got into you?"

"We're happy, that's all," Nat answered. "I would've brought the jacket back but I didn't know I was coming out here today. I'll get it to you."

Tanisa waved her off. "Don't think on it! It's a present to you, girl. I heard what you did to try and save Ron. That was above and beyond."

"Thanks."

"I'm feeling so bad about him." Tanisa locked the door behind them, shaking her head. Her hair fishhooks peeked out from under her cap. "He was salt of the earth. I couldn't take off to go to the funeral this morning and now I'm hearing about the burglary. You believe that?"

"Terrible."

"I feel so bad for Barb and the kids. How much can a woman bear?"