“No, I haven’t.”

“Then you need to pull your head out of your butt and take a look around, Kincaid. Valerie Beth McKechnie is a fox. And she wants your body.”

“Even if she liked me, that wouldn’t mean she wanted me to-”

“She does, Ben. She told me she does.”

“She told you? Why would she tell you?”

“We’re friends. Have been since kindergarten. We tell each other everything.”

“You’re full of it.”

“What’s the matter? Are you scared?”

Ben squirmed. “I’m not scared. I’m just not-”

“Then what are you waiting for?” He pushed Ben toward the closed robing room door. “This is your big chance. She’ll probably get so excited she’ll ask to go steady or something.”

Ben steeled himself. “And if I do this, you guys’ll stop hassling me?”

“Absolutely,” they all swore.

“And I’ll be in the club?”

“Forever and ever.”

“Great.” Ben touched the doorknob. Maybe if he just went in quietly and talked to her, she wouldn’t mind that, would she? It’s not like she’s changing her clothes, actually-she’s just derobing. Maybe if he got it over quickly. Who knew-maybe she really did like him. She was gorgeous, with all that long chestnut hair and the cute little nose and dimples and-

“So, go already!” Curran opened the door and Landon shoved Ben through it. And closed the door behind him.

Ben tried the knob, but the boys were holding it shut. Great.

“Ben! What are you doing in here!”

Valerie Beth McKechnie stood before him in all her glory. Long hair, cute nose, exposed midriff, and training bra. Apparently she had removed her blouse when she put on her robe-probably so she wouldn’t look so bulky-and she hadn’t quite gotten it back on yet.

“Ohmigosh.” Ben’s face flushed and suddenly he felt about ten million degrees Fahrenheit. “I’m sorry-I-I-didn’t know you were dressing. I-”

“That’s all right. I don’t mind.” She shrugged, then gave him a wink. “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”

Ben felt his mouth go dry. He realized this would be a good time to speak, but somehow, he was utterly unable to make any words come out. He stepped-sort of lurched, really-forward, getting close enough to accomplish his mission without saying anything coherent.

Happily, Valerie Beth filled in the gaps for him. “I think you’re cute, Ben. Really I do. I wish the other boys wouldn’t make fun of you so much. Boys can be so mean sometimes, don’t you think?”

“I-I-I-” That was an improvement over slobbering silence, but still not exactly the suave Cary Grant-like banter he’d been hoping for.

“Why did you come in, Ben? Do you like me? Was there something you wanted?”

Just as Ben thought his knees would buckle, the lights went out. The room was pitch-black.

“Ben Kincaid! Was this your idea?”

Definitely not, but he’d probably never convince her. Curran and Landon at the breaker box, unless he missed his guess. If he was ever going to do this, if he was ever going to be in the club…

“I don’t have much time, Ben. My parents never stay at the after-church coffee long. If there was something you wanted…”

By God, he would never get a better invitation than that. It was dark, they were alone, she had told Curran she wanted him to do it…

He sucked in his gut and lunged.

Valerie Beth McKechnie screamed.

“Ben! Stop that!” She slapped his hands away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“But you said you wanted-”

“I don’t mind a little kissing. I like kissing. I don’t like being pawed like a dog!”

“But Curran said you wanted-”

“And you listened to him? What kind of moron are you?”

Ben turned and ran. The door was free now; he whipped it open. The light flooded in and, sure enough, there were the Three Stooges huddled outside, pointing and laughing hysterically.

“How’d she like it, lover boy?” Curran asked. He was prostrate with laughter.

“Yeah, Casanova,” Landon said. He wrapped his arms around himself and made kissy noises. “Has she had your baby yet?”

Something must’ve snapped, because not only did Ben come at them, he came at them with enough strength and ferocity to chill them even with three-to-one odds in their favor. The whole group scattered, helter-skelter, with Ben chasing at their collective tails.

After they scattered, Ben had to prioritize. He chose to hunt Curran first-after all, this disgrace was more his fault than anyone’s. He pursued the boy outside the church and around the back end of the church, fists clenched, teeth gritted.

“Come back, you coward!” Ben shouted, but apparently, separated from his friends, Curran felt no need to put on a show of strength. He continued running as hard as he could.

Ben knew Curran lived in the apartments on the west side of the church. In other words, if he got much farther, Ben would never catch him.

“Come and fight, you chicken!” he screamed, but Curran did not stop. He didn’t even slow. In desperation, Ben picked up a rock and hurled it toward Curran with all his might…

Ben didn’t have much of an arm, which was why they always put him in the infield during softball games. But the adrenaline rush must’ve made a profound difference, because when he hurled that rock, it flew forward with the strength and velocity of a major league fastball-

Right into Father Beale’s brand-new stained glass window.

It shattered. Big chunks fell to the ground, making a tremendous clatter. Almost immediately, a cry went up from the parish hall where the adults were having their coffee. Through the outer windows, Ben could see Father Beale emerging from his office, rushing to the scene. And that wasn’t all.

Further back, Ben could see his own father making his way to the scene of the disturbance.

His fists were clenched.

Ben ran to the window, hoping there was something he could do, but he saw in an instant that the beautiful glasswork was destroyed. He had ruined it.

And his father would arrive at any moment.

The combination of narrow hallways outside the courtroom and the press of journalists forced Canelli to pass near Ben and Christina at the courtroom door.

“Ready to call it quits?” Ben asked him.

Canelli checked to make sure the minicams weren’t on. “Don’t get cocky just because you spun an expert around, Kincaid. This trial has barely started.”

Ben shrugged. “Just trying to spare you further mortification, my friend.”

Canelli moved in closer. “Make no mistake, Kincaid. Your boy’s still going to get the needle for what he did. He’s blowfish.”

Despite Canelli’s bold words, Ben noticed that several announced prosecution “experts” disappeared from the up-next witness list. Thus, they were spared the serology expert, the fiber expert, and the psychiatrist. They would still have to deal with the fingerprint evidence-easily the most damning piece of physical evidence weighing against Father Beale-but Ben couldn’t help but feel his burden had been immeasurably lightened. As he stood in the hallway waiting for the trial to resume, he had to admit that the case was going better than he expected. It was early days, to be sure, but if Canelli kept stumbling and he kept scoring touchdowns, he might even get a directed verdict, thus avoiding the inherent risk and uncertainty of a jury.

“Excuse me, Mr. Kincaid. Could I have your autograph?”

Fortunately for his ego, Ben had identified the giggle even before he turned to see who was addressing him. Judy. With Maura, as always, tucked close behind her.

There was something oddly self-conscious about Judy’s voice, though it took him a moment to figure out what it was. The red light on the minicam from Channel Eight was blinking in their direction, and she knew it. She was playing for the camera.

“I think you’re a fabulous attorney, Mr. Kincaid, the best ever.” She gave him a quick wink. “You’ve been such an inspiration to me. When I grow up, I want to be a brilliant, honest, crusading lawyer just like you.”