"What happened afterward?" Tamsin asked. She kept her voice very even and low, so Sandy's flow would continue.

"I told my mother. She didn't believe me until she saw the blood on the bed and helped me clean up. He'd been living with us since my grandmother died. After my mom and dad talked, they took Grandpa to a hospital. They told him he had to stay in the mental hospital till he died, or else they'd tell what he'd done to me and he'd have to go to regular jail."

"Did he believe them?"

"He must have, because he agreed. Oh, he tried to say no one would believe me. That was what I was afraid of, but then I turned up pregnant and of course," and Sandy's face was too awful to look at, "I would have had the baby to prove the paternity with."

I felt nauseated. "What happened with the baby?" I asked.

"I lost the baby, but only after Granddaddy was committed. And I thank God for that every day. Two days after I lost the baby, I visited Granddaddy in the hospital and I took him some coffee. It was spiked, so to speak. I was scared he'd talk his way out if he knew I wasn't pregnant any more."

Telling the bare and horrible truth takes its toll, and I could read that in the woman's face.

"You weren't prosecuted?" Firella, too, was keeping her voice very even and low.

"It's funny," Sandy said, in an almost detached way. "But though I wasn't trying to sneak in, no one saw me. Like I was invisible. If I'd sat and planned it a week, it couldn't‘ve gone like that. No one at the front desk." She shook her head, seeing the past more clearly than she could see the present. "No one at the wing he was in. I pushed the button that opened the door myself. I went in. He was in his room alone. I handed him the cup. I had a plain one. We drank coffee. I told him I'd forgiven him." She shook her head again. "He believed that. And when the coffee was all gone—the tranquilizers had pretty much destroyed his sense of taste—I got up and left. I took the cups with me. And no one saw me, except one nurse. She never said a word. I just didn't register." Sandy was lost in a dreamlike memory, a memory both horrible and gratifying.

"Have you ever told your husband?" Tamsin asked, and her more recent world came crashing back to Sandy McCorkindale.

"No," she said. "No, I have not."

"I think it's time, don't you?" Tamsin's voice was gentle and insinuating.

"Maybe," Sandy admitted. "Maybe it is. But he may not want someone who's been through something so ... sordid ... my sons... the church ..." And Sandy began crying, her back arching with huge, heaving sobs.

"He really loves you," I said.

Her head snapped up and she gave me an angry look. "How would you know about that, Lily Bard?"

"Because he called me into his office yesterday to ask me if I could tell him what was wrong with you. He doesn't know why you're in therapy, and he doesn't have the slightest idea how to help you."

She stared at me, stunned. "My husband is worried about how to help me? My husband wonders why I need therapy?"

I nodded.

Sandy looked intensely thoughtful.

Tamsin glanced down at her watch and said, "This has already been a big night. And our time is up. Why don't we save the rest of this discussion until next Tuesday night?" She'd escaped from any further questioning, and her whole body relaxed as I watched.

With some grumbling, the rest of the group agreed. Sandy hardly seemed to be in the same room with us any more, her thoughts were so distant. As we left the building, I saw Sandy go to the end of the parking lot and slide into the car, where Joel sat in the front seat, waiting for her. I saw him lean over to give her a kiss on the cheek, and when he did, she gripped his arm and started talking.

Some days everything just works out wonderful. I didn't have many of those, and I enjoyed one when I got it.

I got two phone calls the next morning before I started for Little Rock and the stakeout. One was from Mel Brentwood, the owner of Body Time, who asked if I would work that day. I tried explaining to Mel that since the thief had been captured I had moved on to another job. Mel replied that he hadn't been able to find anyone to fill my position and if it was at all possible, he really wanted me to come in for my former shift. It would be worth the extra pay to not have to worry for one day.

"It might be a little awkward, Mr. Brentwood, having me back now."

"Oh, they don't know you were there as a private eye," Mel reassured me. "As far as they're concerned, you're a regular employee who had another job offer. I told Linda to put you on the substitute list."

I wished Jack were there to advise me. I didn't want to alienate an important client of Jack's, but I didn't want to miss a day watching Beth Crider, either. Perhaps it might be good to lull her into security for a day? Maybe she'd been feeling watched; a day free from observation might make her careless. "Okay, Mr. Brentwood, I'll be there," I said. I laid down the phone and it rang immediately.

"Yes?" I asked, a little apprehensive.

"Babe, it's me," Jack said.

"How are you? Where are you?"

"Still at the hotel, but we're about to leave for the airport."

"We?"

"He's agreed to come with me," Jack said in a low voice. "He's in the bathroom right now, so I can talk for a minute."

"He just caved?" I asked, incredulous.

"He's sick and scared," Jack said. "And a trick beat the shit out of him two nights ago."

If the boy had been fated to be beaten, this was the right time for it to happen, I thought, but I kept it to myself. I wasn't always sure if I believed in fate or not, but sometimes it was comforting to believe in something.

Jack went on to tell me he planned to drive the boy home after they landed. Then he'd come to Shakespeare. "No matter how late it is," he said.

So I was already feeling unusually chipper when I parked my car at Marvel, even though I was back to wearing the loathsome leopard-print unitard. As I slung my purse and lunch bag into my locker, Linda Doan, wearing a zebra-striped workout bra and puffy black shorts, asked me if I'd had a boob implant. Since she was pinning on her "Manager" label at the time, I was tempted to ask her what she'd leak if she stuck her breast, but I abstained, which made me proud of myself.

"No, just me in here," I said so cheerfully that I checked the mirror again to make sure I was myself.

Even Linda looked surprised.

"You musta gotten some last night," she observed. "You're mighty perky today."

I sure was. Perky. Lily Bard, perky?

As long as I was being such a cheerful team member, I asked, "Did you get any feedback from the calisthenics class?" That had been my idea. I got tired of the cute little classes taught in the aerobics room; they all pivoted around some gimmick. The set of calisthenics we did before karate class had seemed exotic to this bunch. And extremely painful.

Linda's face took on a reserved expression. Linda was brown from the tanning bed, streaked from the hairdresser, and hard bodied from exercise. She was a little cautious, too, when she perceived that her interest was at stake. "A couple of the women said it was the hardest workout they'd ever had," Linda said. "And at least one of them wanted to try it again."

"Great."

"Byron was telling me you know Mel?" Linda was striving to keep her voice casual, but I could tell we'd come to the crux of the conversation.

I nodded.

"Did he send you here to keep an eye on me?" she asked, abandoning all pretense of having a normal conversation.

"No," I said. My shoelace was loose, so I squatted down to retie it.

"You stop trying to dodge me," Linda said in a furious whisper.