The young man who entered the room was handsome and muscular. His flowing blond hair turned the lush green of spring leaves halfway down its length. He stepped through the door wearing a camera-ready smile, met Mallory’s eyes, did a double take, slid his gaze toward Carter, opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, looking like an actor in need of a prompt.

Phoebe, who’d ushered him in, gave him a sharp look and provided it. “Sit here,” she said, pulling out the chair at the head of the table, and he did. Mallory noticed his mouth was twitching a little at the corners. Poor guy had stage fright.

“Is anything wrong?” Carter said.

“Oh, no,” he said. “I just wasn’t expecting such a, um, a big room. Or a cameraman. Or-” his gaze dropped to the table “-cookies.” His voice was deep and sonorous, but it had a soft edge to it as well, and his statement ended on something very much like a giggle.

Yep, Mallory thought, he’s nervous.

“Have one,” Carter said, thrusting the plate toward him. “Just relax,” he went on, starting the spiel he’d given Tammy Sue and would probably give every witness-that we were all friends here and just trying to get at the truth. Then he said, “Coffee?”

“Please. Thank you. Much better than milk,” their witness said incomprehensibly, then grabbed a napkin from the table, clamped it over his mouth and snorted into it. Recovered, he poured a large quantity of zero-calorie sweetener into the coffee Phoebe had put in front of him, added a larger quantity of heavy cream and stirred vigorously. Chewing a dainty bite of an oatmeal cookie, he glanced at Phoebe’s puzzled face, arched his eyebrows at the cameraman, skimmed over Mallory and, at last, settled an appreciative gaze on Carter.

Carter broke the silence. “Can we begin now? Will you state your name for the court reporter, please.”

“Kevin Knightson.” Kevin smiled.

“Address?”

“Two-twenty-five East Sixty-seventh.”

Mallory froze. The address had meant nothing to her when she studied the interrogatories, but it did now. It was Maybelle’s address. Kevin Knightson couldn’t be, could not possibly be, Richard’s significant other of the green “tallywhacker.”

What have I done to deserve this? Mallory began to draft a note in her head that she might pass to Carter. But what could she say without revealing that she had consulted an imagemaker? He’d think it was silly. Worse, he’d want to know why. Kevin didn’t know her, so he couldn’t give her away. Still, she wished she’d told Maybelle why she was in New York, and she’d do it this very evening.

Tread carefully, she might say in her note to Carter. I have prior knowledge of this man. Yes, that’s what she would say. She picked up her pen. “Occupation?”

Kevin hesitated. “I’m an actor by profession.” He smiled again and added, “You’re supposed to say, ‘Which restaurant?’”

Carter smiled back. “I know it’s a tough business,” he said, and Mallory heard real sympathy in his voice. “I wish you all the luck in the world. So-which restaurant?”

Everyone laughed except Mallory. She was busy writing her note.

“In March I was working for Blue Hill in Greenwich Village,” Kevin said. “That ended when I showed up with green hair and eyebrows and fingernails. I put a temporary black dye on my hair and eyebrows,” he said earnestly, “but it just turned them greenish black, and I couldn’t do anything about my fingernails.”

“Yes,” Carter said thoughtfully. “And since that time, have you been employed?”

“Now and then,” Kevin said, “doing this and that. Odd jobs for my landlady, behind-the-scenes work for an interior decorator and, um, seasonal work.”

“Where are you employed now?”

“I object to that line of questioning,” Phoebe said.

“About his job?” Carter couldn’t hide his surprise.

“I can assure you he’s engaged in nothing illegal or immoral,” Phoebe said stubbornly.

“The defendants have a right to know his employment history in order to assess damages.” Carter sounded just as stubborn.

Phoebe assumed a self-righteous air. “It’s simply a job that requires a certain amount of anonymity. I’d appreciate it if you’d respect his privacy.”

Carter sighed. “I guess I can do that, for the moment. However, I reserve the right to bring this witness to trial and cross-examine him in court.”

“Anytime,” Kevin purred.

Mallory took this opportunity to slip her note to Carter. He read it, and his eyebrows drew together in a frown. He began to write rapidly, then nudged Mallory’s legal pad back to her.

Mallory read what he’d written and gasped aloud. You mean you’ve slept with him? Observing that Phoebe, Kevin and the cameraman were all three staring at her, she said, “Sorry. My, it is a bit warm in here, isn’t it?” She fanned herself with the legal pad.

No one answered. Apparently they didn’t think so. While Carter went on to his next question, she wrote, Of course I haven’t slept with him! She hit Carter sharply in the elbow with the corner of the pad, but he was busy interrogating.

“What was your income from acting prior to your decision to dye your hair red for the audition in question? Let me put it this way. What was your income last year?”

“Uh…” Kevin said. “There was the five hundred from the Boat Show, two-fifty from the Toy Fair…” He muttered away to himself for several minutes and finally announced a sum that wouldn’t have covered Mallory’s monthly mortgage payment.

“And what are you earning at your current job?”

“Um…” Kevin’s eyes shifted away before he stammered out a number.

“So you’re actually earning more now than you were before the alleged unfortunate incident with the dye?” Carter’s staccato delivery made even Mallory flinch.

“But I might have gotten that part,” Kevin insisted, “if I hadn’t-”

Now Carter was both asking questions and writing on the pad. Apparently finished writing, he flicked the pad with his thumb and middle finger, propelling it with such force that it slid past Mallory and halfway down the polished table. The court reporter’s clicking slowed. Phoebe’s and Kevin’s gazes followed the pad, and the cameraman appeared to be zooming in on it. Mallory retrieved it, her face heating up with both anger and embarrassment. But she couldn’t keep herself from glancing down at the words Carter had written.

Then how do you know each other?

None of your business, she wrote, and shoved the pad an inch toward Carter.

Damned sure is. He’s a witness in a case I have a vested interest in winning. Without a break in his questioning, Carter centered an elbow on the pad and slid it to his left.

Settling! she wrote below his elbow. You hope!

“Perhaps this would be a good time for a break,” Phoebe said acidly. “The two of you can discuss your problem verbally rather than by flying paper airplanes at each other.”

“Fine,” Carter said.

“Fine,” Mallory said.

They glared at each other while Phoebe, Kevin, the cameraman and the court reporter retired, presumably, to restrooms and voice-mail messages.

“So?” Carter said, fire flashing from his eyes.

“It’s a two-degrees-of-separation thing,” Mallory said.

“What does that mean?”

“He doesn’t know me. I know somebody who knows him, that’s all. Information about him came up in an unrelated conversation. It’s pure coincidence.”

Carter stared at her for a long moment, then appeared to be calming down a little. “I wondered. He acted funny when he came in.”

“There’s no way he could know me,” Mallory insisted. Unless Richard mentioned my name to him, or Maybelle did. But that wouldn’t be ethical of them, would it? The telltale heat rose in her face again.

Carter was watching her closely. “Will knowing him keep you from doing your job right?”

“Of course not.” It just may keep me from getting my image right, that’s all.