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woman. “As you remember her?”
    “She looks older but not that much older. I think women of that generation dressed dowdier—or maybe I should say age appropriate. Man, I’d like to have a nickel for every fifty-plus woman I see walking around in a miniskirt.” Barnes raised his eyebrows. “Not that I’m complaining.”
    Amanda tolerated the borderline-letch dialogue. Everyone had to deal with sorrow in their own way.
    The two detectives began walking toward Lucille, but before they could formally introduce themselves, Ruben Morantz emerged from the crowd and intercepted, offering the frail woman his hand and a round of sympathy.
    Maybe some of it was heartfelt, Barnes allowed. The mayor of Berkeley had known Davida Grayson for years and had worked with her on various committees. Though they had had their conflicts, they had also shared victories. Morantz was slight and mild-looking with a narrow torso and sloping shoulders. Innocuous on first impression, but the restless brown eyes, dazzling white smile, and perpetual tan were pure politician.
    Hizzoner wore a long black coat over a white shirt, gold tie and tan slacks. Pointy toes of lizard-skin cowboy boots poked under the break of his pants. While he and Lucille chatted, Barnes managed to grab Donnie Newell’s attention. Donnie excused himself and walked over.
    “Lookin’ good, Willie. I think the climate agrees with you.”
    “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
    “A little thicker in the gut. A little grayer in the head.”
    “That’s how it goes.” Barnes made introductions and then looked back at the old woman. “Poor Lucille. I don’t know how she’s standing on two feet.”
    “She’s tough but how much can even a tough woman take, losing two children?”
    The mayor led Lucille away from the crowd, and back to the limo, which the two of them entered.
    Amanda regarded Newell. “How well do you know Mrs. Grayson?”
    “Davida used to have me look in on her once in a while.” Newell smiled at Amanda. “Guess I should bring you up to speed. Davida and I were an item in high school. She came out her senior year, but I suspected something wasn’t right long before. She liked to…well, experiment is the best way I can say it. I didn’t care. I had more fun with that girl. She was a pistol, she and her best friend, Jane Meyerhoff—can’t tell you her latest married name. Don’t reckon if I ever knew it, she’s had so many. I heard the last one ended really messy.” Newell turned to Barnes. “Janey lives here now, doesn’t she?”
    Barnes nodded. He knew all about Janey because he’d picked her up at a bar and they’d dated a few times. Janey wasn’t so much a pistol as a machine gun. “Bring the file, Donnie?”
    Newell held up a manila envelope. “Been looking into the Nutterly brothers. Far as I can tell, these two boys are a step below Neanderthal, but that doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous. Stupid and mean is a dangerous combination, right? Still, I don’t think they’d act without receiving orders from someone else.”
    “And who might the order-giver be?” Barnes asked.
    “The head of the White Tower Radicals is a guy named Marshall Bledsoe who lives in Idaho.”
    “I know Bledsoe,” Barnes said. “When I was in Sacramento he was rumored to be the main architect of the synagogue bombings. That’s twenty years ago. He was a madman then, I don’t see him getting sane magically. But from bombs to eggs?”
    “Unless that was a ruse,” Newell said.
    Barnes ran with the idea. “Davida’s thinking that whoever’s after her is gunning for her in the capital. Then they get her in the safety of her own office.”
    “Along those lines, the threatening letter was sent to her in Sacramento.”
    “What threatening letter?” Amanda asked and Barnes realized he’d forgotten to tell her.
    Newell opened up the envelope and showed them a copy. Magazine letters of all shapes and colors cut and pasted to form an ominous