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into my SUV. Before closing the door, I added, ‘‘I’ll call her back tonight and she can give me some pointers on what styles are in this season.’’
    I drove across town to the big tan professional building that houses my office. The structure used to be one of the largest in downtown Royal Oak, but in the past few years so much new development had cropped up that the Washington Square Office Plaza now found itself in rather mixed company—much like a middle-aged swinging single at a trendy twentysomething nightclub. Still, I loved the old guy. It had character and personality. It also had a terrific landlord who’d hardly made a fuss about all the recent trouble originating in suite 222. There had been serial killers and blood, Mafia types and more blood, psychopaths and yes . . . a little more blood, and through all of it my rent had gone up only fifty bucks.
    I parked in my usual slot in the parking garage across the street and hurried to the front lobby, glancing at my watch as I pushed through the doors. I headed up the two flights of stairs to my floor, then down the polished marble hallway to the second suite on the right. Candice was already there. ‘‘Hey!’’ she said with a wave. ‘‘God, Abs! You look fabulous for a girl who’s been shot.’’
    I smiled tightly and pulled at the collar of my blouse. Physically, I remained pretty much the same as the last time she’d seen me—five-foot-six, one-twenty give or take, with very long brown hair and blue eyes. The only real change was a nasty scar on the right side of my chest that was sore to the touch and ugly as hell. ‘‘No worse for wear,’’ I said, giving her a hug. ‘‘But you look completely different,’’ I added as I took in her longer hair and its slightly darker color. ‘‘Your hair looks fantastic.’’
    Candice was taller than me by a few inches and her look was sleek and trendy. She had a sense of style that made people notice her. And in all the time I’d known her, I’d never seen any color on her but white, black, and gray. That is, except for today. ‘‘And what’s with the new duds?’’ I asked as I turned to unlock my office door.
    ‘‘I know—right?’’ she said, running her hand along her pink sleeve. ‘‘I’ve been on this new kick lately. I’m trying to soften my look.’’
    ‘‘It’s good on you,’’ I said, waving her in.
    ‘‘So is this office,’’ she said as she paused in my tiny front lobby and did a three-sixty turn. ‘‘Abby, this is wonderful!’’
    I’d had some trouble with a local psychopath a few months earlier, and he’d completely trashed my office. Luckily, I had insurance up the yin-yang and I’d been able to upgrade a lot of my furniture. The front lobby now held two red suede chairs and modern, dark-wood side tables, and a painting of colored patches hung just above the chairs, giving warmth to the space.
    ‘‘Come see the rest,’’ I coaxed, walking her into my reading room.
    ‘‘Wow,’’ she said as she entered. ‘‘This is completely different!’’ The room had previously been painted a Moroccan blue, with two cream-colored chairs, a lovely cherry oak credenza, and a blue-and-green-mosaic mirror on the wall. Crystals, both small and large, had dotted nearly every surface, and a huge, soothing waterfall had stood prominently in one of the far corners. I’d been truly crushed by the devastation that the wacko had wreaked on such a precious space and I couldn’t stand the thought of trying to re-create it, so I’d opted for a completely different look.
    The room was now a very soft mocha brown, and I’d spent long hours painting the molding light cream. Two espresso-colored leather chairs faced each other in the center of the room, and a short chestnut bookcase had replaced the ruined credenza. The waterfall had been too expensive to replace, so I’d settled for a large terra-cotta pot filled with five-foot-tall bamboo shoots, and to the side of