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“It’s all very preliminary and definitely not a sure thing. I don’t even know if I have a case.”
    When Marcella Johnson showed up a few minutes later, she was indeed five ten, just as Sister Anne had said. She and Ali were almost the same height. Marcella Johnson, dressed in a black silk suit that showed off every well-toned muscle, strode across the room to the table where Ali waited. An impressive-looking woman, Marce sported Gucci from top to bottom. She had a firm handshake and an easy smile.
    “So they fired you, did they?” she asked, settling into her chair.
    “They sure did,” Ali answered.
    “Who’s your replacement?”
    “I didn’t catch her name, but I saw her on yesterday’s promos. She’s young, very young, and pretty, too.”
    “Figures,” Marce said. “They let you go, but they kept all the old guys, even the pretty one with the terrible rug?”
    Randall James was very proud of his hairpiece and thought it looked “natural.” Obviously it hadn’t fooled Marcella Johnson.
    “Even him,” Ali said with a smile.
    “And what reason did they give?”
    “Taking the news team in a new direction is what the news director said. Going after a younger audience.”
    “With three old guys and a new babe?” Marcella scoffed. “Give me a break.”
    “That’s what I thought,” Ali told her.
    Marcella removed a slim tablet PC from her briefcase and began scribbling notes with a stylus.
    “Cliff Baker is the new news director. He’s the guy they brought in to fix the ratings, which, as it happens, are still broken.”
    “I suppose you were alone when he said this.”
    “Actually, I wasn’t,” Ali answered. “There was a security guard there, Eddie Duarte. Edward actually. Baker brought Eddie along to look over my shoulder while I cleared out my desk and to escort me out of the building when I finished.”
    “Having a witness is fine, but a security guard?” Marcella asked. “Those heavy-hitters from the station will mow him down so fast he’ll never know what hit him.”
    “I don’t think so,” Ali said. “Eddie told me he’d testify if I needed him to, and he will. He and his wife, Rosa, are friends of mine. So’s their little boy, Alonso.”
    Marcella looked intrigued. “You really do know them?”
    Ali nodded. “Yes, I really do.”
    “Their names again?”
    Ali pulled her Palm Pilot out of her purse and reeled off Eddie’s address and phone number.
    “These kinds of cases take years, regardless of whether you settle or go to court,” Marcella warned.
    “I know,” Ali said.
    “And since I’m very good,” Marcella added, “that means I’m also very expensive.”
    “Then it’s a good thing I brought along my checkbook,” Ali said.
    “In that case,” Marcella told her, “lunch is on me.”
    And it was a good one. Ali had the heirloom tomato and mozzarella salad. Marcella had the Ahi tuna nicoise. They both had a glass of wine—a Pinot Grigio, which would have been far too lowbrow to measure up to Paul’s sophisticated taste buds. Still, wine and all, it was definitely a working lunch. Marcella asked questions and took detailed notes the whole time they were eating, and while they were drinking coffee afterward as well.
    On the way home, Ali called Paul’s number. He still didn’t answer. Why did he carry the thingaround with him if he wasn’t going to pick up? This time, though, she left him a message, letting him know what she had done. She knew he wasn’t going to be thrilled about it, but she wasn’t going to sneak around about it, either. After all, her career was on the line. She wasn’t about to let it go without a fight.
    “Didn’t want you to be the last to know,” she said. “I’ve retained an attorney. I’m going to file a wrongful-dismissal suit based on age and sex.”
    Back at the house she found that Charmaine still hadn’t shown up, but someone—Jesus most likely—had brought in the mail and left it on the entryway table. She went