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difficult that must have been.
    "I don't know that forgave is the right word, but we moved on. I was terribly hurt. He promised me it would never happen again."
    Nina ran a hand through her hair, pulling the top section back in a knot. She looked at me. "Why? Do you think he was having another affair?"
    This was the moment to come clean if I was going to. Tell her that affair might not be the right word, but that Grady had cheated on her. Get it out in the open. I could feel my pulse racing as I debated.
    Finally, I shook my head. "Just asking."
    With a sigh of exasperation Nina let the hair fall loose again. "What do you think really happened that night?"
    Once again the friend in me warred with the lawyer. I hedged with a shrug.
    We'd probably never know what actually transpired that night. Two people, two different versions of the evening's events. Most likely, one of them was embroidering the truth, at least a bit. Perhaps both of them. It was even possible that each honestly believed the evening had unfolded the way they claimed it had. The hardest thing of all was to predict which variant the jury would accept.
    "On the bright side," I said, leaving the slippery slope of half-truth, "the jury in the Sandborn case came back today. We won. Sandborn didn't get a cent."
    "Good work, Kali."
    "You'd done all the work. All I had to do was follow the script."
    The flickering television screen caught Nina's attention. She reached for the remote and turned up the volume. "I bet Grady made the evening news."
    "Maybe you shouldn't -- "
    She glared in my direction. "Don't patronize me, Kali."
    The arrest of Grady Barrett was, in fact, the evening's lead story. His picture -- the same one I'd seen splashed across the business section on several occasions -- flashed on the screen while the newscaster reeled off a summary of the arrest.
    The screen cut away to footage of a woman. She was small-boned but amply rounded in the manner of an eighteenth-century beauty. Her face was dotted lightly with freckles and framed with waves of coppery red hair.
    "A man shouldn't be allowed to get away with rape just because he's rich and influential," she was saying. "I'm a person too. I deserve respect. That's why we have laws, to even things out."
    Nina rocked forward with a gasp. "Shit. That's Deirdre Nichols."
    "You know her?"
    She brushed the air with her hand, shushing me. But Deirdre Nichols had had her fifteen seconds of fame for the day. The station cut away to a car commercial. Nina aimed the remote and flipped off the television.
    She looked at me as though the breath had been knocked from her lungs. "That's the woman who says Grady raped her?"
    I nodded. "How do you know her?"
    "Her daughter's in school with Emily."
    "Deirdre Nichols lives in Piedmont?" The address she'd given the police was Oakland.
    "Her sister lives here."
    If that was an explanation, it fell somewhat short of its mark. "She lives with her sister?" I asked.
    Nina shook her head. She seemed to be breathing again. "Deirdre uses her sister's address to get Adrianna into the local school. Not strictly kosher, but the girl usually spends a couple of nights a week with her aunt anyway. Deirdre stays there sometimes too."
    "What's Deirdre like?" I asked, curious to know what sort of witness she'd make.
    Nina flopped forcefully back against the bed pillows. "I don't know her very well, but she seems nice. She's a single mother. Not phony like a lot of the women in this town. She's kind of a lightweight in the smarts department, but she has a good heart."
    A lot like Madelaine had described her. She'd probably tell a convincing story at trial.
    Nina's fingers drew a pattern of fresh scratches across her neck. "I can't imagine why she'd make up a story about being raped if she wasn't."

Chapter 7
    The six o'clock exercise class at the Y had been my goal for the past five evenings. Once again it carried on without me. I headed for the comforts of home instead of the rigors of