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hemorrhoids . . .”
    Lucy added, “Or varicose veins, restless leg syndrome, swollen ankles, migraine headaches . . .”
    “Or yeast infections, unusual body odor, cramping, vaginal dryness . . .” Beth laughed.
    “Don’t forget the full-body itching!” Colleensaid. She was days away from giving birth. “I’ve been itching for months, even with enough prednisone to turn this baby into an East German weight lifter.”
    “Stop it!” I said. “The poor woman is, what, three months pregnant?”
    “Eight weeks,” Jeannie whispered.
    “Eight weeks!” I said. “Don’t terrify her. She’s all aglow. Maybe she won’t suffer from any of our symptoms. And anyway, we were talking about sex.
Sex
. Not full-body itching or yeast infections.”
    “Oh, she’s never going to have sex again,” Colleen said. “She might as well get used to
that
now.”
    “Doesn’t anyone want to talk about the book?” Barbie whined. “I prepared a whole series of questions for the group based on my analysis of the characters. As you know, my husband is adapting the book for the screen and has already been signed to direct it himself. Let’s start with the end.”
    “Wait!” I said. “I haven’t finished it. Don’t give anything away.”
    But she didn’t hear me. “Wasn’t Rabbit’s death, like, the most poetic thing you’ve ever read?”

Four
    L AST month, after I rear-ended someone on the 10, Peter made me promise not to use my cell phone while driving. The nice young man I bashed in to was also talking on his cell phone, so he couldn’t condemn me as easily as my husband did, but it’s true, I’m a bad enough driver without the additional distraction. Still, much of an investigator’s work is done on the phone, even in the computer age, and I spend an awful lot of time in my car. Luckily, there was a long wait on the pickup line in front of Ruby’s school. I handed Isaac a juice box and half a peanut butter sandwich, popped Sadie onto a breast to catch a little mid-flight refueling before we setoff for tae kwon do, and called the office. I had asked Chiki to put the word out to his family that if Fidelia called, they should find out if she knew of any women who were now out of custody who had had experiences with the Lambs of the Lord. I wanted to do everything possible to avoid a plane ride up to Pleasanton to the foster care agency’s office, and since they weren’t answering my calls, I thought an old client might be the best way to find out about them.
    “I’ve got a name for you,” Chiki said. “Fidelia doesn’t know for sure, but one of the other women behind her in line for the phone said she heard about this lady whose baby was taken by the Lambs of the Lord. The lady got out and is living in Canoga Park, in the Penfield Avenue projects.”
    “What’s her name?”
    “They called her Sister Pauline. No one could remember her last name, but her mother’s the head of the tenants’ commission out at Penfield Avenue. They knew that for sure. They said Sister Pauline used to brag about her mama all the time.”
    “Okay, I’ll find her. Canoga Park. It figures.” In the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, it would take me half an hour to get all the way out toCanoga Park. After school on a weekday? There was no way I could make it there and back during the kids’ tae kwon do class, even if I signed them up for an extra half hour of sparring.
    “Chiki,” I said. “Do me a favor: Fax requests for legal interviews with Fidelia and Sandra Lorgeree up to Dartmore for me, just in case I have to go.”
    Ruby bounced into the car, tossed her backpack in the front passenger seat, and whacked her brother on the side of the head. He screamed, the baby woke up from her nursing stupor, and it took me a good ten minutes to get everybody calmed down and buckled into their car seats and boosters. I’m sure Ruby announced her presence in the car so violently because she was trying to make known her