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and what wasn’t.
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    A train whistle jolted her and the memory was gone as swiftly as it had come. Sometimes it sounded as if the trains were coming through the jail, they were so close. That was real, she thought. Down the corridor someone was sobbing. That was real. She was in jail, charged with murder. And that was real, too.

4
    B y late Monday afternoon Barbara had finished most of the tasks on her list. She entered her office, waved to Maria, who was on the phone, and looked in on Shelley, who was at her computer.
    â€œWhen you have a minute, come on back,” Barbara said, and headed to her own office.
    â€œCoffee?” Maria asked, hanging up the phone. “I just made it.”
    â€œYou’re an angel, you know that?” Barbara said. In her office, she put her briefcase on the round table with its lovely inlaid semiprecious stones, sat down and put her feet on the table next to the briefcase.
    Shelley came after her and held the door for Maria, who was bringing a tray and the coffee service. “What’s up?” Shelley asked, seating herself across from Barbara.
    â€œYour father called and asked me to give him a ring when you got here,” Maria said. “Okay?”
    â€œSure, call him. Send him on back when he gets here. Anything else cooking?”
    â€œNot a thing.” She left again. Not only did she have an uncanny sense of when to expect Barbara to return, she also knew when to bring up inconsequential matters and when to pretend they didn’t exist.
    Shelley poured coffee, then settled back waiting.
    Barbara told her about Louise Braniff’s visit and her follow-up, and was still at it when Frank tapped on the door and came in.
    â€œSo there it is,” Barbara said, including him now. “I posted her bail bond, and we retrieved her car and picked up her belongings from the house, and got her a motel room, where she said she intended to take two or three baths. She can’t stay in a motel room more than a few days. We’ll need to help her find an apartment, and that won’t be easy. No references and awaiting trial. Not a great recommendation.”
    She didn’t add the comments Bill Spassero had made: that Carrie would have realized exactly what prison meant in a couple of weeks and then copped a plea for any sentence less than what faced her for conviction for murder, which was a sure bet. He had not yet looked at all the material the investigators had collected, and he wouldn’t have done so until closer to the trial, she well knew. Overworked was hardly the word for the caseload he had.
    And there was no reason to add his comment about Shelley, that he had been seeing her around, and she looked terrific, but different. And she was different. She was keeping her golden hair cut short, but more than that, she had maturedin the past year and was no longer simply Valley-girl pretty, but rather beautiful, with a radiance she had not shown before. No longer floating in her bubble of happiness, with her feet firmly attached to the ground now, she still could not conceal her contentment.
    â€œI’ll find her an apartment,” Shelley said. “What else?”
    â€œSee if you can track down the Colberts. Last known address was in Terre Haute, but that was fourteen years ago. God knows where they are now.” She got out her notes with the address and gave it to Shelley, then handed her a copy of the newspaper clipping about Ronald and Marla Frederick. “This will be harder, to find out anything about them, and I might have to sic Bailey on to it, but see if there’s anything readily available. They died twenty-four years ago, death certificates issued in Boston. Can do?”
    â€œSure.”
    If she failed to find them, Barbara knew that Bailey would dig until he did. He was the best detective in the business.
    â€œI called Barry Longner,” Frank said. “There most certainly is a Benevolent Ladies Club, and