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twins … their name was Pouchie.”
    Daniel and David Pouchie had run a smart little crime wave. They always dressed in matching clothes, and they took turns committing armed robberies. They were quite brazen about it. Apart from wearing Minnesota Twins ball caps, they seldom took precautions to hide their faces—even though they knew there were security cameras. In fact, in a few cases they had looked directly at the camera, as if to taunt the police. After their arrest, they had coolly defied us to produce a single witness who could say which one had committed which robbery. They were so eerily identical that we knew no victim would ever be able to positively identify the correct offender. I was pretty sure we had them cold on conspiracy, but I wanted a complete indictment. That’s when I decided to enlist the services of a forensic videographic analyst with a fortuitous subspecialty: facial mapping. He went through every frame of every CCTV capture of every incident. He soon discovered that there was one infinitesimal but defining difference between the two men: David had a condition known as aponeurotic ptosis — in other words, a drooping eyelid—in his case, the upper left. The difference was tiny, less than a millimeter, but it enabled my expert to take the stand and identify which twin had committed which robbery. The Pouchie boys were both sentenced to life in prison.
    â€œRahht,” the senator responded. “Ah said, ‘That’s one smart girl! Sam’d better hang on to her!’ Phoned and told ya so, didn’t Ah, Sam? Anyway, young lady, Ahm really sorry Ah wasn’t in town when the Attorney General made the announcement. Ah woulda been happy to call a press conference!”
    â€œI wasn’t aware she’d made an announcement,” I said.
    Sam looked discomfited. “I figured it was best not to tell you. The press hounds were so busy baying over those corrupt drug squad cops in Miami that the announcement ended up buried on a back page.”
    â€œYoungest prosecutor in the state to head up a Felony Unit!” the senator effused. “Yer a credit to Sam’s office, girlie, and a credit to the State!”
    I concede that my expression may have frozen during the second or two before I fixed Mr. Spotts with a level stare and repeated: “Girlie?”
    Sam knew what was coming next. He shot me an imploring look. I pretended to relent. I forced myself to smile broadly, and before the senator’s tortoise-paced wits could digest my initial reaction, I unleashed a bit of mischief on both of them.
    â€œThank you, sir. I really appreciate your confidence.” I moved pointedly closer to Sam and leaned into his big comfortable frame. My move forced him to drop an arm around my shoulders. “But, you know,” I continued, injecting a hint of Marlene Dietrich throatiness into my delivery, “I couldn’t have done it without Sam. He’s the best mentor any young attorney could ever ask for.”
    Senator Spotts opened his mouth, and then closed it. One of his eyebrows notched upward.
    I noticed a few nearby guests were looking at us strangely.
    Sam must have noticed, too, because he quickly disengaged his arm and clapped the senator on the shoulder. “Ernie, I almost forgot! My daughter made one of those Pavlova desserts you’re always raving about! She wants your opinion. She’s in the kitchen.”
    Sam’s daughter, Suzanne, was twenty-two, highly intelligent … and gorgeous.
    â€œSure.” The senator tore his eyes away from my cleavage. “How is she, anyway? Your daughter … uh…?
    â€œSuzanne.”
    â€œSuzanne. What’s she doing these days?”
    â€œSenior year at UF.”
    As they were leaving, Sam bent close and whispered to me. “Thanks, Claire. Now please explain that last little move to my wife!”
    I looked around. Diana was standing inside, watching us