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anyway. After their conversation yesterday about her brush with the law, Sandra would smell a rat, and Steven would blow his famously short fuse about some country hick barging in to spoil the smooth running of an expensive PR event with clients.
    “I’m sorry,” she said as she breezed into the bar at Brasserie Perrier, where Sandra’s scarlet evening gown created a splash of color amongst the guests mostly clad in black. “Where is everyone?” Justine glanced around her. “They can’t have sat down to dinner yet?”
    “They’ve gone to the private dining room at the back,” Sandra said.
    “But it’s only twenty past.” Justine checked the time on her watch. “It was supposed to be cocktails at seven and the meal at
seven thirty
.”
    “There’s some unscheduled entertainment,” Sandra explained in a dry voice.
    “Entertainment?” Justine said. “Why do I suddenly feel worried?”
    “Guilty conscience?” Sandra suggested. She drained the last of her fruit juice and set the empty glass on the counter with a clunk. “Follow me,” she said as she slid down from the barstool and steered the course toward the rear of the room.
    Justine cast a longing glance at the rack of bottles behind the bar. “I think I might need a drink.”
    “Truer words were never spoken,” Sandra said, and something in her voice told Justine that she had with her actions managed to upset the kindest person she knew.
    She increased her speed until she caught up with Sandra. “I can explain.”
    Sandra halted her progress and directed a level look at her. “Yes. I would very much like to hear your explanation.” The beginnings of a smile softened her stern expression. “But that can wait until Monday.”
    Justine heard the flurry of voices as she stepped after Sandra into the long and narrow dining room. Half a dozen men sat at one end of the table, with women in cocktail dresses clustering behind them.
    “Lower,” said one of the important clients.
    “You’re lying,” said Sheriff Taylor.
    “Damn it!” The client threw the nine of clubs on the table on top of the seven of spades. “How do you do it?”
    “You glanced at the card when you said lower. When you tell the truth, you don’t do that.” Sheriff Taylor smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
    “Lower,” said the building inspector, whose goodwill was crucial to Chandler Developments.
    “You are trying to lure me into thinking that you’re lying, but you’re not.”
    “Son of a bitch.” The building inspector flipped over the five of diamonds.
    “When you lie, you fidget with the card,” Sheriff Taylor explained. “I made you aware of the habit, so this time you fidgeted on purpose. It looked false.”
    “Justine!” Steven lifted a hand in greeting, making no comment about her late arrival. “Mark is teaching us how to spot when someone’s bluffing.”
    Sheriff Taylor turned to look at her over his shoulder, then rose to his feet and strode up to her past the crowd of staring women. He wore a crisp white shirt with the top two buttons undone, and pleated black trousers cut to perfection. “I didn’t want to be in your way while you were getting ready, so I came straight to the restaurant.” He bent to brush a kiss on her lips.
    “That was very considerate of you,” Justine stammered. Her stomach lurched when he placed his hand over the small of her back and held it there, heavy and warm.
    “Mark told us he didn’t know until yesterday that he could make it,” Sandra said, watching Justine’s every move. “I guess you forgot to mention it today.”
    “I knew he was coming, but I didn’t think he’d get away early enough to join us for dinner.” Justine nearly choked on the words. “It’s a three hour drive.”
    “All in the name of love,” said one of the older wives, reaching to take her husband’s hand. “Do you remember when we were young?”
    Justine was grateful for the chorus of comments that burst out, because it