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photographer entered the farm. They didn’t look familiar. Other than Good Egg’s staff, their families, representatives from Fish and Game, the only other observer was a reporter cloaked in a Moscow-style trench coat and hat representing a small newspaper serving the area’s Russian community. What an outfit. He looked more like a spy on undercover assignment rather than a bored part-time journalist hunting up news for a slow day. No one from the Sacramento Sun had bothered to show up, despite Steve’s press release. Apparently, the opening of a sturgeon farm wasn’t big news except to the local immigrant community.
    Steve narrowed his eyes, signaling that he didn’t recognize the newcomers, either. She hoped it wasn’t one of the tabloids. When the Kennedys were being low-key, out of boredom the gossip rags came looking for Jaspers, who as a rule weren’t nearly as interesting. But now that she was newly single, maybe they’d wanted fodder for some lurid rumors: Sex-starved senator participates in sturgeon orgy.
    Or, better yet: “A woman without a man is like a sturgeon without a bicycle,” claims perennially spouseless State Senator Jana Jasper .
    A splash from the holding tank hit her across the chest. Jana inhaled on a gasp as a stream of cold water found its way down her cleavage. She glared at the prehistoric-looking fish ogling her from the churning water. No one says you can’t be turned into sushi—right here, right now.
    The unfamiliar reporter smirked and whispered to the photographer. Jana’s instincts, always good, prickled. What were they up to?
    She stepped away from the microphone. Welcome sunshine pushed through shreds of lingering fog and warmed the March morning. Under a fluttering banner was a buffet line from the heavens: bowls of hardboiled eggs, the whites separate from the yolks, minced onion, lemon slices, sour cream and toast to go with a rainbow of different caviars from inexpensive but tasty bright-orange salmon eggs to the much more expensive rich and nutty, creamy-tasting sturgeon roe. Jana inhaled the aroma, her mouth watering. She’d inherited her mother’s taste in fine Russian cuisine, and caviar was a favorite. It tasted best with iced vodka, but when Good Egg’s sales and marketing director offered her a flute of champagne to go with the feast, she was grateful. Every job had its perks. She took a sip.
    A few flashes from the Russian newspaper’s camera, then, “A question, Senator!”
    She turned around. The reporter she suspected was from a tabloid waved at her. “Jeff Golden, Los Angeles Times, ” the man called out.
    He was from the Times? Her hopes zinged up then plummeted. The Times was a major paper, though out of the area. It would be great publicity for her pet cause, or would it? With her luck, the guy was a Hollywood columnist suffering a slow week.
    “Yes, Jeff,” Jana said pleasantly. Maybe he wouldn’t ask the usual questions: Will you ever settle down? Who are you seeing now?
    I’m taking a man-vacation, actually.
    The reporter returned her smile. He seemed friendly enough. “With today’s allegations against your father, U.S. Senator Jasper, and your brother, Jared Jasper, for the misuse of campaign funds, do you feel your own activities will be called into question next?”
    Allegations? What allegations? The roar in Jana’s head almost drowned out the mumbling, the startled looks in people’s eyes, the cameras flashing. “Repeat your question, please.”
    “Is the so-called spotless, eighty-five-year-old Jasper record in the political arena finally over? Or will this investigation expose what has always been there?”
    Freeze your emotions. Appear calm. All her life she’d been trained to be in the public eye; her reaction to the unexpected question was almost instinctive. “I thank you for your interest, Mr. Golden. I have no comment at this time.”
    She surrendered the podium to Steve. “Cancel lunch with the lumber lobbyists,” she