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be?"
    "Why don't you put on the news, Romeo? I want to see if there's anything on Dorcas." I felt as if I somehow owed it to her. But I didn't have to explain that to Curt—he got it. He thumbed the remote and a few talking heads appeared, gabbling about the NFC East's chances in a competitive conference. Under other circumstances, I'd be all over that, but under these circumstances, it was just noise that I endured until the eleven o'clock newscast began. Curt put his arm around me, and we both watched the day's recitation of mayhem in silence.
    Dorcas's murder wasn't the lead, but it didn't take long for the toss to the somber reporter in front of Dorcas's building. The reporter didn't impart much information, just enough to confirm what I already knew, that Dorcas had most likely died from blunt force trauma, probably from the cracked crystal ball which had been discovered by police at the scene. My guess was it had been hidden by the robe at her feet. I was glad I hadn't seen it. The thought of Dorcas's cracked crystal ball wasn't nearly as funny as it had been that morning. Nothing was as funny as it had been that morning.
    The story wrapped up with the mention that Dorcas's husband of twenty-four years had been notified and asked for the courtesy of privacy to grieve his beloved wife. No mention of children. There was a subtle dismissiveness when mentioning Dorcas's chosen profession, which I resented, since it smacked of speaking ill of the dead.
    When the newscast was over, Curt switched off the TV. Neither of us said anything for a few minutes, and then something occurred to me. "You know, there was a black SUV parked down the street when we got there. Someone was sitting in it, but I couldn't see who. Do you think…?"
    Curt drained his beer. "Don't suppose you got a license plate I can pass on to Cam?"
    I shook my head. I'd been too busy hustling Maizy inside, away from the behemoth she'd insulted.
    Curt hesitated. "You didn't touch anything there, did you?"
    I shook my head. "Of course not." I bit off a tiny piece of the pretzel rod and thought some more. I was surprised to hear Dorcas had been married for twenty-four years. I guessed maybe it was human nature to assume the totality of people's lives was what we saw through the narrow prism of our own experiences with them. But Dorcas had had a life beyond lawsuits. And now it was over.
    I felt my face crumple and grow hot, and my eyes began to sting. I turned into Curt and without a word, he pulled me closer, stroking my hair until I was calm again. Tomorrow I'd send Weaver Beeber a sympathy card. Tonight I didn't want to think about it anymore.
     
    *   *   *
     
    Curt insisted I stay in his guest bedroom overnight, but his nearness didn't help me sleep. I tossed and turned and finally got up in the five o'clock hour to do a little yoga, careful not to wake him, which wasn't all that hard since my idea of a little yoga was practicing Upward Facing Dog for about thirty seconds before collapsing onto my belly on the floor and catnapping until the sun came up. Which coincided with my philosophy that no human being should be awake in the five o'clock hour of the morning.
    It was almost seven by the time I hauled myself off the floor and into Curt's kitchen, which was everything a kitchen should be. A coffeemaker, a toaster, a microwave, and a set of lethal-looking knives in a wooden block. Food in the cupboards. More food in the refrigerator. Dishes above the sink. I thought about cooking breakfast and decided Curt deserved a better start to the day than that.
    So when I heard the shower start a few minutes later, I grabbed a box of Chocolate Cheerios and hustled upstairs to my own apartment before I had second thoughts.
     

 
CHAPTER FIVE
     
    Things didn't get any better when I got to the office just before nine on Friday morning. I'd spent much of the night thinking about how close Maizy and I might have come to walking in on Dorcas's murder and what might