LITMIR.BIZ

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events, but at least it provided a momentary distraction from the scenario Liv had described.

      She pulled into a spot two cars down from my leased BMW but left the engine idling. “So, you’ll notarize that stuff and find an attorney? Becky said the arraignment would be sometime tomorrow morning and that we all needed to be there.”

      “Tomorrow?” I cried, slumping deeper against the seat. “Crap, I forgot. Judges don’t sit on Sundays. No judge, no bail hearing.”

      “Poor Jane,” Liv sighed heavily.

      “We can’t think about that now. We’ll keep busy getting everything squared away.” A very, very selfish thought ran through my mind. I was out of vacation days, so I’d have to find a creative way of getting out of work tomorrow. Screw it. I’d think of something. “My notary seal is at the office. I’ve got to shower first. And I’ll find a lawyer, but usually they want something that resembles a retainer before they set foot inside the courthouse.”

      “I’m assuming you’re tapped out?”

      The best I could muster was a guilt-ridden shrug. “Personally? Yes. Flat broke, sorry.”

      “Can you ask Patrick to front you some cash?” Liv asked. “Unless you’ve already started easing into the breakup.”

      I ripped the borrowed sunglasses off my face as my eyes narrowed in her direction. “Excuse me?”

      “Becky might have made reference to the possibility that you were considering making a, er, change.”

      I felt a flash of anger and betrayal. “Obviously Becky missed the part of that conversation where I specifically asked her not to say anything to the rest of you.”

      “Minor slip,” Liv insisted, flicking her hand so the collection of chunky bracelets on her wrist jingled. “Last week at lunch I brought up the Gagliano Labor Day party I’m doing. It will be one of the hottest parties of the summer, so I mentioned I might be able to swing invitations for all of us, including Patrick. All Becky said was I should check with you before I had anything engraved with his name on it.”

      “Nice,” I groaned.

      “So?” Liv asked, shifting in her seat as she pushed her glasses on top of her head. “Are you?”

      “Probably not.” I felt a rush of fear. What was I thinking? Patrick was perfect. So what if the sex was getting routine and boring? “No,” I said more forcefully, not sure which one of us I was trying to convince.

      I could tell by Liv’s expression that she wasn’t buying any of it. Since the best defense is a strong offense, I smiled sweetly and asked, “Speaking of boyfriends, how is Garage Boy?”

      My friend let out a haughty little scoff. “He serves his purpose, thank you very much. Unlike perpetually traveling Patrick, he’s always available.”

      I reached for the door handle. “Of course he is, he doesn’t have a job and he still lives with his parents.”

      “His apartment has a separate entrance.”

      “Right. Put that in the win column.”

      I started out of the car when Liv grabbed my forearm.

      “This will all work out, right? Jane can’t be tried and convicted, can she?”

      I turned back and we hugged. I didn’t have an answer, at least not one I could offer with any degree of certainty.

      “I’m going over to Jane’s to get bank statements and Becky told me to put together some clothes for the arraignment. She’s going to stay with Jane for as long as possible.”

      That was good. That meant Jane would be in the counsel room instead of dumped into the general population at the county jail. Of course, I also knew that they wouldn’t let Becky spend the night, so at some point Jane was going to be on her own.

      I knew a thing or two about county lockup. During the Hall case, a part of my investigation resulted in a B&E charge. I’d spent four very creepy hours in a holding cell until Becky came to my rescue. Well, not just Becky. Liam had played a part as well. He’d not only gotten the garage owner and his friends on the police force to drop the charges, he’d also retrieved my impounded car. And ragged me. For some unknown reason, I still had the Monopoly Get out of Jail Free card he’d given me tucked into my wallet. I don’t know why I hang on to it, especially since he’d scrawled a mocking note on the back. I didn’t want to dwell too deeply on my motives. Liam was not an option. But Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he was hot.

      The sound of Liv’s voice yanked me back to reality. “I’ll call you in a couple of hours for a progress report, okay? Unless you find a lawyer before then. If so, we’ll talk sooner.”

      I nodded. “I’m on it.”

      The first thing I noticed when I stepped from the car was the querying eyes peering out from several of the neighboring condos. The second thing was the layer of grimy black fingerprint dust on my doorknob. Great. I’d probably be cited by the condo association for failure to maintain the exterior of my unit. Or worse, they could ask me to vacate. Stretching on tiptoes to reach up behind the light fixture above the door, I retrieved the emergency key I kept taped to the back. Turned out to be a wasted effort. The door wasn’t locked. I added that to my growing list of things to be pissed about.

      My mood didn’t improve much when I opened the door only to be greeted by the smudged, bloody outlines of Jane’s footprints. Footprint, I mentally corrected. As if it mattered. In my mind’s eye, I could see the crime scene techs photographing the stains, their L-shaped rulers marking the size and context of the evidence.

      I shivered as the reality continued to set in. My apartment was a crime scene. But I didn’t have the time to dwell on it. I needed to shower and dress so I could get to the office to notarize the POA and try to find a criminal attorney for Jane. I said a silent prayer that none of the Dane-Lieberman employees—specifically one of the partners—would be in the office. It was rare, but not unheard of, for one of them to drop in on a Sunday.

      Apparently the blood evidence wasn’t the only focus of the crime scene people. The pashmina I’d draped around Jane was gone. And I could tell my things had been moved. The picture of Patrick and me on vacation in the Bahamas last year wasn’t in its usual place on top of my entertainment center.

      As I put it back where it belonged, I fleetingly recalled the trip. Even though we’d gone on lots of weekend getaways, I’d kinda thought that particular Bahamas trip might lead to a proposal. That was thirteen months ago and I guess I might have said yes before he’d even finished asking the question. Now I wasn’t so sure. Which made no sense.

      I decided my vacillation was a result of the unpleasant combination of insufficient caffeine and lack of sleep. I couldn’t do anything about the sleep deprivation or my possible Patrick issues, so I started a pot of Kenyan coffee. Instantly, my apartment filled with the tantalizing aroma as the dark, rich coffee dripped into the carafe of my brand-new DeLonghi coffeemaker. Okay, so “my” was a stretch. Technically, about ninety percent of it belonged to Visa, but I was making the minimum monthly payments. It, and the DVR, were anticipation-of-my-Christmas-bonus purchases. Now I felt more than a little guilty for maxing out my credit cards.

      I’d feel like a better friend if I could contribute financially to freeing Jane. I wished I had more than eleven dollars and sixteen cents in my pitiful savings account. Hell, even selling everything I owned, I in all likelihood couldn’t help with the retainer a criminal attorney would demand. Mainly because I owned very little. I’m in debt up to my hairline. My car is leased, my condo is rented, and I basically live paycheck to paycheck.

      It was a depressing thought that a twenty-nine-year-old woman couldn’t splurge on a really good attorney when she needed one. Luckily I was distracted by a knock at the door. It was my neighbor Sam. I adore him and we have a lot in common. We’ve both spent our adult lives hunting for the perfect man.

      Sam’s

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