some ancient glass-front bookshelves. Four former justices glowered down on their modern counterparts from portraits on the walls. Chief Justice Forbes sat at the head Of the conference table with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up and his tie loosened. Alice Sherzer put down her coffee cup and briefs at her place on Forbes's right. Vincent Lefcourt, snowy-haired and dignified, sat on Forbes's left.
Robert Griffen pushed through the door and almost ran into Mary Kelly, who was working on her first cigarette of the conference.
"Sorry," Griffen apologized.
Kelly was wearing a loose, sleeveless, forest-green dress. She brushed her honey-colored hair off her forehead and gave Griffen a casual smile.
"No damage done," Kelly said. Then she noticed Griffen's face and her smile faded. Kelly touched Griffen lightly on his forearm. He stopped.
"What's wrong?" Kelly asked in a low voice.
Griffen shook his head. "It's nothing."
Kelly shifted so her back screened their conversation from the other justices.
"Tell me what happened," she demanded.
Griffen looked away. Kelly's grip tightened. When Griffen looked at her, his face reflected his confusion. He was about to reply when Arnold Pope entered the room.
"Your wife looked terrific, Bob," he said maliciously. "Too bad you had to miss her argument."
Griffen paled, and Kelly looked at Pope as if he was an insect she'd found in her salad. At that moment, Frank Arriaga rushed in. He held up a sack from the deli across the street.
"Sorry, guys. My clerk was late with my fuel. Did I miss anything?"
"Relax, Frank." Forbes smiled. Arriaga sat next to Vincent Lefcourt, who looked on with amusement as Arriaga pulled a huge glazed jelly doughnut out of his brown paper bag.
"We're all here, so let's get started," Justice Forbes said.
"We can talk later," Mary Kelly assured Griffen.
Forbes squared the stack of briefs in front of him.
"I was going to begin with you, Frank, but you've got that monstrosity stuffed in your mouth, so how about it, Vincent?
What's your take on the State ex rel. Franklin?"
Justice Sherzer needed a memo in the morning on a probate issue, but Tracy was so upset by what had happened in the library that she had trouble concentrating. At five o'clock, she decided to take a break and finish the memo after dinner.
Tracy's garden apartment was on the second floor of a two story complex half a mile from the court. She had been a top student in college and law school, but she would have failed housekeeping. The front door opened into a living room that had not been cleaned in a week.
Newspapers and mail were strewn across the sofa. Tracy rarely watched television, and her small black-and-white set was gathering dust in a corner. Tracy's rockclimbing equipment was well cared for, but it was piled high next to the television.
The apartment came furnished. The only marks Tracy had made on the personality of the place were several photographs detailing her athletic feats. One photo in the living room showed Tracy standing on a track in front of a grandstand with her hand gently touching the shoulder of a girl who was bent over from the waist. The two women were wearing Yale track uniforms. They had finished one-two in the 1,500 meters to clinch the Ivy League title and looked exhausted but triumphant.
Another photo showed Tracy climbing a snowcapped mountain. She was wearing a parka with the hood thrown back and was brandishing an ice ax over her head. A photo in the bedroom showed Tracy hanging upside down from a rockface on one of the more difficult ascents at Smith Rocks in eastern Oregon.
As soon as she arrived at her apartment, Tracy dumped her clothes on the bedroom floor and changed into her running gear.
Then she set off along a seven-mile loop she had mapped out when she moved to Salem.
As Tracy ran, she thought about the incident in the library.
She could not understand Laura's reaction. Laura disliked Justice Pope, so why would she protect him if
Robert Griffen pushed through the door and almost ran into Mary Kelly, who was working on her first cigarette of the conference.
"Sorry," Griffen apologized.
Kelly was wearing a loose, sleeveless, forest-green dress. She brushed her honey-colored hair off her forehead and gave Griffen a casual smile.
"No damage done," Kelly said. Then she noticed Griffen's face and her smile faded. Kelly touched Griffen lightly on his forearm. He stopped.
"What's wrong?" Kelly asked in a low voice.
Griffen shook his head. "It's nothing."
Kelly shifted so her back screened their conversation from the other justices.
"Tell me what happened," she demanded.
Griffen looked away. Kelly's grip tightened. When Griffen looked at her, his face reflected his confusion. He was about to reply when Arnold Pope entered the room.
"Your wife looked terrific, Bob," he said maliciously. "Too bad you had to miss her argument."
Griffen paled, and Kelly looked at Pope as if he was an insect she'd found in her salad. At that moment, Frank Arriaga rushed in. He held up a sack from the deli across the street.
"Sorry, guys. My clerk was late with my fuel. Did I miss anything?"
"Relax, Frank." Forbes smiled. Arriaga sat next to Vincent Lefcourt, who looked on with amusement as Arriaga pulled a huge glazed jelly doughnut out of his brown paper bag.
"We're all here, so let's get started," Justice Forbes said.
"We can talk later," Mary Kelly assured Griffen.
Forbes squared the stack of briefs in front of him.
"I was going to begin with you, Frank, but you've got that monstrosity stuffed in your mouth, so how about it, Vincent?
What's your take on the State ex rel. Franklin?"
Justice Sherzer needed a memo in the morning on a probate issue, but Tracy was so upset by what had happened in the library that she had trouble concentrating. At five o'clock, she decided to take a break and finish the memo after dinner.
Tracy's garden apartment was on the second floor of a two story complex half a mile from the court. She had been a top student in college and law school, but she would have failed housekeeping. The front door opened into a living room that had not been cleaned in a week.
Newspapers and mail were strewn across the sofa. Tracy rarely watched television, and her small black-and-white set was gathering dust in a corner. Tracy's rockclimbing equipment was well cared for, but it was piled high next to the television.
The apartment came furnished. The only marks Tracy had made on the personality of the place were several photographs detailing her athletic feats. One photo in the living room showed Tracy standing on a track in front of a grandstand with her hand gently touching the shoulder of a girl who was bent over from the waist. The two women were wearing Yale track uniforms. They had finished one-two in the 1,500 meters to clinch the Ivy League title and looked exhausted but triumphant.
Another photo showed Tracy climbing a snowcapped mountain. She was wearing a parka with the hood thrown back and was brandishing an ice ax over her head. A photo in the bedroom showed Tracy hanging upside down from a rockface on one of the more difficult ascents at Smith Rocks in eastern Oregon.
As soon as she arrived at her apartment, Tracy dumped her clothes on the bedroom floor and changed into her running gear.
Then she set off along a seven-mile loop she had mapped out when she moved to Salem.
As Tracy ran, she thought about the incident in the library.
She could not understand Laura's reaction. Laura disliked Justice Pope, so why would she protect him if
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