“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” A.J. said firmly, just as though she hadn’t been contemplating that very idea most of the afternoon. “It’s Jake’s case and you know how he felt the last time-”

Andy interrupted, “It’s Jake’s case? Jake arrested your mother? Your boyfriend arrested your-”

“Thanks, Andy, I already know that part, and don’t tell me Nick wouldn’t do the same to your mother if his bosses at the FBI gave the order.”

“Well, yeah, but Nick doesn’t like my mother.”

A.J. had no response to that. Andy’s mother was hard to like, although A.J. was sort of fond of her in spite of it all.

“It’s ridiculous,” Andy was protesting. “Ellie wouldn’t hurt a fly. So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I’ve hired a lawyer. Well, Mr. Meagher is hiring a top notch criminal attorney for me.”

“An attorney? You can’t let this go to trial. You can’t just sit there and let that bastard railroad Ellie!” Since Andy actually liked Jake, his choice of epithet indicated how worked up over this he was getting.

“I can’t do much about it at the moment.” A.J. explained about putting her back out, and Andy was appropriately sympathetic-and momentarily diverted. She took the opportunity to ask after his own health; Andy had been diagnosed with MS the previous summer. It had been a rocky time, but thanks in part to yoga he had found a delicate balance between fighting to stay as well as possible and learning to accept what couldn’t be cured.

“I’m holding my own,” he said a little grimly.

“How are things with Nick?”

His voice was relaxed as he answered. “The best. The best they’ve ever been. Although it turns out he does have this freaky and totally unnecessary maternal streak.”

A.J. chuckled. “I’m glad. I mean that things are good. You two deserve each other.”

“I’m sure that’s not entirely a compliment. So what about you and Jake? Has he popped the question yet? I mean, before all this happened. I assume you won’t marry him if he puts Elysia in prison.”

“No.” A.J. added quickly, “I mean no, he didn’t pop the question. Anyway it’s way too soon for that.”

“Not necessarily. Sometimes all it takes is one look.” Andy and Nick had fallen in love at first sight, but that was still a painful memory for A.J. Her silence must have reminded him of this, for Andy said awkwardly, “But I can see how suspecting your mum of murder might put a crimp in things.”

“A little. The scary thing is I’m sure they wouldn’t have arrested her so quickly if they didn’t have a mountain of evidence already.”

“Circumstantial,” Andy scoffed.

“I don’t know if it’s circumstantial or not. We haven’t heard what all the evidence is. The murder happened in her front yard. She admits she was paying this man blackmail money.”

“Yeah, but this is Elysia. That money was probably her equivalent of the normal person’s entertainment budget.”

“Ten thousand dollars?”

Even Andy didn’t have an answer for that one.

Unwillingly, A.J. admitted, “Even if I wanted to, I’m not exactly sure where to start, um, investigating.”

“Start with the victim,” Andy said with brisk confidence, just as though he’d been solving baffling mysteries for the last decade or so. “Start with Ellie’s Egyptian gigolo.”

The next morning Stella drove A.J. into the borough of Rutherford to receive cortisone shots. Had A.J. been feeling better she might have tried walking the thirty miles; it could hardly have wasted more time, because Stella, a nervous and unhappy chauffeur, drove as though she had a jar of unstable nitroglycerin bouncing around in the truck bed. If A.J. hadn’t traveled short distances with Stella before, she might have thought she was driving slowly out of consideration for A.J.’s bad back, but no such luck.

The slow drive prolonged the pain of sitting, which was, as much as A.J. hated to admit it, excruciating. But they arrived at long last at the clinic; A.J. changed into a hospital shift and lay very carefully down on the X-ray table, a small pillow under her stomach to curve her back. If this didn’t work, she was considering trying acupuncture or another alternative medicine.

Her lower back was swabbed and then numbed with a local anesthetic. Then the surgeon used fluoroscopy-a live X-ray-to guide the needle toward the epidural space. A.J. closed her eyes, tuning it out. At roughly six thousand dollars a pop, she sincerely hoped this would do her good. Sometimes it did, sometimes it didn’t.

Using the breathing techniques she practiced in yoga, she relaxed and tried to think positive, healing thoughts. She had been hoping that with yoga and proper exercise she might never have to go through this again.

After the epidural, she rested for twenty minutes and was then released.

Though not groggy exactly, A.J. had not slept the night before, and she was tired and emotionally drained-never mind the fact that her back was tender. She rested her head against the cab window as the truck crept toward home, Stella’s deep voice a comfortable white noise in the background of her thoughts.

Her cell rang. A.J. fumbled it out of her purse and received word from Mr. Meagher that Elysia was being released on bail within the hour.

Stella obligingly, if slowly, changed direction, and A.J. worked to contain her impatience as the pickup truck moseyed on down the highway back to Stillbrook.

When they arrived they found the small town in something resembling a state of siege.

Normally the town of Stillbrook was a quiet and quaint little place, a harmonious blend of historic homes and village industry. Victorian architecture housed bakeries, boutiques, and art galleries-not to mention families that had lived in Warren County since Colonial times. In the center of town was a scrupulously neat village green, which was dutifully decked out in appropriate holiday garb at every turn of the calendar page. Currently, giant colorful Easter eggs, slightly drooping pastel balloons, and wide ribbons in pink and yellow and blue competed with the natural beauty of the blooming flower beds.

Not that the milling sightseers were paying much attention to scenic beauty-natural or otherwise. News vans were parked around the green oval of the park and a small mob seemed to have gathered outside the brick police station.

“Maybe they’re planning to lynch her,” Stella muttered, not sounding particularly distressed at the idea. But as they drew nearer, they saw that the crowd appeared to be mostly made up of reporters and photographers.

“This is crazy,” A.J. muttered.

“Maybe so. It ought to make your ma’s day.” Stella searched for any space alongside the curb wide enough to wedge the truck into.

“But she hasn’t made a film in over twenty years,” A.J. protested, taking note of the national television logos on the long line of vans.

“Doesn’t matter. Easy Mason was big news once upon a time. Every naughty film and risqué photograph she ever posed for will be turning up.”

A.J. gulped. Not that Elysia had been a porn star, but she had certainly played more than her share of scantily clad ingénues and sirens, and the words sex kitten had been used more than occasionally in reference to her work. A.J. had outgrown her adolescent agony over her mother’s colorful career; in fact she was even proud of her in a conflicted way that she’d probably never admit, but the idea of all those photos of Elysia wearing hot pants, shoulder pads, teased hair-and little else-resurfacing gave her a definite qualm. No one enjoys thinking of her mother as a sex object.

Stella parked, reached under her seat, and dug out a battered-looking straw hat. “You better wear this, just in case someone recognizes you.”

Anything that ugly was more likely to draw attention than deflect it, but A.J. reached automatically for the hat. “Why would anyone care? It’s not like I’ve been in hiding for all these years.”