“What a day,” said Nina. “Not that you’d guess it in here.”

“High eighties?” Sandy said. “One of the last warm ones this year. Too nice to be inside.”

“That’s right. Let’s blow this joint. It’s four-fifteen and I can’t think anymore.”

“Not yet. You have a call on line two.” Sandy jiggled her eyebrows significantly.

“Who is it?”

“Lindy Markov’s secretary.”

“Do I know Lindy Markov?”

“If you don’t, you should. She wants to invite you to a party Mrs. Markov is giving this weekend.”

“What kind of party?”

“She does a lot of charity work and hosts a lot of community get-togethers. This particular shindig is a birthday party for her husband, Mike Markov.”

Nina closed the window, turning back to her desk. “Tell her I’m busy, Sandy. Give her my regrets.”

But Sandy, a Washoe Native American whose people had practiced stubborn resistance for hundreds of years, gave no sign that she had heard. “Lindy and Mike Markov are the biggest employers in Tahoe. They live up near Emerald Bay. This is a golden opportunity.”

“Why? I’m too broke to be an asset to any worthy causes.”

Sandy spoke again, her deep voice measured, reminding Nina of Henry Kissinger in his glory years pushing governments around. “And that’s exactly what you should be thinking about. We’re in business here. And we need more money coming in. You’ve been tapping into your personal account to pay the office rent, haven’t you?”

What could she say? The omnipotent Sandy knew all.

“Maybe they need a lawyer,” Sandy said.

“I don’t like going to things like that alone,” Nina said.

“Paul’s coming up this weekend. He called while you were in court this afternoon.”

“He’s back from Washington? I thought he was going to be gone longer. Anyway, what’s that got to do with…?”

Sandy shrugged. “I happened to mention the party. He’s up for it.”

“I see,” said Nina.

“He’ll pick you up on Friday at six. Don’t be late.”

“And if I still say no?”

Sandy heaved a fulsome sigh, her belt jingling slightly with the strain. “Then I’ll have to go for you. Someone has to network around here. If you want to pay the rent and the Whitaker bill and Lexis, the new computer, my raise…”

“Which raise would that be?”

“I’ll be needing a slight raise if I’m going to have to party for you.”

“Okay, Sandy. You win. Which line is she on?”

“No need for you to talk to her.” She turned to leave. “I’ll confirm that you’re on the list.”

“You already told her I was going?”

“I thought you might. After you had time to think about it.”

“Wait. Where is this party?”

“On the lake,” said Sandy. “They’re chartering the Dixie Queen. Taking off from the Ski Run Marina.”

Paul picked Nina up early that Friday, treating her to a hug that bordered on the obscene. “Three weeks,” he said. “God, how I’ve missed squeezing your cute little bum.” While the words were light, she felt his scrutiny. Three weeks was just long enough for them both to feel the distance.

A good eight inches over her five feet four, blond, and forty, with two licks of gray around his temples and two marriages behind him, Paul seemed to have been in her life forever. An ex-homicide detective, he had his own business as an investigator in Carmel. They worked together sometimes. They also slept together sometimes.

She was derailed by other men, sometimes. Just a few months before, she had engaged in an intense flirtation with Collier Hallowell, the associate DA she had always respected. That had ended when Collier’s personal hang-ups got in the way. So that left her and Paul, a lousy fit who grated on each other, sometimes.

But every once in a while, when they connected, they went deep down to a place that kept them coming back to each other.

As they drove to the marina, Paul quizzed her about her activities in the past few weeks. Nina talked about the house she and her son Bob had recently bought. “We’re making it homey,” she said. “It’s just that none of us knows exactly what that means. I stockpile paper in every corner. Hitchcock has taken up residence in the ski closet and spreads kibble all over the kitchen floor. Bob rides his skateboard through the downstairs.” When she turned the questions on Paul, he was uncharacteristically closemouthed. He couldn’t tell her much about the Washington, D.C., job, he claimed. And what was there to say about staying in a hotel?

Paul wasn’t teasing her. She sensed his preoccupation and wondered about it. Meanwhile, she could think of many things that might happen with him in a hotel and she spent at least part of the ride to the boat holding that thought, just enjoying his proximity and his big, comforting presence.

At the parking lot for the marina, not too far from Nina’s office, Paul pulled his Dodge Ram van in tight beside a creamy-white Jaguar.

“This is something,” Nina said, stepping down into a parking lot crammed full of gleaming metal. “Oh, boy. Look over there by the dock. It’s like a convention for chauffeurs. Maybe we should have rented a limo.”

“You look terrific in that slinky blue stuff,” Paul said, coming up beside her. He put a hand on her leg, squeezing gently to punctuate his point. “And if it makes you more comfortable, hell, I’ll be your chauffeur. Can’t do much about my chariot, but I’ve got a baseball cap in there somewhere. Anything to make you look less like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”

She shimmied a little, adjusting her panty hose. “You’re right, I’m nervous. I guess I’m just getting into the spirit of things, starting out with my foot in my mouth by insulting your car.”

“You’ve talked with people before. I’m sure I’ve seen you do that. What are you so worried about?”

“I’m intimidated,” she said honestly. “The Markovs are very wealthy. Their business is supposedly huge. They sell health aids of some kind. Mrs. Markov also raises money by the bucketful for the schools and recreation programs here.”

Paul took her hand and they walked toward the dock where a white stern-wheeler trimmed in blue rocked gently in the water. From the front of the boat, where Nina and Paul boarded, two black pipes tipped in gold, shaped like medieval crowns, framed a view of the rest of the boat. Silver lights of irregular lengths dangled like icicles from two of the boat’s three decks, and at the back an enormous paddle wheel, blades painted red, dripped water. On the bottom level, a wide swath of windows revealed a crowd of partyers already moving en masse to a tune Nina could not make out, bobbing between bunches of red helium balloons. The low bumping of bass traveled through the water to rumble up under their feet on the dock.

“Ever been on one of these before?” Paul asked her as they stepped onto the ramp that led to the lower deck of the boat.

“Once. I took a tour from Zephyr Cove with Bob when we first came here. He was only eleven. Very impressed by the glass bottom, even though there’s not all that much to see under the lake, just sand and the occasional beer bottle.”

“Did you say something about these people wanting to hire you?” he asked as they made their way to the exquisitely decorated party deck. “Because if they do, it looks like your ship has come in.”

“I have no idea why we’re here. It’s one of Sandy’s plots. Let’s just enjoy ourselves.”

They paused before going inside, taking a long look across the lake toward the teals and peaches just beginning to tinge the sky and water. “When I see the lake like this, so beautiful, I think about the Washoe people camping on these shores,” Nina said. “It wasn’t so long ago, only a hundred years or so.”

“I’m sure they’d love the hash we’ve made of the natural landscape.” Paul gestured toward the casino lights. They had begun to gleam in the fading light, under the evening glow of the mountains towering behind.