No one did.

“You’re not taking this further, are you?” Winston asked as the rest of them stood up to say good-bye.

“No,” said Paul. “As far as I know, everyone’s satisfied this was an accidental death. Nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, yeah,” Winston said. “Uh-huh. It always starts so innocently, but later there’s running and screaming.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Sandy.

“It’s from a movie,” Winston said, “about monsters getting loose.”

30

Monday morning when Paul reached for Nina, he found only the indentation of her body beside him. He stretched, pulled on a pair of khaki shorts, and padded barefoot down to the kitchen, where she had left him a pot of coffee smoking and black with age. A note on the counter directed him to cereal and bananas, but he didn’t want to cook. After making himself a fresh pot of coffee, he took a steaming mug out onto the deck with the morning paper, settled in, and made himself at home among the pines in Nina’s backyard.

An hour later he was caffeine-boosted and ready to move. He packed up his things, throwing the comforter over Nina’s messy bed. Before leaving, he called his office, directory assistance, Sandy at Nina’s office, and a number down south, spending nearly an hour on the phone.

In the van, he paused for a moment to consider his options. Nina for lunch, that was a given.

He would be heading home tonight. A little Monday morning gambling? Too decadent. A run in the thin mountain air? It would be good for him, but… it would be more interesting to check on the silly little thing that was nagging at him.

From the bin between the two front seats, he removed a Lake Tahoe telephone directory he had permanently borrowed from a motel a couple of years before. Flipping to the county government offices pages, he browsed for El Dorado, finding the office he wanted on Johnson Boulevard.

He dialed a number, asking for directions and a fifteen minute appointment, which was, a little to his surprise, granted.

The medical examiner had his office in the same complex as the courthouse where he needed to meet Nina later. How convenient.

“Nice to have things quiet again,” said Sandy when Nina finally climbed down from the Annapurna of papers on her desk for a midmorning cup of coffee. “Everyone’s coming in late.” She stood in the doorway of Nina’s office, her own fresh coffee in hand.

“Everyone’s pooped,” said Nina. The last months had been hell. They deserved to sleep late. “Did I thank you for holding this place together while I was so swamped?”

“Yes, but feel free to thank me again.” The long line of Sandy’s lips extended slightly.

“And you’re due for a big bonus when my fee comes in.”

A quiver of her eyelid suggested that Sandy found this very exciting news. “Should we start looking for bigger offices?”

“No.”

“Why not? You’ll want to expand a little. Not enough to upset our little applecart here, of course, but a little. Since the trial ended, you look like a ghost rattling her chains. You need a project.”

“There’s always a letdown after a trial but I’m not sure expanding the business is what I should do.”

Sandy stared at her. “You have some other plan you forgot to mention?”

“Maybe I’ll take some time off. Maybe a year.”

Sandy sucked in her breath. “So it comes to this,” she said.

“Comes to what?”

“Money. That’s what it does… it gets inside people. They forget who they are.” She seemed to be recalling something unpleasant. “I should have known. Since the beginning of this case, you’ve been compromising like crazy.”

Right there was a reason to close up shop and move on: Sandy’s big nose. “Don’t be silly,” Nina said, trying to be patient. “The money only makes it possible for me to examine my options.”

“You would miss work.”

Nina could think of many good reasons not to work today, tomorrow, or ever again, but in the hard light of Sandy’s dark eyes they appeared rather insubstantial to her at the moment. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I just don’t want to make any sudden decisions.”

This time, Sandy studied her without anger. “Well,” she said finally, “if you’re looking to keep things small and invest your windfall temporarily, say the word. I’ve got this ex-brother-in-law with Charles Schwab…”

“When the money comes in, it will seem more real to me, Sandy. Until then, I’m just spinning spiderwebs.” She looked at the papers on her desk and thought, I can’t believe it really will come in. That’s the trouble.

“Something else is on your mind, isn’t it?” Sandy asked. “Is this about the juror that died?” She had an unerring ability to press on the sore spot, a talent she shared with Paul.

“No, there’s nothing else,” Nina lied. She rustled a few papers and took a final drink from her cup, setting it down on the desk ceremoniously. “I want to touch base with Lindy. We’ve hardly talked since the verdict. Try to reach her at her friend Alice’s or at her message number, okay?”

Sandy shrugged and went back to her desk.

Nina returned to her work in a state of emotional clutter. The weekend with Paul had been good, but things were never easy with him. He was so closely tied to her in every way, physically, emotionally, and even at work. She hoped he would forget about the juror. Wright was dead and the trial was over.

She hadn’t even had time to miss Bob, who had gone on a field trip financed by his grandpa to the East Coast on Sunday and would be visiting the Bureau of Engraving with his classmates sometime today. A cup of coffee gave her back the illusion of clear thinking, and she concentrated on some pending files that needed her attention. With Lake Tahoe spread-eagled out the window in front of her, she allowed herself five luxurious minutes to weave images in her mind of exotic lands and freedom from financial worry before she needed to pack her bag, resume her normal duties, and head back to the courthouse.

“You’re the fellow here about Wright,” said Dr. Clauson, studying Paul through Coke-bottle lenses. A skinny, balding man, he wore a wrinkled, short-sleeved shirt over trousers that were shiny at the knees.

Paul had never seen the medical examiner’s office before. In his mind, Doc Clauson forever loitered in the basement morgue at Placerville, where he had first seen him.

Clauson stepped behind a battle-scarred oak desk littered with gum wrappers, wadded-up bits of trash, and a hundred file folders. “Do I know you?”

“We’ve met. I work with Nina Reilly.”

“Her?” said Clauson, inserting a piece of Juicy Fruit into his mouth. “She gonna drag me into another mess? She send you?”

“I’m here to satisfy my own curiosity. Nothing to do with her.”

Clauson liked that answer, Paul could tell. Having survived a few run-ins with Nina himself, Paul could empathize.

“Well, it’s just a run-of-the-mill thing,” said Clauson, pulling a file out of a stack on the floor beside his desk.

He read for a moment, then scanned further as he spoke. “One of the bailiffs dialed nine-one-one. By the time the paramedics arrived, Wright had suffocated. They tried intravenous epinephrine, but it was too late.”

“Dr. Clauson,” Paul began.

“Call me Doc.”

“Okay, Doc. I’m curious about what it says on his death certificate.”

“Anaphylactic shock“-Clauson nodded-”with an immunologic component. That means as opposed to anaphylactoid shock related to nonspecific release of mediators.” He tipped back in his chair, as if relishing the chance to go over the case, and spoke in the choppy sentences Paul remembered. “Only the second case I’ve seen. First one was a woman; died from kissing a man who’d just polished off a bag of chocolate-covered peanut butter candies. Dead in a couple of minutes. Killed by a kiss. Sounds incredible, I know, but it happened.”