Wish’s back straightened. He took hold of his lip with his fingers and started worrying it, a habit he shared with his mother, and she saw with joy that the law-enforcement student had come to the foreground.

“That’s suspicious,” he said. “Paul doesn’t believe it, does he?”

“He’s getting the autopsy report right now,” Nina told him. “He believes someone may have incapacitated her before turning on the heat.”

“Somebody killed a woman who fed hungry cats,” Wish said. “I don’t know what to think.”

“I went to a block party on Danny’s street. The neighbors talked about her report.”

“One of the neighbors. Who, Nina? Someone strong who smelled burnt. That doesn’t help. Something sharp digging into my back.”

“Like what?” Nina said, latching on to a new thought. “Where on your back?”

Wish rubbed his hand on the small of his back. “I don’t know what. How many people on that street with strong arms?”

“Four. Danny’s uncle, Ben-”

“He’s got no reason. He’s cool.”

“David Cowan.”

“Danny’s neighbor on the left. He paid Danny to do odd jobs for him, but he didn’t treat Danny very well.”

“I doubt anyone likes Mr. Cowan much,” Nina said.

“What motive would he have?”

“He’s odd. I don’t understand him.”

“Danny had a thing with his wife. Mr. Cowan knew about it, but he never said a word.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Who else?”

“Ted Ballard. The Ballards live three doors down on the Rosie’s Bridge side. They ride bikes, hike, go kayaking. They both make a lot of money, I think. Right now, they’re building a new house on Robles Ridge, not far from the fire locations.”

“Burn it down for insurance?” Wish said.

“The construction is still at the framing stage. But Paul is looking into their finances.”

“I can’t see why he’d set fires.”

“Another possibility is Darryl Eubanks, Danny’s neighbor on the Rosie’s Bridge side.” The clerk came in and Nina realized they were running out of time. “He’s a volunteer firefighter. Did Danny ever talk about him?”

Wish shook his head.

“Wish, there’s another possibility. Remember the driver of the car the Cat Lady saw? The one who dropped off somebody on Siesta Court?”

“You got a line on him?” Wish said, hope in every bone.

“Ever heard Danny talk about a man named Coyote?”

“Sure!”

“I met him. He drives a minivan like the one Ruth Frost described. Danny had to get his tip from somewhere. Who else did he see regularly?”

“That’s a very good line of thought, Nina. Coyote-they were drinking buddies.”

“All rise,” the bailiff said. Wish got up with some difficulty. Nina saw with anger that he was shackled.

He whispered amid the general shuffle, “I almost forgot. Tell Paul I left his bank statements in the file marked ‘Dough,’ like he said.”

“Dough?”

Wish nodded. “Tell him to eat the cottage cheese I left in the office fridge before the expiration date.”

Nina walked swiftly to the attorney’s section and sat down with her briefcase in her lap. Wish didn’t seem to think anyone on Siesta Court had done it. And she hadn’t even had time to ask him about Sam Puglia.

This time she had to sit through an hour of other cases. Jaime and Judge Salas processed them efficiently, but there were thirty or forty of them. Resigning herself to a long wait, she observed the process. Just like old times, the first break came up at 10:15. Maintenance had left the heaters on and the courtroom felt like the Sahara on this June morning, the first record-breaking day of another California summer. If they were lucky, later the usual foggy breeze would snake its way up the river from the Pacific, but right now the lawyers sweated in their jackets and the clerk whispered urgently into the phone trying to get them some relief.

Outside Courtroom Number Three of the old Salinas Courthouse, the town had come to life after the weekend. A few blocks away at the Steinbeck Center, the staff would be holding a meeting to figure out a way to dredge up more money. Closer by, red beans would be frying in steaming metal skillets at Rosita’s. Young mothers pushed their strollers toward the thrift stores on Main. The Hartnell College students hurried to class. All around the town the early-summer lettuce and strawberry pickers would be bending over in the fertile fields, faces covered to keep out the pesticides.

Fifteen miles west of Salinas, on the coast, weekday life would be picking up. Nina imagined the denizens of Carmel: rugged retiree ladies throwing sticks into the water for their purebred retrievers at Carmel Beach, athletic graybeards chatting with each other at the post office, the chic tourists unloading their hard-earned money. In Monterey, there would be lawyers and insurance types clicking their pens in preparation for another week of rooking people out of this and that; and in Pebble Beach, Japanese golfers already finishing their eighteen holes, looking forward to sipping mimosas at Club XIX.

Funny, Nina thought, two societies so close and so separate. She didn’t agree with the Cat Lady that there were only two classes, the exploiters and the exploitees, but the enormous difference in wealth did seem at the heart of the social schism.

Her mind returned to the Twelve Points. Who can say what is a successful life? Ruth Frost had expressed her opinions in the newspaper, no doubt influencing some people. She had saved the lives of some animals. She had been free and she had done some good. Nina wondered what would happen to the cats.

The bailiff called Number Thirty-Five on the docket, People v. Whitefeather, the big case for today, the homicide. As Wish was brought to the counsel table shuffling in his leg shackles, lurid with his shaved head and the orange jumpsuit that made the defendants resemble Halloween janitors, the reporters in the second row woke up.

Wish would not be going home today, not with bail set at a million five. Nina pulled out the chair for him and helped him sit down.

Judge Salas, like everybody else, observed them; he stared at Wish, the star today, if not the hero. Wish wasn’t a head-hanger; he paid attention, his eyes jumping back and forth.

Nina glanced down at the official charges Jaime had just handed her, conscious of the mundane sounds and sights of the courtroom around her, the bailiff lounging against the wall by the defendants in the jury box, the clerk shuffling her papers, somebody reading a newspaper in his lap in the back, the yellow light, the clock on the wall.

Salas read the charges out loud. Daniel Cervantes had died on or about June 9, a Tuesday.

“In the county of Monterey, California… How do you plead?”

How do you plead? Do you get down on your knees and beg?

They were standing. In the moment before Wish had his first chance to say a word, Nina and Wish looked at each other. Nina felt flustered, as if something had jerked in her reality, as if her mother had reached down from heaven to tap her on the shoulder. Wish, standing next to her with his forehead furrowed and his hands clenched together in front of him, gave Nina the same look her mother used to give her, the one that said, Nina-pinta, they won’t get us down. We can survive anything.

Not just his expression, but the way his eyebrows drew together, the way he put his chin up and firmed up his mouth, moved her. Nina thought with a pang, He trusts me completely. He thinks there’s no danger.

Passing her fingers lightly over her forehead, she pulled herself together.

“How do you plead?” Salas repeated.

Nina nudged Wish. “Not guilty.” His voice didn’t waver.

Nina couldn’t say a word about Ruth Frost. Now was not a time to raise a defense, unfortunately. The rest of the arraignment ritual commenced.

Jaime asked her again for a waiver of time, this time in front of Salas. He had been flabbergasted when Nina had explained several days before that she would not waive the ten-day rule. Wish had a right under the Penal Code to have a judge examine the charges in a court hearing, even in a murder case, within ten court days.