“No,” Cordelia said. “I don’t. It’s one of the reasons why I still love you. But I know you’re broke. I can’t use the car. You might as well have it. No ulterior motive, I promise you.”

Lindsay marveled that Cordelia still had the power to make her feel ashamed. “Okay. But please, just go.” She stood up and watched Cordelia cross the room, knowing that it would be the last time they shared the same space.

Cordelia turned in the doorway. “Thanks,” she said.

“Goodbye, Cordelia,” Lindsay said. She listened to the front door closing, then walked over to the window. From above, she watched the foreshortened figure emerge from the tenement block and hurry down toward the main thoroughfare. Discovering the truth about Cordelia was going to change her life in ways she couldn’t even imagine yet. Her trust in her own judgment was only the latest casualty of Cordelia’s monstrous course of action. To preserve Cordelia’s good name, Alison Maxwell had had to die and Jackie Mitchell’s life had been destroyed. But in spite of her “finely honed sense of justice,” Lindsay prayed that Cordelia would escape.

EPILOGUE

San Francisco, California, October 1990

Lindsay picked up her briefcase and slammed the car door shut. She collected a bundle of letters and a newspaper from the mailbox and sniffed the salty air appreciatively. She walked down the path to the house overlooking the beach, taking her time in the late afternoon sun.

She juggled her burdens till she had a free hand then let herself into the newly painted timber house. Kicking her shoes off, she headed for the long verandah that stretched the length of the house. There, she dropped everything on the table and went to the kitchen where she took a bottle of Stolichnaya out of the freezer and mixed herself a vodka and freshly squeezed orange juice. Then she returned to the balcony and opened her mail. A letter from her mother, a resistible invitation to join a book club, a note from a fellow faculty member inviting her and her partner to a barbecue brunch on Sunday.

Lindsay grinned happily. Just another day in paradise, she thought. It was the best thing she’d ever done, moving out here to California. Though it was early days, the job was everything it had promised and more. Teaching journalism at the local university was a dream compared with doing the real thing. And San Francisco was a peach of a place to live.

She ripped the wrapper open on her copy of the Sunday Times and settled back to enjoy her weekly taste of home. At the end of the news section, she refreshed her drink, then settled down with the arts pages. Her eye was instantly caught by a headline which read, “FROM SCANDAL TO BOOKER.”

Lindsay read on eagerly.