Newsom’s thoughts were all over the map as she paced the sleazy room. How dare that bastard go off and leave me like this! How dare he! Well, he’d dared, because here she was in this puky room, with no vehicle at her disposal and the possibility of prison looming on the horizon.

Newsom’s pacing took her into the ratty bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror and cringed. She looked awful, and every single day of her over fifty years glared at her from the worn-looking mirror. Over fifteen years of my life I’ve given to that bastard, she thought, and he drives away and leaves me in this rat hole.

She leaned closer and rubbed her fingers over the mirror to see if the film would disappear. It didn’t. She should look better, but she didn’t. She wanted to cry, but she was too scared and angry.

Back in the bedroom, she rooted around in the huge Chanel bag for the throwaway, untraceable cell phone she’d bought six months ago. Somehow or other she’d managed to program the stupid thing, a feat in itself since she was not electronically inclined. The first call she made was to the Dawsons’ surrogate, Donna Davis. She crossed her fingers that the call would actually go through despite the bad weather. She almost fainted when she heard her client’s familiar voice. “No names, please.”

The voice came through as high and shrill. “I tried calling the office, but they said you were gone. Someone is watching me. Two men have been asking questions about me at the university and here in the apartment building. Someone knocks on my door on the hour. I was going to leave, but the weather is really bad. On top of that, my car won’t start. I spoke to Joan Olsen earlier this morning. I called from the school cafeteria. Is it the…you know who?”

Newsom sucked in her breath. Her worst nightmare was coming true. She tried to calm her voice, but she sounded jittery even to her own ears. She knew Donna Davis was picking up on it. “Right now I’m stuck in Delaware, with no car at my disposal. I’m trying to get back to the District, but that probably won’t happen till tomorrow morning. I want you to sit tight. Do not talk to anyone, and refer all queries to me. Where is—”

Anticipating the question, Donna Davis said, “Safe. Look, if I see a chance to get out of here, I’m gone. I’m not stupid. When I was a little kid and did something wrong and my father found out, he would say, ‘The jig’s up, girlie.’ Well, I’m telling you the same thing: The jig’s up, Ms. Lawyer. The handwriting is on the wall. Joan Olsen agrees with me.”