Oh, my folks would help me if I asked them for money. They live in Maryland, and all it would take would be a phone call. Every time I get an idea like that, I hate myself. And my father. He always told me I’d never make it through law school, that I didn’t have the brains or the personality. I went through law school on a trust fund my grandaddy set up for me. It ended when I graduated, and I made it through the bar exam on what little I’d been able to save the last year. As soon as I passed the bar, it was “my daughter the lawyer” and you’d think he’d been there with me all along making cheese sandwiches and fixing coffee while I stayed up all night studying.

I turned to face Harvey. “The end of the week. I promise.” I did not have a dime. If it cost a nickel to take a trip around the world, I couldn’t get to Pasadena.

Harvey sighed, stroking his gray beard, studying me while considering this extravagant pledge. “Friday, then,” he said finally as he closed the door behind himself.

I will say this for Harvey: he is no lech.

Two days later I was puzzling out a discovery motion on the abortion clinic case with a couple of Harvey’s books propped in front of me and a half order of rice noodles from Sam’s downstairs when there was a knock at the door. I bent under the desk to find my shoes. When I looked up, there was a good-looking brunette standing in the doorway.

“Whitney Logan?” she asked as I stumbled to my feet, turning my ankle slightly while shoving one foot into a shoe. “I thought you’d be a man.”

“Nope. Sorry.”

“I hope you’re not too busy.” Her voice rose, making it into a question. “I’m Monica Fullbright. I’m looking for a lawyer to help me with a little problem. A silly little thing.” She shrugged to show just how silly it was and came across the room with her hand outstretched.

Monica Fullbright’s hand was baby smooth and tapered with about thirty dollars of porcelain nails, which were painted an expensive, tasteful red. She was tall, slender and well dressed in a beige gabardine pantsuit and a silk designer scarf with a horsey motif knotted around her neck. It was hard to tell how old she was. Not more than forty. She had on a good-sized diamond ring but no wedding band. Whatever kind of problem she had certainly didn’t look as if it was causing her any harm.