High Ridge House was deserted in the middle of the day. I left a note for Ruby, thanking her and apologizing for my abrupt departure and for my coolness the night before.

Then I gathered my belongings, tossed them into my Mazda, and drove off so fast the tires threw up a gravel spray.

Al the way home to Charlotte I stopped and started hard, screeching from lights then weaving from lane to lane once I reached the highway. For three hours I crawled up bumpers and rode the horn. I talked to myself, trying out words. Vile. Despicable. Vicious. Other drivers avoided my eyes and gave me lots of space.

I was irate and depressed at the same time. The injustice of an anonymous accusation. The helplessness. For a week I'd been working under brutal conditions, seeing, smeling, and feeling death. I'd dropped everything, devoted myself to the effort, then been dismissed like a servant suspected of stealing. No hearing. No opportunity for explanation. No thank-you. Pack and go.

Besides the professional humiliation, there was the personal letdown. Though we'd been friends for years, and Larke knew I was scrupulous about professional ethics, he hadn't defended me. Larke was not a cowardly man. I had expected more of him.

The wild driving served its purpose. By the outskirts of Charlotte my cascading fury had congealed into cold resolve. I'd done nothing inappropriate and I would clear my name. I would find out what this grievance was, quash it, and finish my work. And I would confront the accuser.

My empty town house destroyed that resolve. No one to greet me. No one to hold me and tel me I'd be fine. Ryan was quibbling with a distant Daniele, whoever she was.

Ryan had told me it was none of my business. Katy was with her friend, gender unspecified, and Birdie and Pete were far across town. I threw down my bags, flung myself on the sofa, and dissolved into tears.

Ten minutes later I lay quietly, chest heaving, feeling like a kid coming off a tantrum. I'd accomplished nothing and felt drained. Dragging myself to the bathroom, I blew my Ten minutes later I lay quietly, chest heaving, feeling like a kid coming off a tantrum. I'd accomplished nothing and felt drained. Dragging myself to the bathroom, I blew my nose, then checked my phone messages.

Zero to brighten my mood. A student. Salesmen. My sister, Harry, caling from Texas. A query from my friend Anne: Could we get together for lunch since she and Ted were leaving for London?

Great. They were probably dining at the Savoy as I erased her words. I decided to colect Birdie. At least he would purr in my lap.

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