EVEN THOUGH IT was beyond happy hour, the bar was packed. ICE was one of those trendy restaurants with its walls and ceilings composed of lit-from-behind panels of pastel colors that changed hues over the course of an evening meal. The tint of the moment was aqua, giving the place the appearance of an igloo. The temperature inside sure could have used a little of the North Pole’s arctic blast. The day had been unseasonably hot and yucky. Even though Marge had dressed for the heat in beige linen pants and a white cotton blouse, she felt sticky, like her clothes had been taped to her body. Over the phone, Sela Graydon had said that she’d be wearing a gray suit, red blouse, and black pumps, so the woman was easy to spot.

The lawyer was draped by a mane of brown, wavy hair that fell to her shoulder blades. Her pose was head down, eyes staring at the bar top, with her chin in her hands. She was being chatted up by a thirty-something man with a gilding of blond stubble. Every so often, Sela would lift her head, make a swipe at her eyes with her fingertips, and then lower her head and continue to stare at nothing. Marge wriggled through the crowd and snagged the seat next to hers. “Sela Graydon?”

The woman glanced up at Marge’s face. “You’re the police?”

“Sergeant Marge Dunn. We spoke over the phone. Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”

Sela bit her lip but didn’t say anything. The blond man extended a hand to Marge. “Rick Briscoe. I work with Sela at Youngblood, Martin and Fitch.” Marge took his hand in the briefest of shakes. “I didn’t think she should be alone.”

“Nice of you.” To Sela, Marge said, “How about if we take a corner table. Little more private.”

Sela looked around. “They’re occupied.”

“My partner, Detective Oliver, is saving one for us.”

“Go ahead, Sela,” Rick told her. “I’ll wait here until you’re done. I’m working on the Claridge depositions anyway. Just give a holler if you need something.”

Sela nodded, slid off the stool, and stood up, her height being around five four. Marge brought the lawyer over to table where Oliver was nursing tonic water. He introduced himself and asked if she was hungry.

“No…” She sat down and tears leaked from her eyes. “I can’t think about food. Kathy called me, asking me to come over. I said of course, but I don’t know why. I’m still in shock. I’m sure I’m not going to be any help to her.”

“Kathy is Adrianna’s mother?” Oliver asked for confirmation.

“Yes, sorry. She’s almost like a second mother. It’s going to be so awful.”

“Sometimes the best thing to say is nothing,” Marge told her. “You spoke to Adrianna this morning.”