She crosses to my desk and hands me a manila envelope. “I’m going to be asking the supervisors for a budget increase for my department at the next meeting. I need an assistant. I wanted you to be aware in case there’s anything you can do to help me.”

“Well … I’d like to help, but you know I have no vote on that board.”

“I know that.” Jewel looks over her shoulder as though someone might walk in at any moment. “But your opinion carries a lot of weight.”

“I’ll do what I can.” I shake the envelope. “Is this the budget?”

She smiles. “The budget’s in there. And if anyone asks later, that’s all you found. But you study the last few pages real close, all right? In fact, I think you ought to look at them now.”

Jewel is my favorite city employee, but right now I’m not sure I can focus on any routine matters. “Jewel—”

She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Read it, baby.”

Setting down my files, I open the folder and flip through what looks like the usual appeal for assistance from a bureaucratic department. As I reach the end, though, the typeface changes, becoming much smaller, and I see handwritten notes and diagrams—some of the human body. Flipping back one page, I read a boldface title: PRELIMINARY POSTMORTEM RESULTS: VIOLA REVELS TURNER. Michael Winters, M.D., F.C.A.P. I nearly swallow my Adam’s apple.

“More interesting than you thought?” Jewel asks with a sly look.

“I’ll definitely give your request my fullest attention.”

She lowers her voice to a whisper. “I’ll give you the short version now. Miss Viola died from an overdose of adrenaline.”

“Was it an amount that might be reasonably given in a code-blue situation?”

Jewel shakes her head. “Massive overdose. If it was administered by a health-care professional, it almost had to be intentional, unless they picked up the wrong-dilution syringe by mistake. If it was a layman … who knows? I can imagine a lot of different scenarios, but none of them look particularly good for Dr. Cage.”

“Does Shad have a copy of this yet?”

“As of about ten minutes ago.”

So you were Shad’s appointment. I sag onto my desk. Despite the help that so many people seem prepared to offer, and their faith in my father’s good character, I have a sense that, like the Titanic, we’re on a stately but unalterable course toward disaster. Somewhere in the darkness ahead lies a submerged berg that will tear a hole beneath the waterline of all our hopes.

“Hey,” Jewel says gently, coming forward. “You don’t look good.”

“It’s been a truly crappy day.”

She gives me hard-earned smile of empathy. “I’ve seen a few myself.”

“Any advice for getting through them?”