“To impress upon you the difficulty of our situation. Not just with Billy. With his father as well. Lawrence’s stunt with the reporter cost us enormous goodwill. He’s insisting Billy take a plea, which is a terrible mistake.” She shakes her head. “Lawrence told Mr. DeFiore, without my knowledge, to go ahead and make a deal. Thankfully, the lawyer called me. I am, after all, writing the checks. But he’s since threatened to drop the case. Despite my initial reservations, I believe Mr. DeFiore can move us in the right direction, and I’m worried Lawrence will jeopardize our relationship with him.”

“Lawrence went behind your back?” I correct myself. “Of course he did. I’m sorry, Eleanor. I’ll help any way I can, but I don’t know if I can change his mind.”

“Cassie, please.” She must read the fear in my face because she chuckles, though nothing is funny. “The trial is three months away. Nate, as you might imagine, is of limited use—”

“That’s not true, Eleanor. He’s working hard to help Billy. Plus, he agrees with you.”

“For the moment. But Nate would follow Lawrence into a fire. It’s only a matter of time before his father convinces him to change his mind. I’m exhausted trying to fight the man alone. If you’re there, he might behave.” She stops to shake out a napkin. “I’ll be honest with you, Cassandra,” she says, switching subjects. “I was worried when you decided to spend the summer here alone. With no classes, I feared you might get bored. But it turns out my concerns were unfounded—you have been keeping busy! You spoke to a detective, I hear. What’s his name? Gregory Haggerty?” She’s perfectly poised, her breathing is even, but her eyes are glassy, like stones.

Jesus. Haggerty. How does she know?

“I’m a wealthy woman,” she says, replying to a question I didn’t ask. “That’s what my money buys these days. Information. Cassie, your brother has been accused of a crime he did not commit. Do you honestly believe I would sit back and watch his life blow up?” She tilts her head, appraises me. “Sometimes I wonder. For a smart girl, you don’t always think.”

I sip my espresso; it’s the perfect temperature. I love strong, bitter coffee; I wish she’d brought something to go with it, a biscotti, maybe.

After a minute, the room gets too quiet.

“Do you have a question, Eleanor?”

“Did you speak to a detective named Gregory Haggerty?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you’ve been instructed not to speak to anyone without an attorney?”

“I thought I could help.”

“Because you worked so hard in law school? Because you know so much about legal strategy?” When Eleanor speaks, her lips don’t move, like a ventriloquist manipulating a dummy.