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me?”
    â€œThe doctor says you need to take it easy. I didn’t want to worry you.”
    â€œScrew the doctor! My grandson is under suspicion in a homicide and you didn’t want to worry me?” he demanded. “What’s the matter with you, woman? Are you nuts?”
    In that moment, Governor Marsha Longmire crashed to earth. She was an ordinary human being caught in the everyday turmoil of living in a blended family, loving her husband and wanting to protect him from his progeny’s folly. It was the old blood-and-water routine all over again, only this time Marsha was on the wrong side of the equation, the water side.
    â€œMs. Soames and Mr. Beaumont are just leaving,” Marsha said. “Once they’ve gone, I’ll be glad to tell you everything.”
    â€œNo,” the First Husband responded. “If this has something to do with Josh, you’ll tell me everything about it right now, all three of you.”
    Governor Longmire shook her head in frustration. She’d had every intention of smuggling Mel and me into the house and out of it again without raising any alarms as far as her ailing husband was concerned. That was why she had hustled us first into the study across from the front door and why she had then unceremoniously herded us on upstairs. We were unwelcome but necessary visitors, and she had wanted to steer us clear of the first floor as much as possible.
    Unfortunately for her, that plan had just come to grief.
    â€œAs you wish,” she said to her husband.
    She watched as Gerry Willis rolled his wheelchair away from the landing and through an arched doorway into what was evidently the mansion’s formal living room.
    With a resigned sigh, Marsha Longmire turned to us. “After you,” she said.

Chapter 6
    F or years, the Rainier Club was the last bastion of male privilege and exclusivity in downtown Seattle. It was built in that separate but equal era when “men were men.” For social interaction, women were expected to toddle off to the Women’s University Club, for example, and not make a fuss about it.
    All those male-only rules are changed now, and the Rainier Club’s lobby has changed, too. The living room in the governor’s mansion was reminiscent of all those bad old days, and it hadn’t changed a bit. It was fully stocked with reupholstered period furniture that was long on looks and short on comfort. I hoped that somewhere upstairs there was another living room with furniture that was actually comfortable.
    Unwilling to let the evidence boxes out of our direct control, Mel and I carried them into the living room. Gerry Willis rolled his chair to a place of prominence in front of an immense fireplace while the rest of us arranged ourselves around him as best we could. Mel and I sat side by side on a sofa that had been built without taking the vagaries of the human shape into consideration.
    â€œWell?” Gerry demanded abruptly. “What’s going on?”
    His barked question could have been answered by any of us, but Mel and I stayed quiet, leaving the field open for Marsha to respond.
    She did so, giving her husband an abbreviated version of Josh’s overnight adventures. She told about his being spotted making his rope-ladder exit and how, upon his return, she had confiscated his iPhone in punishment. She ended by relating her discovery of the appalling video and making the fateful call to Ross Connors.
    â€œI had to do that,” she said. “I couldn’t just ignore it.”
    â€œNo,” he said. “You couldn’t. Show me the film. I need to see it.”
    â€œGerry, it’s really rough. Are you sure?”
    â€œShow me,” he insisted.
    Glancing in Mel’s direction, Marsha nodded. Without a word, Mel donned a pair of gloves. Then she opened the box, retrieved the phone, turned it on, and held it up for Gerry Willis’s viewing pleasure while she played the vile