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executor of Mr. Jesso’s estate. That will be noted on my ruling. Mr. Nevitt, you are appointed co-executor. The court will be in contact with you with the appointment of the other co-executor.”
          She looked at her watch, then the bailiff. “Next on the docket.”
          We were dismissed.
          We turned to leave, and I caught a glimpse of a young blond man in a flashy green sharkskin suit staring at us.
          “I thought it went pretty well,” Amy said when we were back in the lobby.
          “It did, thanks to you,” I said. “You did a wonderful job.”
          She smiled, obviously pleased. “Don’t tell me that,” she warned. “I bill accordingly.” She patted me on the shoulder. “Just kidding.”
          “We’re not finished yet,” Julian said soberly. “This suit concerns me. We need to begin preparing for that as soon as possible.” He looked over at me. “I’ll have Amanda call both of you and schedule a time to begin. Is that okay?” We nodded. “See you both then.” He waved as he walked off.
          I thanked Amy again and headed out of the building to my car. The man in the sharkskin suit fell in step next to me. He looked over at me. “Mr. Seattle, can I talk to you for a minute?”
          I stopped, turned to face him. He was young, thin, not too tall. With hard black eyes, close-cropped blond hair, weak chin. The gaudy sharkskin suited him. The way he looked at me, I could tell the kid had an attitude. “This isn’t a very good time. What’s it about?”
          He grinned, revealing crooked, pointed teeth. “Joe Jesso’s stocks.”
          “What about them?”
          “It’d be better to talk in your office. More private, if you get my drift.”
          This guy gave me the creeps. “Call my office. We’ll schedule an appointment.”
          He sneered. “I don’t think so. I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon.” It wasn’t a statement. It was a threat.

Chapter 12

    The dreams came that night. At 3:10, I woke in a sweat, sheets tangled around me. Eddie rested his head on my hand and whimpered. He sensed it was bad.
          I’d been reliving my visit to the wrecked van in the police lot. There amidst all the other wrecked and impounded cars, a silver van with the front horribly caved in. Only shards of window glass remaining. The front passenger door cut away. The front seat stained with blood. On the floor by the brake pedal, one of Claire’s sandals. Across the seat, Michael’s backpack on the floor. Seeing the car, I’d realized the horror of their last moments.
          Eddie licked my hand. I let him for a moment, then rubbed his ears. I wondered if dogs dreamed. Was that why Eddie was always awake by the side of my bed?
          I untangled from the sheets, got up. I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face. I was a bundle of nerves. Something about that blond guy had frightened me. Eddie padded in after me, looked up, and yawned.
          “I agree,” I said to him. “It’s too early to be up.” I headed to the kitchen, raided the fridge for a glass of wine, took it to the library, read for half an hour.
          Eddie was snoring when I put the book down and went back to bed. I slept fitfully, finally waking for good at five-thirty. At seven, I called Dr. Swarthmore.
          “Matt,” she said when she came on the phone. “Good to hear from you although I didn’t expect it to be so soon.”
          “I didn’t either. But I had another dream last night.” As I recounted it for her, I heard her making notes.
          “Let’s talk about the good and bad,” she said when I finished. “This dream was farther along a time continuum than many of your other ones. I think that may be significant, an indication you’re in the final stages of the grieving process. I am concerned, however, that this dream came so close to your last one. You said