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laughter.
    Dixie couldn’t help grinning. Brenda had an infectious laugh, deep-throated and tobacco gruff.
    But Dixie’s comment hadn’t been funny enough to elicit the convulsive gales that followed. Brenda pounded the table, tears streaming down her cheeks. People turned to stare, sparking more laughter. Hysterical laughter. Brenda’s hair pulled out of its braid. Her skin flushed. With the Beach Boys singing “I Get Around” on the Wurlitzer, Dixie glared at the gawkers until they turned hastily back to their drinks.
    Finally, Brenda mopped her face with a wad of napkins, and her laughter subsided.
    “Maybe you’re right,” she gasped. “Maybe the world is sane and it’s only my viewpoint that’s skewed.”
    “That’s not exactly what I said,” Dixie argued.
    Brenda popped the lime wedge into her mouth and sucked, then took a long pull on the Corona. Finally, she seemed composed.
    “Cases pile up faster than we can clear them,” she grumbled. “No matter how many hours I grind away, the stack never gets smaller. The world isn’t going to change. As you say, I may as well put blinders on and save my own sanity.”
    A waitress plucked their empty beer bottles off the table. Brenda twirled her finger to signal another round. Glancing at her watch, Dixie was about to protest when a voice carried from across the room.
    “There she is! I knew that was her laugh.” Clarissa Thomas, the pale, determined witness from the Coombs trial, started weaving her way through the crowd, accompanied by Regan Salles and Julie Colby, the witness coordinator who’d comforted Regan in the courtroom.
    “A hairdresser, a DA liaison, and a socialite housewife,” Dixie mused. “What’s that old saying? ‘Adversity breeds strange bedfellows’?”
    Brenda peered at Dixie curiously. “I don’t find it so surprising they’d strike up a friendship. When men are the enemy, women have to stick together.”
    “A man is the enemy,” Dixie amended. “Lawrence Coombsis only one man.” She refused to lump all the males in the world into one big bad villain, and she had no desire to get into a pity party with these women over the verdict. Besides, it was time to call Belle Richards about the bodyguard job. Parker would be grumpy, hearing she was working again, but a deal was a deal. She’d lost the bet, including the coveted vacation at Belle’s Caribbean condo, which after the past weeks didn’t sound half as inviting as it usually did. She needed the job just to be busy at something useful.
    “Same time next Monday?” she asked Brenda, dropping bills on the table for the beer tab. “I reserved a court.”
    Brenda’s amber eyes showed a trace of sparkle. “By then, I’ll be over my anger, knee-deep in another case, your foot will be stronger, and you’ll beat my socks off.”
    “Yep. That’s what I’m counting on. I can carry my weight in class this week, too.” She and Brenda taught a self-defense class together, women on Saturdays, Ryan’s private school on Thursdays. In the past month, Dixie’s foot fracture had kept her from participating.
    As she stood to leave, the three women approached. Something in their attitude made Dixie linger. She was sure they hadn’t been in the bar when she and Brenda entered.
    “You said we’d put him away,” Clarissa challenged.
    She and Regan were both drinking wine, Julie a draft beer.
    “In prison for a very long time.” Regan’s voice carried a hint of panic. “A very long time, you said. But he walked right out of that court, free to come after us—”
    “Just as you told us the restraining order would keep him in line while he was out on bail,” Clarissa spat. “It didn’t!”
    “Sit down,” Dixie said firmly, offering her own chair and pulling up another one for Regan. They didn’t appear drunk, merely angry.
    Clarissa glared at her, but sat. Regan plopped down beside her. Looking uncomfortable, Julie set her beer mug on the table, tapped a thin cigarette