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blocks of time marked out for staff meetings, receptions, business trips, and chiropractor appointments going out several months, events Tracey would never attend. All those unmeetable obligations made Ruth sad.
    “What’s going on?” A large man barreled through the doorway, followed by concerned-looking Ellie Berger. He stopped two feet from Ruth.
    Ruth stood and extended her hand. “You must be Jack Holden.”
    He nodded, acknowledging he must be, but didn’t offer his own hand. “I’m afraid Mrs. Berger has made a mistake. Kevin, Jane, excuse us.” Ruth, Holden, and Moscone moved into the corridor.
    Ruth looked straight into Holden’s eyes. They were a most amazing blue. Meticulously dressed and groomed, he was a good-looking man, though overweight around the middle and currently flushed red in the face. “Mr. Holden,” she began, “as I told Mrs. Berger, I don’t believe Tracey Kendall’s death was an accident.”
    “I know my employees have an unnatural obsession with Mr. Pace and his role in Tracey’s accident,” Holden replied. “The staff is upset right now. So are the clients. In fact, I have nervous, unhappy clients arriving in fifteen minutes. A lot of thought has gone into what to say to them. If my clients find you here, they’ll get even more nervous and I may never be able to bring them around. So you have to go. Immediately. If you want to talk to me or anyone on my staff, make an appointment.”
    Ruth watched the man, considering what he’d said. In her years in command of the detective force, she’d learned to pick her fights. “Fine,” she answered, “that’s what we’ll do. Do you want to schedule a meeting now?”
    “Brenda will take care of it.” Holden’s tone softened. “Did you find Tracey’s briefcase and her laptop?” he asked. “They belong to this firm, so please don’t give them to Kendall. They’re not his property.”

C HAPTER F IVE
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    “Where to now, Chief?” Moscone asked when they were back in the car. “Headquarters?”
    Ruth didn’t want to go back to headquarters. She didn’t want to do any of the tasks that awaited her there, chief among them calling District Attorney Bob Baines. “Let’s go see how McGrath’s doing. Maybe we can dig him out for lunch.”
    When they pulled up in front of Al Pace’s garage, McGrath was visible through the windows at the office end of the stable, a hunched figure in a threadbare sports coat.
    “Find anything?” Ruth asked as she and Moscone crowded into the small space.
    “He overcharged for some used parts here and there,” McGrath grumbled.
    “Related to this case?”
    McGrath pointed to several piles of invoices stacked precariously by the desk chair. They looked like copies of the ones Ruth had found at the Kendall house. “I haven’t finished going through those yet.”
    “Anything else?” Ruth asked.
    “Like what?”
    “Motel receipts, restaurant tabs, florist bills, that sort of thing,” Moscone interjected.
    “Oh, please,” McGrath boomed. “If the Kendall woman and this guy were going at it, it’s a safe bet he wasn’t picking up the check.”
    “Quiet,” Ruth hissed. Karen Pace had silently materialized in the doorway. Her appearance was appalling. The heavy, dark circles under her eyes were a striking contrast to her pale, almost translucent skin. Ruth moved forward quickly and introduced herself.
    “Did you find something about Al?” Karen asked in her quiet voice.
    “No, Mrs. Pace,” Ruth answered. “We’re working on it.”
    “Oh. When I saw you, I just thought—”
    “I’m sorry, no. Soon, I hope.”
    “My boys keep asking.” Karen’s eyes clouded with tears. Damn it, Ruth thought, no matter what this investigation turned up, it would probably add to this woman’s pain. Karen Pace choked back a sob.
    “I’m starving,” McGrath announced, moving toward the door. Moscone followed. Ruth glowered at the two of them as they walked away.
    “Mrs. Pace,” Ruth put