Legal Tender

“But you need therapy-”

“You want to shock me, too? Like your mother?”

It stung. I didn’t know what to say. A lump formed in my throat.

“Shit.” He rubbed his forehead irritably. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

You want to shock me, too?I couldn’t get past the phrase. It had a hangtime of its own and it lingered, suspended in the air between us. It was true. I had shocked my mother. Pushed a giantRESET button on her brain. Rebooted her. How was she? We lived not ten minutes from here. Did I dare go over in the daylight?

“Be

“I’ll be back,” I told him.

“Be

“You and the cat need food. Wait here and don’t answer the phone.”

“I didn’t mean it.” He got up unsteadily and almost stumbled following me to the door. “Be

“Take care of the cat,” I said and closed the door behind me.

Outside the building, I fumbled for my sunglasses in the bright sun. I felt nervous, exposed. Too many people around Rittenhouse Square. A ru

“Watch it, buddy!” the doorman shouted. “You all right, Miss?” He rushed over, an older man in a maroon cap and a jacket with epaulets.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?” His watery eyes looked concerned. “I thought he bumped you. Did he bump you?”

“I’m fine.”

“They’re not allowed to do that, cut under the awning. This is Manchester property, not public property. It’s private, not public, you know what I mean?”

“Yes. Thanks, but I have to go.”

“They’re ru

But I was gone, eyes sca

I headed down a su

Only one block to go, but I was already warm in my wrinkly suit. My eyes shifted left and right behind my sunglasses, checking the parked cars on either side of the street. No Crown Vic, but when I turned the corner there was a squad car sitting there.

Christ. I sucked wind. A white police cruiser, with the turquoise and gold stripe of the Philadelphia police. The engine was ru

I hustled past the supermarket, skipping the errand. Instinct told me to run, to hide. I picked up the pace and rounded the corner, getting off Spruce Street and out of the cruiser’s line of vision. I started a light run, fake-glancing at my watch. I was a woman, in a linen suit, in a hurry on a Sunday. Late for church? Late for brunch?

I jogged lightly, trying not to look too panic-stricken. I didn’t know where to go. I couldn’t return to Sam’s, too risky. I was too far from my mother’s house, even if I could go there. I had nowhere to go. I was ru

Ahead of me, a few blocks down the street stood the Silver Bullet. A gleaming spire. Grun. Why not? It was as good a place as any, and I was still Linda Frost. A New York lawyer working on a Sunday? It was a natural.

I kept the pace up, passed the shoppers and tourists, and headed for the building. I was sweating, but not puffing too badly. Thank God for the stadium steps and the rowing. Thank God I was still free. Come to think of it, maybe I did believe in God. I slowed to a lawyerly cadence and pushed through the revolving door to the Grun building, where I suddenly lost my religion.

At the desk, talking to the security guard, were two uniformed cops.

29

I couldn’t turn around and leave. I couldn’t run. For a split second, I didn’t know how to react. Then I did.

In character. I approached the front desk with an authoritative air. I was Linda Frost, New Yorker. A top-tier lawyer in a one-horse town. I hadn’t had a decent tiramisu in weeks; I couldn’t find an Ethiopian restaurant to save my life. I pushed my sunglasses up with a stiff index finger and reached for the sign-in notebook, ignoring everyone around me.

“His office is on the 35th floor?” one of the cops was saying to the security guard, Will, whom I’d met the first day.

“That’s what it says on the directory,” Will said, checking behind him. “Mr. Sam Freminet. He’s at Grun, he’s a partner there. I see him most mornings. He’s always in early.”

Sam. They were looking for Sam. My heart began to thud inside my chest, but I wrote my name in the book as coolly as possible.

“Maybe Miss Frost could take you up there,” Will said to the cops. “You need a security card to get through the gate, but she’s a lawyer at Grun, too.”

What?I swallowed hard but kept writing, oblivious to all needs but my own. A bona fide New Yorker.

“Miss?” asked the cop. “Miss?”

I looked up. I had to. “Yes.”

“Would you mind taking us upstairs, Miss?” The cop was about forty, with light blue eyes, furry blond eyebrows, and a brushy blond mustache. A certified hunk, but he wasn’t my type. I sued his type.

“It’s police business,” added the other cop, tall, thin, and black. They both wore chrome badges and nametags, but I was too scared to read them.

“We’d appreciate it,” said the blonde, expectantly.

Gulp. “I’ll take you up.” I turned on my heels like an automaton and led the police to the elevator bank. I fought to control my panic. My throat tightened. I wanted to run, but instead I pushed the elevator button and reminded myself I was not guilty of a triple murder, but was going to work to pad some pretrial time.

“Shame you have to work on such a nice Sunday,” the blond cop said. He slipped his hat off with the cool of a major league pitcher.

“It can’t be helped. I have a trial to prepare for.”

I sca

I got in the elevator when it came, and they climbed in behind me, handcuffs jingling on their heavy leather belts. Each had a radio with a thick rubber ante

“We need to go to 35,” said the blond cop.

“Oh, sure.” I pressed the button, noticing with relief that my hand wasn’t shaking.

“Do you know Sam Freminet, Miss Frost?”

“No, I’m not from the Philadelphia office.” I kept my eyes glued to the glowing orange letters on the elevator cabin:3rd Floor. 4th Floor. It was sweltering in here, the air-conditioning must have been turned off for the weekend. “Is there some problem with Mr. Freminet, Officer?”

“Call me Bob. Bob Hall.”

“You were saying. Bob.”

“Right. We found his car, abandoned. Stripped clean as a wishbone.”