Free Motion to Dismiss by Jonnie Jacobs Page A

tragic events that befall people every day.
    It was only when Nina called a little after noon that my stomach curdled.
    "Did you see this morning's Chronicle ?" she asked.
    "What about it?"
    "The story about the woman who fell off her deck."
    I knew then, before she said the name. "Deirdre Nichols?"
    "One of the other second-grade mothers called me. She was in the office when Deirdre's sister phoned to say Adrianna wouldn't be at school." Nina's voice was faint, as though she were talking through spun cotton. "Poor Adrianna. To wake up and find her mother gone. She must have been so frightened. And then to find her lying in the dirt, bloody and broken..."
    Nina's voice trailed off. I knew the specter of her own death and what that would mean for Emily weighed on Nina's mind, but that didn't fully account for the thin, quavery quality of her words.
    "What happened? Do you know any of the details?"
    "Only that Adrianna discovered the body. She was smart enough to call 911. God, the things we drill into our babies' heads." Nina paused for a breath. "I'm scared, Kali."
    "Scared? Why?"
    "After I heard, I called the police. Just to make sure." Another pause. "They've listed it as a suspicious death."
    The sour feeling in my stomach rose to my throat. "Did they say why?"
    "Only that they weren't ruling out foul play."

Chapter 11
    "I'm worried," Nina said after a moment. I could hear her breathing into the phone.
    I was worried too. Unless he had a rock-solid alibi, Grady Barrett would find himself the object of intense scrutiny -- both from the police and from the public. Not to mention the investment bankers.
    "Was Grady at home Saturday night?" I asked.
    "He's never home anymore." Nina's tone was clipped. It was hard to separate the pique from the worry.
    "Never?"
    "I mean, he comes home, but late. Often after I'm asleep. It's this stock offering," she added. "It has him going twenty different ways at once."
    "How about Saturday? Were you asleep when he got home?"
    "I didn't hear him come in, if that's what you mean."
    "What about Simon and Elsa?"
    "I don't know. Their rooms are in the guest house in back, so it would be unusual for them to have heard him." She paused. "Grady's been so, so ... I don't know, agitated lately. It worries me."
    "As you mentioned, this offering has been on his mind."
    There was a beat of silence. "Yeah, that's probably all it is."
    "Deirdre Nichols' death may yet be ruled accidental," I reminded her. " Suspicious is a catch-all term for anything that needs looking into."
    She sighed. "I realize that."
    "Or it may turn out that the police might have another suspect in mind."
    Nina wasn't reassured. "I hope to God," she said with quiet vehemence, "that Grady was meeting with someone that night. Someone who can vouch for him at the time of Deirdre's death."
    My thoughts, though less impassioned, were similar.
    After hanging up, I stepped to the front of the office and asked Rose, our all-purpose office hand, if she expected Marc to be calling in that afternoon.
    "Probably not," she answered. "I talked with him this morning. Why?"
    Deirdre's death was bound to put another hitch in the stock offering, among other things. I debated calling him, then decided to wait until I knew more. "Nothing important."
    "He should be home Wednesday evening," she said without taking her eyes off the computer screen. Rose has never met a task she doesn't like, and she handles them all with the methodical, stony-faced efficiency of an army nurse.
    Back in my office, which was still adorned with Nina's family photos and mementos, I sat for a good ten minutes, staring at the wall.
    Grady Barrett was a successful and respected businessman. A soccer dad, a park commission official, and a member, if not regular attendee, of the community church. He might have overstepped the bounds of morally decent behavior in his tryst with Deirdre Nichols, but that didn't make him a murderer. In fact, I reminded myself, murder wasn't even an