Free Defense for the Devil by Kate Wilhelm

case.”
    She finished with the boots and wriggled her toes; her feet were hot and sweaty, she thought with disgust.
    He had stopped moving at the tiny counter by the sink. “You think I’d reveal a confidence,” he said flatly.
    “No, I don’t. It’s just that you could be at risk.” She pulled off her socks. “I want to spare you any possible problem.”
    “Is a problem going to come up? Spousal protection. You mean one spouse can’t be forced to give evidence that might be incriminating to the other, don’t you? Are you involved in something that’s going to cause you trouble?”
    “There could be trouble down the road. Sometimes things that start very simply turn complicated. A pretty simple case just went postal.”
    He finished making the sandwich and put it down in front of her. “Wash your hands at the sink here and then tell me about it. And eat something first.”
    She ate first and then told him about it.
    He was silent a moment when she was done, then he asked, “Can I comment?”
    “Sure.”
    “She can’t collect from a dead man, and the bum’s dead, apparently. Why not hand the stuff over to the cops and let them deal with Trassi, get to the bottom of it?”
    “She has a child who wants to go to medical school,” Barbara said. “She’ll come out with a hundred-thousand-dollar-plus debt to pay back. That’s for openers. But worse, suppose the police come up with a different story. Mitch arrived and told her about the money, maybe showed it to her. She killed him and hid his body and called Ray for help. Or Ray killed him for a share of the money. I have to stall for now, until we know more about Mitch Arno’s death.”
    “Barbara,” John said thoughtfully, “granted that you like Maggie Folsum, but has it occurred to you that maybe she hasn’t told the entire truth?”
    “It’s always a possibility that a client’s been lying. They often do. But let’s drop it now. I’m so sticky and stinky, I can’t stand myself a minute longer. I have to have a shower.”
    It did not surprise her at all when he joined her beneath the spray a few minutes later.
     
    Frank’s dinner was mainly garden vegetables, all crisp and tender and brightly colored, done to perfection in a way that Barbara decided could only be magic. His halibut was moist and flaky, with a luscious lemon-and-garlic sauce. Her salmon had been tough and dry; she had forgotten to set a timer. She had told him when he admitted her and John that Bailey might join them for dessert. He had raised his eyebrows. “Always plenty.”
    Then, at the dining room table, he began to talk about Sylvia Fenton. “You know who Joe Fenton is, don’t you? The jewelry store owner?” Barbara nodded. “Yes, well this started back, oh, thirty or thirty-five years ago, when this rich bachelor was on a jewelry-buying trip to New York. Can’t say he was handsome, he never would have won a beauty contest, but he was rich and eligible. Every gal in the county was after him. Anyway, he was in New York and someone took him to an off-Broadway show, and he saw Sylvia. She was a bit player, did character roles—the Irish waif, the saucy French maid, tough honky-tonk dancer. You know what I mean. But something hit Joe hard that night. He came home with a bride.”
    He was grinning. He helped Barbara to another serving of spinach salad with feta cheese, talking all the while.
    “Well, Joe’s mother tried to have a heart attack, and his father threatened to disinherit him. But a funny thing happened. In just a couple of months the mother-in-law was Sylvia’s champion; she took her everywhere and introduced her as ‘my daughter.’ And the father-in-law began talking about doing it right, a real wedding with no expense spared. Joe was the happiest man in the county. She has a way, that Sylvia.” Frank looked at John then. “Now, I know a few things about folks around here. Barbara knows more, I’m sure. Bailey knows just about everything. And