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A fter I picked up my new puppy and all of her gear, we headed for home. She didn't agree with the safety concept of traveling in her new zippered travel bag, so she worked the zipper open, climbed out, and crawled in my lap. I tried putting her back, but she wasn't having it. If matching stubborn personalities make for good owner-pet relations, we were in great shape already.

As I drove up to my house, Emily and the kids were in the front yard, splashing in the sprinkler. When I held up the puppy, everybody started shrieking and running toward me. I had no place to hide.

"Awww, she's adorable! Can I hold her? What's her name?" Joker was jumping up and down with excitement, arms stretched up for the dog. "We want a puppy, but Mommy says no until we're big enough to be responsible for the poopy and stuff."

Ricky didn't jump on me, being a very mature six-year-old, but I could tell it was killing him. "Miss December, that is a Chinese pug. They come from China, which is a country where they speak Chinese," he said, looking exactly like a miniature professor.

I grinned at Emily, who was jumping up and down as much as her daughter, both of them dripping wet and in matching pink swimsuits. On anybody else, it would have been too cutesy. On Emily, it worked, somehow.

"Oh, let me hold her, let me hold her!" she begged.

I handed the puppy, whose entire body was wiggling in a frenzy of excitement, to Emily, who promptly sat down in the grass with her and let the kids pet her. "What's her name, Miss December?" Ricky asked.

I sighed. "Maybe you can help me with that. So far, the nominations are Pugsley and Razor Fang, and I don't like either."

Emily laughed as the puppy climbed up her shirt, frantically licking any human body part that came within range. "She isn't really a Razor Fang type, if you ask me."

Glancing at my watch, I realized I had less than an hour until my meeting with Sarah at the marina. "Emily, I have a huge favor to ask . . .

F orty-five minutes later, a dry and dressed-up Emily and I were on our way to the marina, leaving my new puppy in the loving and slightly sticky hands of Ricky and Elisabeth. Rick senior had said he'd take them all to the pet store for more supplies, if I didn't mind, and I'd thanked him about a dozen times.

Emily leaned back against the seat and sighed as we drove off. "You have the life. Nobody climbing all over you, peace and quiet all the time, no need to play in the sprinkler ever, ever again."

"I was actually thinking that very thing about you," I said. "Wonderful husband, great kids, and, of course, the poker champion thing. No pressure to pay employees a salary, no humiliating yourself in court, and definitely no finding dead bodies."

"What?" She jerked her head around to stare at me. "Dead bodies? What?"

I filled her in on the previous day's events as she stared at me, eyes wide and mouth gaping open. "Wow. Are you okay? No, that's stupid. Of course you're not okay. I'm so sorry."

"No, I'm not really okay. I keep seeing that poor man, and the way his neck . . . well. Let's just say that I hope the visual goes away really soon."

She shook her head. "I'm thinking playing in the sprinkler isn't so bad after all."

"Plus, you love it. Anybody can be around you for five minutes and know you love being a mom."

She grinned. "It's true. The little heathens drive me nuts, but I love them desperately. Sometimes I long for a free evening, though."

"That's easy enough. I'd love to babysit once in a while. Sitting alone in that house drives me nuts. Just tell me what to do. They eat real food, right? Nobody is in diapers?"

"Um, yeah. Real food, and nobody in diapers. That's a lovely offer, and after you've been around them a few more times, we might just take you up on that. Rick and I haven't been out to eat at a restaurant that doesn't offer crayons with the menus in longer than I like to remember."

"No problem," I said. "I'm a trial lawyer. How hard can babysitting a couple of kids be?"

She burst into laughter. "Oh, honey. You are so going to eat those words."

As we pulled into the marina parking lot, still chuckling, I wondered how I'd ever figure out which boat (ship?) was Sarah's. They all looked the same to me, but of course, I knew nothing at all about boats or ships or sailing. Kind of ironic, considering my dad was in the Navy for twenty-two years, but there you have it.

They were beautiful and screamed money, money, lots of money. I hadn't even realized normal, non-celebrity types could own boats that big. I scanned them as we drove by and realized I didn't have to worry about finding Sarah's. It was a pretty safe bet that the enormous one in the third slip was hers. The name TORTFEASANCE was my first clue.

That a woman with the same face as Sarah's picture on the Greenberg Smithies website stood on the dock in front of it, checking her watch, was my second.

"Okay, like we talked about," I said to Emily as I pulled the car into a parking space. "Anything at all you pick up will be helpful. Anything. But she's a trial lawyer, too, and one of the best, from what I hear. So if you get nothing, don't worry about it."

Emily shrugged. "I'm not sure if I'll be any help at all. My expertise is in a card game, not in a courtroom." She looked at the marina. "Or on a yacht. Is that a Hatteras?"

It was my turn to shrug. "Not a clue. These boats are way out of my price range, as you can tell by the luxury automobile we're currently driving."

"Ah, yes. The luxury Pink Mobile."

We climbed out of the car and walked to meet Sarah, who'd walked toward the parking lot and stood staring at my car. Probably the first time a mere Honda had graced the hallowed parking lot of the Orange Grove marina. I threaded my way through the dozen European cars parked there, trying to pretend I hadn't just driven up in a car the color of esophagus.

She was a small woman, maybe five and a half feet tall, if that, and slender. She had carefully styled bottle-blonde hair, worn in the dreaded "lawyer bob" that my friends and I had made fun of throughout law school. Her casual clothes were effortlessly chic and obviously designer. The diamond on her wedding ring nearly blinded me. She looked more like the aging tennis-playing, country-club going wife of some corporate type than the brilliant trial lawyer she was reputed to be.

Of course, I'd been told I looked like an airheaded bimbo. Goes to show how much looks matter.

"Sarah! Sorry we're a few minutes late. This is my friend Emily. She is a huge yacht enthusiast, and since she and I had dinner plans this evening, I thought she'd get a kick out of seeing your boat. I hope you don't mind."

Sarah's eyes narrowed noticeably behind her designer Italian sunglasses, but she was too much of a political animal to insult Emily before she knew Emily's rating on the great food chain of life. In her St. John casual wear, Emily could have been a power player — or at least the wife of one.

"Of course not. I'm Sarah Greenberg of Greenberg and Smithies. And you are?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Emily Kingsley, Sarah Greenberg. I'm sure we'll all be great friends and having PJ parties in no time," I said, doing my "hearty good old girl" act. "So, the Tort feasance. Fun name. Should we hop aboard?"

Sarah's gaze burned into me, stopping just short of a full-out glare. The woman seemed not to like me. Go figure.

"Yes, right this way. I'll give you the ten-dollar tour, and we can have drinks on the deck." She motioned us to follow her across the little bridge to the boat, and I tried not to wonder about whether I'd get seasick while we were parked at the dock. Or anchored, or whatever the term was.

"Do you have any Dramamine?" I asked.

Sarah shot me a scornful glance. "I'm sure you'll be fine. I was planning a cruise around the harbor while we have our drinks, but if you're the type who gets sick, we'll stay here."

Ah, the familiar "mine is bigger than yours" tactic.

I smiled sweetly. "No, not at all. I'd love to go on a cruise."

Emily wandered over from where she'd been leaning on the rail. "Sure. Rick can do the kids' baths tonight."

"Oh, do you have children? What do you do, Emily?" Sarah morphed back into a polite hostess before my eyes. It was kind of scary to watch.

"Yes, I have two little monsters. I stay home with them, mostly," Emily replied, seemingly very relaxed. She didn't notice the undercurrents of tension at all, clearly. I was on my own. Sarah's act was too well-honed for a non-lawyer to pick up on.

"Oh, I'm sure they're lovely," Sarah cooed. "What does your husband do?"

"He's an accountant with a firm downtown."

I saw the computer behind Sarah's eyes process the information and adjust Emily's ranking on the importance-o-meter in less than half a second. "Right," she said, eyes almost visibly glazing over. "Karl? Would you be so kind as to do a quick run for us, so we can enjoy the sunset and our drinks?"

A man dressed in nautical white stepped forward from the shadows in the doorway. I hadn't even noticed him standing there, which was rather amazing, since he was enormous. One of those tributes to steroids, he was seriously top heavy, and his bald head gleamed in the light. I had no idea how he'd found a shirt with sleeves that fit over his biceps and tried not to stare at him. He did a little half-bow to Sarah. "Certainly, Miss Greenberg. Any particular destination?"

"Surprise me," she said, not even looking at him. But there was something between them – some little ripple of energy – and that tingly feeling in my head zinged. I studied him as he strode off, presumably for the steering wheel. Either he didn't like his boss one teensy bit, or he was sleeping with her.

Or both.

I glanced at Emily, but she was chatting with Sarah about the teakwood on the deck, blithely oblivious to any weird vibes. I was starting to seriously doubt her claims of reading tells on the poker circuit, but maybe that was a lot different from reading ordinary people.

Twenty minutes of small talk and a nice bottle of Shiraz later, we'd come far enough that I couldn't see the marina any more. Sarah stood up, and Karl walked through the door toward us. Sarah smiled at Emily. "Emily, December and I need to discuss some boring legal matters. I'm sure you'd rather have a nice tour of the boat than sit around and listen. Plus, of course, there is that pesky little confidentiality issue. Karl would love to take you on a tour, wouldn't you, Karl?"

Karl glowered at Sarah as if he'd rather tell her to go jump, but he mumbled his assent and Emily wandered off with him, still smiling and chatting. That woman could get along with King Kong.

It was a trait I envied. A lot.

We watched them go, and then Sarah refilled my glass.

"Trying to get me drunk and take advantage of my client?" I asked, only half joking.

She put the bottle on the table between us. "As I said on the phone, in the spirit of helping your client, I'd be delighted to help with your client's case. Mr. Seaver, was it? We'll let you do many of the secondary depositions in the case and we'll be content with a seventy-five percent split."

That made more sense than her first offer. "So Mr. Deaver is my client, but you'll help with all the heavy lifting, and I'll take twenty-five percent of the fee?"

She shook her head. "No, no. You'll take seventy-five, since you'll be doing the deps. Seriously, December, we're not trying to steal your client. We just want to help you out."

My suspicious nature zoomed into overdrive. "Sarah, I love that everybody in this town is trying to 'help me out' so much. It warms the cockles of my heart, whatever the heck cockles are. But it also makes my naturally cynical little self wonder why."

She rubbed her temples, as if I were giving her a big headache with my questions. Gee, I hoped so.

"Here's the deal. We both know you have no idea what you're doing. I don't want my insulin cases screwed up because some pissant little newbie sets bad precedent. I have every other reported case signed as clients, and we're going to move to consolidate in state court. Can't you put your own stupid pride and arrogance aside long enough to see what's best for your client?"

I hate to admit it, but I was nearly speechless. "You – I – wow. You are amazing. Despite that gracious and heartwarming speech, I think I'll keep my client. Let's go back to the marina now, please."

She leaned forward. "I heard you were even harassing my ad production company over some clerical error on an invoice. Consider this a friendly warning. Stay out of things that are none of your business."

I stood up. "I get that a lot lately. You haven't been making any threatening phone calls, have you? And, by the way, a man from your ad company died yesterday. He was murdered. That sounds like somebody else is doing some harassing."

She jumped out of her chair and stomped across the deck, only stopping when she was right up in my face. "Right. I heard about your drug cartel problems. And, trust me, if I threaten you, you'll know it. For example, we're pretty far out here. Did you notice?"

I glanced out at the water, almost involuntarily.

She lowered her voice. "If a person fell overboard this far out at sea, the body would probably never be found, don't you think?"

I shoved past her and tried not to let on that she was creeping me out with her lame B-movie threats. "Hilarious. Now take me back to the dock."

Before she could say anything else, Emily and the captain arrived and effectively ended the conversation. Sarah transformed again into a smiley, nice person and asked Karl to take us in, then she and Emily chatted on the return trip. I spent the time staring at the water, clutching the railing so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Not that I believed for an instant that Sarah would push me overboard.

It's just that I didn't exactly know how to swim.