"What am I going to do with you?" I was tempted to tell him, but swallowed some wine instead.

"So what do you know about him?"

"He is bad news, as simple as that. One of my guys defended him on an a.s.sault charge, and he got p.i.s.sed at the way the judge ruled and threatened to beat the dude up. Like I said, bad news. He hasn't threatened you, has he?" His forehead wrinkled with concern, which reminded me of Jamal and his need to protect me.

"No, not really What about Rebecca Donovan? Ever heard of her?"

"Is she related to Clayton Donovan?"

"I don't know."

"What does she look like?"

"I haven't seen her yet, but I think she's what some people might call 'ninety' "

Jake laughed. "'Hincty'? I haven't heard that one in a while, but I guess that's probably what some folks would call the honorable judge's wife. I don't know if that's what I'd call her, but Rebecca is the quintessential judge's wife in the 'here come da judge' tradition. She was, anyway. How is she involved in this?"

"I don't know yet. So they're divorced?"

"No, she's widowed. He died last August."

"Was he murdered?" The thought that Brent Liston could somehow be tied to the judge's demise crossed my mind.

"Judge Donovan? No. Died in bed, in a hospital. Walking pneumonia." Jake shuddered slightly, like a man reminded of his own mortality. "I argued a case before him on a Monday and was at his funeral a week later. Shook everybody up. Everybody."

"You liked him then."

Jake shrugged noncommittally 'As much as you can like somebody who was crazy as all h.e.l.l and just this side of shady. The judge pushed the limits. Took chances. Rode the wild side, as they say. Sky diving, Harley the whole bit. But he was always fair to me. A lot of the prosecutors used to say he ruled for the bad guys because he identified with them, but when he threw the book at somebody he threw it hard."

'And Rebecca was the lady who cleaned up his messes?"

Jake thought for a moment. "There really wasn't all that much to clean up. If the judge was anything, he was discreet. There was a lot of whispering about his carrying-on, but very little proof. Word was, he was a lady's man in spades, and he liked his women cut from the same cloth as him-a little crazy, a little shady with a touch of wild-ness. There was a young a.s.sistant DA who was carrying on with him for a while. But it didn't last long. He's the kind of man who plays at night, but always goes home to mama in the morning; he would never leave his wife. Rebecca Donovan was definitely the angel to his devil. So why are you so interested in the late Judge Donovan?"

"No reason."

"This isn't connected to Brent Liston, is it? He was one of those dudes who got the book tossed upside his head."

"What did he do to make the judge mad?"

"I don't know, but it must have been something bad. The brother had just done time for murdering a family member, and the judge sent him back on an a.s.sault charge for another few years. He just got out of prison a couple of months ago."

I filed that away for later reference.

"So you're not going to tell me why you're interested in Donovan?"

"I think I might have known him in high school," I said, connecting the Clayton Donovan that Jake just mentioned with the Clayton that Larry Walton said had been his friend. "He ran with Larry Walton, part of a trio of guys who were the hottest things around. At least in high school."

"So the name of Larry Walton comes back again. I'm not surprised Donovan was popular in high school. Some folks are born charismatic, and he was one of them."

"Have you ever heard of Annette Sampson? How about Aaron Dawson?"

Jake laughed. "Wow, baby! What are we playing here, twenty questions? Come on, Tarn, I don't know everybody in Newark. Most folks don't come anywhere near my radar. Is Annette Sampson married to Drew Sampson?"

"Yeah, I think she is," I said, remembering his name in Morgan's guest book.

"Now that that name, Drew Sampson, is familiar. So you're working on a new case?" He refilled my gla.s.s and then his own. 'And this case is paying well," he added. Jake worries about my finances almost as much as I do. name, Drew Sampson, is familiar. So you're working on a new case?" He refilled my gla.s.s and then his own. 'And this case is paying well," he added. Jake worries about my finances almost as much as I do.

"The client is deceased." I avoided his eyes.

"Deceased! I a.s.sume said client paid you before he died."

"More or less."

"More or less? Tamara, you've got to do better than that."

"I know," I said, like a recalcitrant child.

"Listen, I've recommended you to a guy I know, a very rich guy I might add, who is looking for somebody good to do some work for him. You ever heard of Francis B. Cosey?"

"Isn't he that big-time developer from Short Hills?"

"Yeah. He said you did some work for a friend of his, Sam Henderson, on a divorce case he was handling, and Henderson is still singing your praises. I told him I was certain you'd take the job. Hope you don't mind. Call him as soon as you can, and it's yours."

"So Cosey's getting a divorce?"

"No, corporate stuff, boring but it pays, and you won't have any losers like Brent Liston drifting into your life. But the case will take some time, and he'll need you a week from next Monday or the deal is no good. Are you going to be finished with this craziness by then?"

"Craziness?"

"If it involves Liston that's what it is. I a.s.sume you'll be ready by then, right?"

Jake is tender-hearted, but he's practical, and the look he gave me told me I would want want to be finished with whatever I was doing in a week and a half. I knew he was right. He knew and I knew I had to start packing away some serious money for college. Soon I would have to let Celia and her wayward son drop back into my past. to be finished with whatever I was doing in a week and a half. I knew he was right. He knew and I knew I had to start packing away some serious money for college. Soon I would have to let Celia and her wayward son drop back into my past.

"Yeah, I'll be finished one way or the other."

"You've got to be. Since you're obviously not doing whatever you're doing for the money, why is it so important?"

"Remember Celia Jones?"

He looked puzzled for a moment, then his eyes softened the way everyone's eventually did when her name came up. "From high school, yeah. She was younger than me, about your age, right? I remembered the name because I had an aunt named Celia, and I loved Celia Cruz. I read in the paper that she was killed."

"Murdered and so was her son, Cecil. He came to see me a couple of days before he died with a retainer to find his mother's killer."

"So I take it her son is your deceased client. I remember now. The kid was killed last week. He was around the same age as Jamal so it made an impression. Another bad day for our side." He shook his head, as he often did when remarking on "bad days" for his beloved city. "Listen, a cop I know is working on the kid's murder. Red. You might remember him as Griffin, from when Hakim was killed."

I did recall him and along with that memory came the sorrow that always comes when I remember the murder of Hakim, Jamal's best friend and half brother. Jake still bore a physical scar; Jamal and I carried ours in our hearts. Griffin remembered my brother Johnny and had gone out of his way to be helpful and kind to me and my son on that terrible day. As far as I was concerned, Griffin had a special pew in heaven. Jake wrote down Griffin's telephone number on the back of an envelope and gave it to me.

"He may be able to give you a sense of where the case for the son is going. Tell him I told you to call him, but he probably remembers you anyway. Hey, Tarn, be careful!"

His words of caution made me grin. "Hey, Jake, I'm always careful!"

That made him him grin, which I love to see because it lights up his whole face and when you see it, you know everything is going to be okay. And if it's not, he'll make it so. We sat there grinning at each other for a minute enjoying each other's company. Until the front doorbell rang and Jake answered it. Then the grin dropped off my face. My intuition told me who it was. I gulped down what remained of my wine; I'd need the fortification. grin, which I love to see because it lights up his whole face and when you see it, you know everything is going to be okay. And if it's not, he'll make it so. We sat there grinning at each other for a minute enjoying each other's company. Until the front doorbell rang and Jake answered it. Then the grin dropped off my face. My intuition told me who it was. I gulped down what remained of my wine; I'd need the fortification.

Ramona Covington swished into Jake's kitchen as if she belonged there. Although I didn't like to admit it, she was an undeniably attractive woman. Her short hair framed her pretty, square-jawed face in a style that said whoever wielded those scissors knew what he was doing. Her light-brown eyes were made up so flawlessly they looked natural, and her cherry red lips told me lipstick had just been applied. She was dressed casually, and her red cashmere sweat suit, if you could call it that, showed off the finer points of her well-toned body in s.e.xy detail. Obviously surprised at my presence, she tossed me a grimace that only a fool could mistake for a smile and turned to Jake.

"So where have you you been? I missed talking to you last night," she didn't so much say as purr as she settled into the chair next to him, crossing her legs seductively. I noticed with annoyance that there was nary a spot on her blindingly white sneakers. been? I missed talking to you last night," she didn't so much say as purr as she settled into the chair next to him, crossing her legs seductively. I noticed with annoyance that there was nary a spot on her blindingly white sneakers.

Jake looked mildly embarra.s.sed. I wasn't sure if it was because of what she said or my hearing it. 'At a game."

"Game?" she asked as if she'd never heard the word before.

"Basketball. I tookjamal, Tamara's son, to see the Nets. Big fun. Nets won."

Has he rhymed the words intentionally or did her presence have that effect on him?

"Oh, that's right, you mentioned it. So you're Jamal's mom." She turned to me with a phony smile.

And you're the hitch from h.e.l.l, I thought. I thought.

"Yes, we've met before," I mumbled, pulling my lips into what probably resembled a sneer.

"Oh, that's right! I remember now," she said, her condescending smile a.s.suring me how easily forgettable I was. "How nice to see you again."

There was no need to dignify that that remark with a response so we simply gazed at each other in awkward silence until Ramona turned her attention back to Jake, essentially sweeping me from the room with a toss of her head. There seemed to be no graceful way for me to enter their conversation, so I watched them without saying anything, desperately trying to figure out what this woman really meant to my friend. remark with a response so we simply gazed at each other in awkward silence until Ramona turned her attention back to Jake, essentially sweeping me from the room with a toss of her head. There seemed to be no graceful way for me to enter their conversation, so I watched them without saying anything, desperately trying to figure out what this woman really meant to my friend.

Ramona Covington had popped into Jake's life a couple of years ago. She was a hotshot young prosecutor who left Trenton for Newark because she'd heard that Newark was where the action was. They were both lawyers, so they had that in common, and Jake liked smarts and s.p.u.n.k in women, so I knew he admired her. He'd never actually said there was anything romantic between them, but I could feel the chemistry, and where there's smoke, fire usually smolders. There was smoke between me and Jake, too, but we've always smothered any flames. I suspected that he and Ramona were sleeping together, but I wasn't sure. I did know, however, that Jake Richards was and had always been a gentleman. There wasn't a cruel or arrogant bone in his body, and I knew he would be too polite to tell her to get lost. But I sensed he probably wouldn't want to. I was also sure that she was a woman who wouldn't take "no" lightly. She was the kind of person who always got what she wanted, be it a job, a prime piece of real estate, or somebody else's husband. Ramona Covington had the instincts of a predator, and Jake Richards was fair game for a woman who put relationships with men in the same category as hunting and fishing.

Jake loved his wife, Phyllis, and I'd seen him through many of her "spells" as he called them. There was always sorrow in his eyes when she was around, an edginess that shadowed whatever he did. He seemed relaxed this evening, so I knew Phyllis was in the "rest home" where she goes when she gets overwhelmed by things that most of us handle easily. Phyllis had always been a fragile woman who brought out the protector in her husband. I admired him for both his love for her and his loyalty.

Even if I could, I'd never try to step into her shoes. Although there have been times when Jake and I have nearly crossed the line that separates friendship from something else, one of us has always pulled back. We both know that if we took that step, it would be impossible to come back to what we have, and we both value our friendship. Neither of us wants to lose the relationship that nurtures both of us as well as Jamal and Jake's daughter. Jake and I are truly comfortable with each other, and that is no small thing to be with a man.

But much to my annoyance, I had to admit that I was jealous of Ramona and her relationship with Jake. She had a clear advantage over me because she didn't give a d.a.m.n about Phyllis and had no respect for Jake's marriage. She sensed his loneliness and swooped around him like a buzzard on the trail of a wounded animal. Ramona Covington was the kind of woman who couldn't be trusted with another woman's man. I knew that about her, and she knew I did. And she didn't like it. But most men do not want to hear your opinion about where they put their d.i.c.ks. In short, whatever relationship Jake had with the woman was none of my business, and he would probably tell me so if I said anything. Wiser to keep my mouth shut and gather the chips when they fell.

"Ma, when did you get here?" Jamal busted into the room and came to my rescue.

"I've been here a while."

"Hey, Ms. Covington, how are you doing?" He graced Ramona with one of his winning smiles.

So just how many times has he seen her here? I wondered. I wondered.

"Hi, Jamal. I heard the game was great," Ramona said with a 100-kilowatt grin. Add a few years and Jamal Jamal would be in her crosshairs. would be in her crosshairs.

"Yeah. They're probably going to make the finals."

For one terrible moment, I thought he might ask her to accompany him and Jake to the next game. "Ready to go, Mom?"

"Whenever you are, son."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you. I was supposed to go by Charlie's tonight to work on that science project. Can you drop me off on the way home?"

"Science project? When's it due?" Concern was in Jake's voice.

"Monday."

"Jamal!" Jake and I said in unison.

"Yeah, I'm going to spend the night. Got my toothbrush!" He pulled out one of the spare toothbrushes Jake kept in the house and waved it in front of us, trying to put us at ease.

Jake scowled. "Last minute don't get it, brother-man! You should have done that project instead of going to the game."

"We're going to work all night." Jamal pleaded for understanding.

Jake looked doubtful.

"Really!" Jamal added.

Jake glanced at me and rolled his eyes, which made me smile.

"Let's go. The sooner you get there the sooner you can get started," I said.

"Catch you later," Jamal said to Jake, giving him the half-hug that men give one another.

"You, too, man." Jake grinned to let him know that all was forgiven. "Check with you later on tonight, Tarn?"

I didn't answer for a moment. I could hear the affection and concern he had for me, and I knew that he probably had something he had to talk to me about; maybe Phyllis, maybe his daughter, maybe even the feelings he had-or didn't have-for Ramona Covington. But I was mad that she was there, and I didn't want him to know it.

'Actually I have plans for tonight," I said breezily, avoiding his eyes as Jamal and I left.

I'm not sure where that lie came from, probably the same place as the one I'd told Larry Walton. Fortunately for me, Jamal was so overwhelmed by the sight of our new car, he forgot to ask me what those plans were.

"Wow!" he said when I pointed out the new Jetta, dashing toward it like a kid heading for the tree on Christmas morning. 'And it's red, too! Ma, this is dope! This is dope!" I buzzed open the door for him and he jumped in, grinning so wide it made me chuckle. "Ma, wow. You really did it this time. You can even open it by remote. You really did it! I can't wait to drive this thing."

"You'll wait until you get your license."

"Soon, Ma, soon," he said, which made me sigh. One more thing to worry about: Jamal on the road. He patted the dashboard as if it were alive. "This is way better than the Demon."

"That wouldn't take much," I said, and we both laughed at the fond memory of our trusted old car.

"Open it up!"

"I'm not going to 'open it up' in the city. A ticket would be all I need."

"Let's go on the Parkway. If we have enough time. What time is your date?"

I didn't answer him. One bold-faced lie an hour was enough. I headed to the Parkway, shifting into fourth, then fifth, glancing in my rearview mirror to make sure I was clear of cops. It was fun chasing down the highway cheered on by my son as our car rang with his laughter. But my feelings were bittersweet because I knew how short the time left between us would be. After "opening it up" to Jamal's satisfaction, I dropped him off at his friend's house with a peck on his cheek and a quick scolding about the dangers of procrastination. I drove into my driveway, then sat there for a while, thinking about Jamal and how much I would miss him, about Jake and how I'd lied to him, and then, for some reason, about Larry Walton. I was smiling, though, as I got out of my car and headed into my house. I had a new car, a great kid, and, courtesy of a good friend, a job that would pay me good money in a week and a half. I had seen better days in my life, but I sure had seen worse.

My self-satisfied grin was still on my face as I turned the lock and came into my kitchen. Then I stopped short; something was wrong. Someone had been in my house. Small things were out of place: The chair that leans against the wall had been turned to the right. The blue gla.s.s jars that hold my sugar and flour were pushed away from the wall. The tablecloth was askew, the window cracked, the doormat pushed to the left.