"How could I forget?" She nudged me playfully and put her arm across my back. "You wouldn't let him eat hot peppers in the car."

"He shouldn't have taken extra food from the salad bar," I said, a tad defensively before I smiled faintly. "Until he did that, he was the most normal one there. Everyone else in the place acted like pigs. Putting up with those paper-thin steaks so they could devour the salad bar."

"Remember the woman who sliced a piece of cheese off the slab and ate it standing there?" she asked, wincing.

"The worst," I chimed in, "the absolute worst was that man eating corn on the coba""

"Oh, that beard drenched with butter," Destiny interrupted, nausea on her face. "Don't remind me."

"Why," I asked in a small, serious voice, "did everyone stare at David? A room full of the strangest people, and they had to judge him for a helmet his doctor ordered him to wear."

Destiny tightened her hold on me. After a long silence, I sniffled. "I don't hate him all the time."

"I know."

"Just some of the time."

"That's okay." She kissed my forehead. "He's not an easy person to love."

I sat up and peered at her. "Maybe it's not such a good idea for him to live with us."

"Maybe not," she said, unable to conceal her relief.

I lay back down and closed my eyes. "I know I can't heal him, but sometimes," I said, my voice barely audible, "I'm afraid I'll die trying to save him."

I slept fitfully that night, some of the time with Destiny in my bed, most of it awake on the living room couch. As the sun rose, I wondered how Destiny could sleep so deeply on her quarter of the bed, while I endlessly rotated in a space three times the size. I envied her the gift of an accurate clock and wondered when mine would right itself. When would I once again be alert during the day and tired at night?

I left Destiny a note thanking her for the night before and drove to the office, yawning all the way. I checked my jaw several times in the rearview mirror and ran my tongue over my bottom teeth. At the rate I was grinding and clenching, my fillings would be powder before the end of the case.

I stayed at the office only long enough to place a call to Fran Green.

After a few pleasantries, I zoomed to the point, "Hey, Fran, do you know anything about life insurance?"

"Just the basics. You planning on kicking the bucket?"

"Not any time soon, but something's come up with Lauren's case."

"What gives?"

"I think I know why she killed herself."

"For cash?"

"Exactly."

"Oldest reason in the book," she chuckled knowingly. "How much dough we talking about?"

"Four million dollars."

I heard a sharp intake of breath. "Whew, that's a lot of smackers. Who gets it all?"

"Her ex-lover Cecelia wasa" "

Fran interrupted with a sharp whistle. "Did have a thing going. Well, I'll be!"

"Not so fast. She won't get a cent. She's the administrator of a trusta""

"It all goes to some kooky charity, like research for frozen body parts."

"You should listen more and talk less, Fran," I chided. "If you'd let me finish my sentence, you would have heard the entire sum has been set aside for her five-year-old niece, Ashley."

"The one goes to the special school, right?"

"Yes, and you know why Lauren was so concerned about her future?"

"Sure, she loved the kid."

"She caused the brain damage, Fran."

"Get out!" she snorted. "You're putting me on, trying to one-up me for all the times I've strung you along with juicy information."

"I wish I were," I said earnestly, "but it's true. When Ashley was eight months old, Lauren shook her to quiet her."

"Deja voodoo." Fran coughed loudly. "Gimme a minute, Kris, I'm choking on coffee."

When she spoke again, her voice was raspy. "This is big! What's your source?"

"Cecelia told me. Lauren let it slip one night when she was drunk, too drunk to remember she told her."

"But if the brain damage was caused by shaking, how come she never got caught?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "That's some of what I want to ask Dr. Wendy, and I need to do it quickly before I break the news to Patrice."

"The sister doesn't know anything about the shaking business?"

"I don't think so." I looked at my watch. "Listen, I'm pressed for time. Can you help me by calling an insurance agent?"

"Case seems cut and dry. What's left to know?"

"I think this is why Lauren killed herself, but I'm not positive. For one thing, how do we know companies pay on suicides? Also, I'm curious to see if she really planned all this out and how she pulled it off. Four million is a lot of insurance for someone who made thirty thousand a year."

"Got yourself a point there. I'll call a gal I know, Mabel, runs her own agency. She's a straight arrow."

"Do it discreetly," I cautioned. "I don't want to do anything to jeopardize the claim. Do you think your friend can be trusted?"

"Heck yeah, she's an old flame. I'll stop by her shop and pick her brain."

"Ruth won't like that."

"Ruth won't find out," Fran said pointedly. "Tell me what you need."

As soon as Fran and I had concluded our business, I dashed off to Children First. There, I spent the morning with the kids. Erin and I worked on numbers, Ashley and I moved around colors and shapes, and Tyler and I rested on bean bag chairs.

At the end of the morning stint, I popped my head through Dr. Wendy's doorway. "Hi!"

Dr. Henderson looked up from a stack of paperwork. "Well, hello."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?"

"Of course, come right in. I must say, I didn't expect to see you again."

"Me neither," I said vaguely, unsure how to begin. I stood behind the wooden chair across from her desk and took a deep breath. "I didn't know who else to come to," I paused.

She arched both eyebrows.

I blurted out, "Can shaking a baby cause permanent brain damage?"

Suspicion replaced friendliness. "Without question."

"Even if it's only done once?"

"Certainly. It's quite common."

"You've heard about this kind of child abuse?"

She smiled grimly. "I'm the resident so-called 'expert.' I keep up on all the literature. The condition you describe is prominent enough to have its own name, shaken baby syndrome."

"Could the brain damage be similar to damage caused by meningitis?"

She looked at me sharply. "Possibly. However, before I continue with a lengthy medical dissertation, might I ask why this interests you?"

I didn't answer.

"Does this concern Ashley Elliott?"

I changed the subject. "I also stopped by to tell you Ashley has enough money for her Ideal Care Program."

"How, may I ask, did she come by this sudden wealth?"

"Lauren left her four million dollars worth of life insurance money in a trust."

Dr. W pursed her lips. "I see."

"Do you think that'll be enough?"

"More than. That would ensure opportunities beyond the wildest dreams that Lauren and I discusseda"" she stopped abruptly. "I have an uneasy feeling this revelation is related to your earlier questions. Is this true?"

I looked fixedly out the window behind her back.

"If you've implied what I think you have, you need to tell me."

"If I confide in you, will you promise not to tell anyone?"

Calm and detached, she answered, "Teachers and doctors are bound by law to report any incidents of suspected child abuse."

"You fall into that category?"

"If not by the strict letter of the law, most assuredly by my own code of ethics."

"You'd report what I told you, no matter what?"

"Absolutely."

"Even if the person who did it had died?"

She shuddered, then fell into a thoughtful silence. "That could make a difference, I suppose."

I dropped into the chair farthest from her desk. "Obviously, I need information, but not badly enough to betray a confidence. I need you to give me your word you won't say anything."

"My main concern is for the best interests of children, particularly if they're in our program. Will what you're about to reveal affect a child I know?"

"I can't see how it would at this point."

"All right," she said reluctantly. "Obviously, we're talking about Ashley Elliott and her aunt, Lauren Fairchild, am I correct?"

I hesitated before answering, "Yes."

"May I tape record our conversation?"

"I'd rather you didn't," I said crisply.

"I believe it's necessary."

"Why?"

"To avoid potential misunderstandings." She tapped her pencil on the arm of her chair. "I'm afraid I must insist on it."

I sighed. "Fine."

She pulled out a device the size of a credit card from a side drawer, turned it on, held it to her mouth and dictated the date and our names. She placed the recorder, like a barrier, between us.

"Very well. What have you discovered?"

"One night when Lauren was babysitting Ashley, I think she shook her."

"Ashley was what age?"

"Eight months."