"How unfortunate!" Her brow pinched. "Shortly thereafter, I presume, she was diagnosed with spinal meningitis?"

I nodded.

"That explains quite a lot," she said primly.

"Such as?"

"Her unusual attachment to the child. I took it at face-value as being driven by love, but I must say, it always baffled me. Now I would have to say guilt was most likely the motivating factor," she said, unveiling a tight-lipped smile.

"In other words," I shifted in my seat, "if Lauren hadn't caused the brain damage, you don't think she would have been as devoted to Ashley?"

"Correct."

"That's bullshit! You obviously didn't know her at all."

Haughtily, she replied, "You have a right to your opinion, and I to mine."

I felt slapped by her scorn. In a cool, level tone, I defended a friend I had never met. "She was trying to calm her."

"No form of discipline, none whatsoever, is appropriate with an infant," she replied crossly. "Babies spend much of their awake time crying. One recent study found that normal six-week-old infants cried for approximately three hours a day. That said, no form of violence is acceptable as a means to solve a problem. None whatsoever!" Softening, she added. "Do you happen to know if Lauren was physically abused as a child?"

"Probably. Her mother beat her infant brother to death with an iron," I said sardonically.

Dr. Henderson's eyes widened. "Oh, my! That fits the profile."

"What profile?"

"Of an abuser. Abusive adults, such as Lauren, frequently have an unconscious desire for role reversal, wherein the adult expects the child to provide nurturing and protection. They may feel rejected by an infant whose social interaction consists of little more than distressing crying. Generally, injury is not the primary goal of abusive caregivers; rather, they simply want a submissive, subservient child. An infant who is temporarily dulled and drowsy as a result of shaking may seem desirable, and this outcome, regrettably, often reinforces the abusive behavior."

I gulped. "You're saying Lauren shook Ashley more than once?"

"Possibly."

"How come no one ever caught her?"

"With shaken baby syndrome, there are seldom external signs pointing to child abuse, which makes it difficult to diagnose."

"You mean it's possible to inflict permanent brain damage without leaving a trace?"

"Most assuredly. With this type of battering, often there are no cuts, bruises, or broken bones. While there is no direct trauma to the brain or any evidence of a fracture, the brain damage can be severe. I liken it to an extreme case of whiplash, in which all of the injury is internal. Young children are most vulnerable to this kind of abuse because they have relatively large heads, weak neck muscles, and soft brains."

"They can be hurt this badly?"

"The young ones, yes. This type of injury predominately is seen in children under the age of twelve months. Older children also may be affected, but their stronger neck muscles tend to modify the acceleration-deceleration forces that result in injury to the brain."

"When an infant is hurt, is it always for life, like with Ashley's disabilities?"

"Sadly, she may be one of the fortunate ones. The outcome could have been considerably worse. Of children who have been identified with shaken impact injury, approximately one-third die, one-third are disabled, and only one-third appear to develop normally. Among the children who die, most are admitted to hospitals in deep comas from which they never emerge."

"What would Ashley have been like after she was shaken?"

"Most likely she was vomiting and extremely sleepy. Possibly she also showed signs of pronounced irritability, rhythmic eye openings, involuntary motor movements. Bicycling movements of the legs and arms are common."

"These symptoms are similar to those of meningitis?"

She nodded once. "Nearly identical. Meningitis is a disease that affects the membranes covering the brain and spinal cord. As such, the most common results are fever, vomiting, loss of appetite, sleepiness, and sometimes seizures or uncontrollable jerking of the limbs."

"How depressing," I muttered, slouching in my chair.

"One aspect of this does strike me as peculiar. . . ." She paused, lost in thought. "There's one virtually fool-proof way to distinguish between shaken baby syndrome and meningitis."

I straightened with optimism. "Which is?"

"All across the country, they're alerting emergency room physicians to be on the lookout for retinal hemorrhages. It presents in almost every occurrence of shaken baby syndrome but rarely in cases of meningitis."

I slumped down again. Trying to keep the boredom out of my voice, I asked, "Meaning what?"

She shut off the tape recorder. "According to everything medical statistics demonstrate, if Ashley were a shaken baby, she would be blind."

"And she's not!" I gasped with joy.

22.

My jubilation evaporated as I drove down the street, considering Dr. Henderson's last words.

As the walls closed in, the good doctor had blabbered on about a journal article she wrote comparing learning delays in toddlers with shaken baby syndrome to those with bacterial meningitis.

She lectured me specifically about the distinct, unmistakable differences between the two diagnoses.

I valiantly tried to follow her long-winded explanation, but it wasn't easy. Some of her sentences began in one minute but didn't end until the next.

As clearly as I could gather, however, she said something about cultures from spinal taps. In the next breath, she claimed seizures would have started immediately with shaken baby syndrome, not the next day as they did in Ashley's case. She maintained associated physical findings in shaken baby syndrome typically included broken ribs or chest bruises in the shape of the shaker's thumbs. She informed me small veins crossing the infant's brain would have burst and begun to ooze blood. She swore blood would have shown up in a culture, and there would have been an investigation.

None of it made much sense to me, but I had to trust the doctor's arrogance.

Her succinct conclusion: Lauren didn't cause Ashley's condition.

Too bad she never told her that in their countless "Ideal Care" planning pow-wows.

Really, though, none of this new information made a damn bit of difference.

Not a shred of it changed the fact that Lauren was dead. That she'd shaken the niece she adored. That this woman who could never escape the pain caused by a murderous mother had killed herself because of an outcome she hadn't caused. That Ashley would grow up with plenty of financial resources but without an aunt.

I left without further comment and drove back to the office as quickly as I could legally.

As I sat behind my desk, my mood improved only slightly when I realized I should call Nicole and tell her the money she coveted went to Ashley, not Cecelia.

Paige, the philandering assistant, put my call through without delay.

"Nicole, this is Kristin Ashe."

"You have some nerve calling. What, pray tell, do you want now? Some measly question you need to have answered?"

I didn't rise to the bait. Instead, I said as casually as possible, "I called to tell you the money doesn't go to Cecelia. It goes into a trust for Ashley. I thought that might make you feel better."

"How much does she get?"

"All of it," I said calmly.

"I see." There was a long pause before she added, "I guess we can't call the precious child financially disadvantaged, now can we?"

Her mean spirit had worn me slick. "Can't you give it a rest, Nicole?"

"I rather doubt you'd be pleased if you found out your lover left a fortune to her niece and none to you," she retorted.

I felt anger welling up. "Maybe Lauren thought Ashley needed to be provided for, and you didn't."

"Well, she was wrong, and she deprived me of what's rightfully mine."

"You think the money belonged to you?" I said, incredulous.

"Of course I do! It wasn't easy being Lauren's lover, and it definitely hasn't been a picnic telling everyone she killed herself. They look at me like I did it. I must have driven her to it, as if it were my fault. Please! Anyone who knew Lauren knew she was sick way before I met her. One day she drives into the mountains and swallows a bunch of pills. End of story ... for her! But what about me? How am I supposed to explain all this to people? The least, the very least, she could have done was leave me some money. One of those policies would have been nice. It might have shown she cared."

"Even if you had the money, you wouldn't miss her less," I said, disgusted.

"That's what you think. What about my dreams? I'd feel a lot better right about now if I was living in Cherry Creek. I showed Lauren the house I wanted one time, on the corner of Fourth and Detroit. I toured it when it was for sale last year, even though it cost twice as much as we could afford. I went so far as to pick out furnishings for it. What about that dream?" she spat.

"Lauren probablya""

She cut me off. "I intend to find out what my legal rights are. I was prepared to take Cecelia to court. As it stands, I'll sue Ashley, if necessary."

"You can't be serious!" I said, astounded.

"I am."

"Maybe you should think it over for a few days, recover from the shock."

"I have no intention of wasting an hour, much less days."

My rancor rose to match hers. "I doubt you have any legal recourse, but even if there were a loophole, how could you possibly pursue it? These were Lauren's explicit wishes. She believed in them strongly enough to kill herself. She stopped living, for Christ's sake! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

For the first time, Nicole didn't have a pithy reply.

"So you want a new house, who doesn't? You've got your health, something Ashley's never had. She's facing a lifetime of horror, and your biggest concern is what kind of couch you're sitting on. Lauren didn't die for a goddamn piece of furniture, Nicole!"

The dialtone did nothing to dampen my fury.

"Try looking different. Try talking so slow people interrupt you or finish your sentences. Try having a head three sizes too big for your body. Try living with your hands shaking all the time. Try having everyone ignore you because they can't stand to look at you. Try that, you fucking bitch." I slammed down the receiver.

Minutes later, I heard a knock, and Fran entered before I could muster a response. I smiled faintly at the sight of her shirt, which proclaimed, "Guns don't kill. Postal workers do." She'd tucked it into skin-tight workout shorts but hadn't bothered to smooth down the unsightly bulges. She tossed her mirrored sunglasses and Broncos cap onto the edge of my desk, flipped her fanny pack around to her belly, and sunk into the couch.

"You okay, kiddo? You look a bit peaked."

"I'm fine," I said, despite my pounding heart.

"Things okay with you and Destiny? You and Ann? You and David?"

I nodded after each guess. "Nicole just hung up on me. She wanted some of those millions, even though I doubt she'd take the disabilities that went with them. I can't wait for this case to be over," I said, exhausted. "How's Mabel?"

"Pretty as ever. Funny, too. Asked if I could pick her brain, and she said 'Pick away. What's left is yours.' Isn't she a card?"

"A real comedian," I replied, not quite as amused. "I take it the attraction's still there."

"Heck, no! I ain't sweet on her, but I'll bet she wouldn't mind getting me between the sheets again."

"Again?"

"Never mind that. She's sharp as a tack, too. The convent was a waste of her talents. She's built an empire over there. Carries a briefcase, calls it her 'traveling profit center.' Clever, huh?"

I looked at her sharply. "Are you sure nothing's going on between you two?"

"Nothing but business," she said briskly, cheeks red. "She told me so much about insurance, my head's about to bust! Quite the strain on the brain, but found out some fascinating things. Like eighty percent of car fires are started by owners. Don't go getting any ideas about torching that heap you own, Kris. They'll catch you in a heartbeat."

"You should talk. You don't own a car, and Ruth's looks like it's already been roasted."

"Easy, touchy. Good news is, if they catch you, they won't press charges. They just return your premiums and don't pay your claim."

"They don't prosecute?"

"Cripes, no, that'd cost money. Even if they won, it wouldn't generate any bucks for the company, and that's all they care about. If I didn't have such high scruples, I could get into this fraud business. Telling you, it's money waiting to be printed," she said confidentially.

"Fine," I said impatiently, "did you and Mabel get around to talking about life insurance?"

"Oh, sure! I know loads. Fire at me."

"Let's start with how did Lauren buy so much insurance on her salary?"

"Cheaper than you might think. Term insurance costs about fifty bucks a month for five hundred thou in coverage."

I did the math. "She had eight separate policies, so she paid four hundred a month."

"Give or take. Could she have covered that?"