GLORIA IS SOBBING SOFTLY. I ROLL MY EYES BUT don't say anything. She sounds scared. For some inexplicable reason, I don't feel like rubbing it in. I toss the newspaper in the corner and lean against the counter. I'll give her a minute. Christ. I must be getting soft.

The minute passes. Gloria is still snuffling. Patience has its limits. I don't intend to spend my morning listening to her spit and sputter into a telephone receiver.

Against all better judgment, I ask, "Why did you want to see me?"

She sucks in a noisy breath. "You need to know what happened between Rory and me. It isn't what you think."

"Oh, no? Are you telling me you didn't have an affair with O'Sullivan?"

She hiccups. "Well, okay, it is what you think, but there were extenuating circumstances."

This is not getting us anywhere. "You know what? I don't care. You should be talking to a lawyer. Or a priest."

"I will talk to the lawyer. First I need to explain it to you. So you can explain it to David."

"Oh, no. I will not be a go-between. You made this mess, Gloria. You need to clean it up."

"I'll hire you."

"For what?"

"To find out who killed Rory." She lets a heartbeat go by before blurting, "You can do it. You know things. You have contacts. The police won't investigate the way you can. They have no reason to. They think I did it. Even Rory's wife thinks I did it." She laughs. No mirth in the sound, only bitterness. "She came to see me last night. All Rory's talk about an open marriage was evidently just that. Talk. As far as Mrs. O'Sullivan was concerned, Rory was an altar boy. She's going to do all she can to pin this on me. I need someone on my side."

Boy, she is desperate to think I'd be on her side. "So, let me get this straight, you want me to help David-"

"Not David," she interjects quickly. "You. David can't know what you're doing."

"And how do you think I can hide this from him? I see him every day, remember?"

Her voice drops. "I don't think you will."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"David is gone."

"Gone?"

She makes another gulping sound before exhaling in a noisy rush. "He left town."

"I thought you said you hadn't talked to him."

"I haven't. He went to police headquarters this morning and left a note for me with a cop he knows. He saw the newspaper. He believes the story. He thinks I called him yesterday because I knew what would happen when the story broke."

The realization makes my spine stiffen. "You did, didn't you? You wanted to make it look like you and David were still together. For the press. To refute the affair story."

She pauses. "Yes."

That admission is so unexpected, it catches me completely off guard. I don't know how to respond. This time the silence on the line is my doing, a result of my fevered brain trying to accept that Gloria is actually admitting she fucked up. A brand-new experience.

I feel my resolve start to soften. Not out of sympathy for Gloria, but for David. Poor shmuck. He's probably off somewhere nursing his wounds. First he thinks he has his girlfriend back, then he finds out she was using him to deflect suspicion if she found herself in this predicament.

Wait a minute.

Why would she think she needed suspicion deflected? Unless . . .

"I asked you this once before, Gloria. Now tell me again. Did you kill Rory?"

"Of course not."

No hesitation, no heated objection to my asking. An unequivocal denial. I release a breath. "Why drag David into it?"

This time there is a pause. "I told you. I called him because I knew he'd be on my side. Then, when the story broke, if David and I were together, no one would believe Rory and I had-"

"Had what? Been fucking around?"

My first impulse, to tell her what a bitch I think she is, is interrupted by a second possibility. Another flash of inspiration like the one yesterday that had Gloria promising not to talk trash about me to David. This one is even better. I can use Gloria's desperation to my advantage. I can get rid of her once and for all.

"Okay, Gloria. I'll come by the jail and see you this morning. If you want my help, there will be conditions."

"What are they?" The tone is muted, resigned, as if she already knows or suspects what I'm about to say.

"First, you cut David loose. For good. He deserves better."

"I know."

"I mean it. No calling him. No sneak visits. If he calls you, you hang up. You don't answer his messages. You don't send him a birthday card. He is out of your life."

"Okay." Tiny voice.

"Second, I expect to be paid for my services." I do some quick, mental arithmetic. How much could I soak her for? May as well make the aggravation worth my while. "Two hundred an hour, plus expenses. Starting now."

"Agreed."

So quickly? Shit. I should have asked for more. I shrug it off and continue, "Anybody as rich as O'Sullivan will have made enemies along the way. What can you tell me about him?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean nothing? You invested a good chunk of change in that restaurant. You must have checked him out beforehand. Or at least had your lawyer check him out."

There's a few seconds of profound silence before that tiny voice comes back. "My lawyer only researched what was pertinent to our deal. I was interested in opening a restaurant, and Rory was there with the funding and the know-how to make it happen." A bit of a whine creeps into her tone when she adds, "I told you this before."

"What about when you two were together? What did you talk about?"

"Nothing, really. We'd discuss the restaurant. Furniture. Staff. Business stuff."

"I mean when you were fucking, Gloria. He ever let anything slip? Ever mention trouble with other business partners or at home?"

The whine morphs into irritation. "We didn't talk all that much."

This is getting us nowhere. I glance at my watch. It's almost eight. "I can be at the jail at ten. When do you see your lawyer?"

"In about fifteen minutes. He's going to try to set a bail hearing after the arraignment. I'll either be back here or at home by ten. I'll let you know."

We ring off. I place the phone on the kitchen counter and pick up the paper to finish reading the article about O'Sullivan's death. I need the distraction. My gut is screaming that I've made a huge mistake agreeing to help Gloria. At least, whatever the outcome, David will be rid of her once and for all. If I find nothing and Gloria has been lying and she really did kill O'Sullivan, David still comes out ahead. Gloria will be in jail.

I scan the article. O'Sullivan is portrayed as a sterling citizen, reputable businessman and loving husband and father. Gloria, on the other hand, is characterized as a spoiled home wrecker who killed O'Sullivan when he refused to leave his wife. No surprise there. That description is offered by the grieving widow who knew of her husband's affair-one she had been told was over. According to her, O'Sullivan had come back to the bosom of his family weeks ago only to be hounded by a scheming Gloria who would not leave him alone.

That's too much for me to swallow. I hate Gloria. I also know Gloria. She's too vain and self-centered to go begging after any man. Especially when she had a backup. She might have had a dalliance with O'Sullivan, but chase him? No. Not with David waiting in the wings.

David.

I snatch up the phone again and call David's cell. It goes right to voice mail. Then I try the office number and punch in the code to check messages. There's one.

From David.

"Left town. Don't know when I'll be back. Don't try to get in touch."

Ah, how like David. Short, sweet and completely devoid of any useful information.

I don't give up that easily. I know he has a cabin in the Cuyamaca Mountains. I also know the caretaker's telephone number.

The guy answers on the first ring. I tell him I'm David's mother and there is a family emergency. David has turned off his cell and would he be so kind as to walk over to the cabin so I could talk with him?

I've never met the person behind the gravelly voice but I thank him profusely when he agrees. There's about two minutes of silence while I picture the guy walking the hundred yards or so from the caretaker's house to David's cabin. No small talk. I like that.

Then I hear the knock on the door, his explanation of why he disturbed David, and in another few seconds, David is on the line.

"Mom? What's wrong?"

"Uh, sorry, David. It's me."

Silence.

"I wanted to be sure you were all right. Not like you to disappear."

"No, that's more your style."

His tone is clipped, hard. He's more upset than I thought. "Okay. I deserve that. I admit, I've disappeared off the radar a few times-"

"A few times? I've always respected your privacy. I thought you'd show me the same courtesy."

His voice is tremulous. With anger? With sadness? I wish I could see his face.

I wait a beat, then say, "I'm sorry about Gloria."

The bark that comes across the line holds more disbelief than humor. "Right. You're sorry about Gloria because she's such a good friend of yours."

Okay. Now his attitude is beginning to piss me off. "It's hardly my fault that you didn't see before this what a conniving bitch Gloria is."

"Now that's the Anna I know and love. You should be happy. I do see Gloria for what she is. I've always seen Gloria for what she is. What you don't seem to understand is that it didn't matter. I love her."

He stops.

"I loved her. Past tense. It's over now."

"Then why did you leave?"

He doesn't answer for so long, I start to think he isn't going to. I'm about to ask if he's still on the line, when he says quietly, "Because I can't be around you right now."

"Around me? What the fuck does that mean?"

This time, there's no hesitation. "It means I don't want to see your smug face every time something about Gloria is on the news." He's biting off each word and spitting it at me. "You won't miss a chance to rub in what an idiot I've been. I can't take that right now."

His outburst stuns me into silence. Not that what he says isn't true. I have hated every minute he and Gloria have been together. I've also let him know that I've hated every minute of it. This is the first time he's acknowledged my antipathy. Always before he's ignored how I felt about Gloria or made excuses for her. I'd begun to think the stars in his eyes made him deaf, dumb and blind to any criticism of his egocentric girlfriend.

"Do you know," he says after a moment, "that I've asked her to move in with me a dozen times? She always had an excuse why she couldn't. A long-term modeling assignment. A new film. The restaurant. For the first time, I realize it was something quite different. She didn't want to be tied down to me. She wanted to be free to pursue other interests. Explains why she wasn't around when I was in the hospital, why she didn't come to see me when I was released. She was too busy with Rory."

He's probably right about that. At least the timing is right.

I don't know what to say to David to make the truth less painful. I'm almost sorry I tracked him down. For the first time in our association, I'm unsure how to proceed. I don't want to make him feel any worse than he already does and I don't want to antagonize him further. I'm sure as hell not going to tell him what I'll be doing for the next few days.

I clear my throat. "Um, David? I'm going to let you go. You take as much time as you need. Don't worry about the business. We don't have anything lined up. If a job comes up, I'll handle it. You do what you need to do."

The laugh that comes across the line this time is harsh with sarcasm. "What do you know?" he says. "Anna Strong, tongue-tied. Don't believe that's ever happened before. Well, I'm glad you've given me permission to take a leave of absence. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to hang up. I'd appreciate it if you don't call here again. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to see you. Is that clear enough?"

It's obviously a rhetorical question because before I can respond one way or the other, the line goes dead.