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  She shook her head and looked around, first at the diplomas on the wall, then at the picture of Dana on the credenza, then at some bronze bookends that had been made by an artist on Martha’s Vineyard. His parents still owned the house in Menemsha, but he and Dana had only made it there once this summer.

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  He put an ashtray on the side table in her arm’s reach, and took a seat.

  Now she was looking at the pictures on the wall. Framed in wood, they were the standard charity-event shots, in which Hugh stood shoulder to shoulder with celebs. She would be impressed. Most of his clients were. Wasn’t that the point?

  He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “Do I look more like a lawyer today?” He wore a pair of tan slacks, an open-neck shirt, and a navy blazer.

  She shot him a glance. “Yes.”

  “How’s your son?” he asked.

  “Not good.”

  “Is he stable?”

  She nodded.

  “Tell me more, Crystal.”

  She chewed on a corner of her mouth. Finally, seeming resigned, she said, “He’s healing okay from the surgery. He’s in a body cast, and a cast for the broken leg. But at least the pain and the numbness are gone. And the paralysis.”

  “Paralysis?”

  “Of, um,” she waved an unsure hand, “um, they called it saddle something. Anesthesia.” She looked up, the left eye still drifting left. “Saddle anesthesia. He couldn’t control his bladder. The operation fixed that.”

  “When can he go home?”

  “Soon.” Her expression told him this was not a good thing. “I don’t know how I’ll get him up and down the stairs with all that plaster on him. And it’ll be a while before we know about the growth plates.”

  “How long is a while?”

  “Maybe in six weeks when we go back for a smaller cast. Or it could be another two years. They don’t want Jay growing lopsided. More surgeries would prevent that.” She grew agitated. “They keep talking about this doctor at Washington University, like he’s the only one they’d trust to do the surgery if Jay were their kid, but that’s in St. Louis, like I have money to travel. And then I’m sitting there helping Jay eat, and a lady from the hospital comes to talk about finances, because it’s like the hospital was willing to do the surgery when they thought I had no money at all, but now they’re looking at the paperwork, and they say I earn too much. I earn twenty-eight thousand a year. Do you know how little that is when you’re trying to raise a child?”

  Hugh had done the math with other clients. “You still want to go ahead with this?”

  “I can’t pay you,” she said pointedly.

  “I said I wouldn’t charge you, and I promised you we’d put it in writing. Give me your full name, and that’s the first thing I’ll do.” He took paper and pen from the desk. “It’s Crystal, then?”

  “I checked you out,” she said. “No one’s suing you.”

  “No.”

  “And you win a lot.”

  “I try.”

  “And your wife did just have a baby.”

  “How’d you check that?” he asked with gentle suspicion. “Hospital records are private.”

  Her chin came up, a touch of satisfaction there. “After we talked, I went to the information desk and said I was visiting the Clarkes. They told me what room. I just wanted to be sure you weren’t lying.”

  “I don’t lie,” Hugh said, and waited. She knew what was needed if they were to proceed. “Let’s start with a name. Three, actually—yours, his, and the boy’s.”

  She began with her own. “It’s Kostas.” She spelled it out as he wrote. “And my son is Jay Liam Kostas.”

  “And the father?”

  “J. Stanton…” She hesitated.

  J. Stanton. There was only one in Congress. “Are you talking about Hutchinson?”

  She pressed her lips together.

  “Stan Hutchinson fathered your child?” he asked in amazement.

  “You don’t believe me,” she said, gathering her pouch. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  He caught her wrist. “I do believe you. I know his reputation.” He released her wrist. “Please. Sit.”

  She swallowed, sat, and said bleakly, “Reputation? To hear him talk on TV, you wouldn’t know there was anything bad.”

  “Of course not. He preaches morals with the best of them, but I hate to tell you this…” He stopped. Many women believed they were the one who would win a man away from his wife. He wondered if Crystal Kostas had harbored such hopes.

  But she said, quite dispassionately, “You’re going to say I’m not the first, but his man said that when I called. The guy laughed this horrible laugh and said women are always trying to pin things on the senator and that I’d have to get in line. He said it’d be a waste of time, since everyone knows the senator is married and that he does not believe in cheating. Well, I don’t want the senator,” she said with distaste. “I just want the best medical care for my son—for his son.”

  “Hutchinson. This will be a good case.”

  “Can I win?”

  “Assuming we can find corroborating evidence that you were with him at the time of the boy’s conception. It’s what I told you at the hospital on Tuesday. Hutchinson won’t want publicity from this. Two of his major issues are family values and health care for the uninsured. Your son makes a mockery of his words on both counts.”

  “But all those other women—know how cheap that made me feel?”

  Hugh might have pointed out that she had slept with a married man. But it wasn’t his job to judge, only to represent the rights of his client.

  “The irony,” he said, “is that the senator has had so many women that his chief of staff can get away with making them all feel cheap.” Hugh sat back and grinned. “Apparently, none of those other women had the resources to take him on. I do.” He pulled up his pad. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “And the boy is four?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where do you live?”

  Once he had the address on paper, he tore off the sheet and phoned Melissa Dubin. A male associate might resonate better with Hutchinson’s man, but Melissa would be better with Crystal, and Crystal was key at this stage. Without corroborative evidence, there would be nothing to compel Hutchinson to take a DNA test. And a DNA test was the single piece of evidence that would prove, beyond a doubt, the paternity of a child.

  Hugh thought of Dana, and felt uneasy. She was really angry. He didn’t want to think she had slept with David, but how well did he know David? How well did he know Dana?

  “Tell me more about you,” he invited Crystal.

  She fished in her bag and took out a cigarette, but made no move to light it. “You ask.”

  “Did you grow up in Pepperell?”

  “Yes.”

  “With parents?”

  “My father died when I was ten. Lung cancer.”

  It was all Hugh could do not to look at the cigarette in her hand. But he wasn’t a doctor, and he sure as hell wasn’t a judge. “Do you have any siblings?”

  “A brother in the Air Force. We don’t see him often.”

  “So you live alone?”

  “With Jay.”

  “Do you date?”

  “I used to.” She frowned. “Not since Jay, but why does this matter?”

  Hugh set down his pen. “If you make a claim that Stan Hutchinson is the father of your child, the first thing his people will do is to try to show a pattern of promiscuity on your part. A DNA test will determine Jay’s parentage, but they won’t want it done. If you have a history of one-night stands, or a history of problems that may be on record somewhere, I need to know. Is there anything about you and men I should know about?”

  “No.”

  A soft knock came at the door, and Melissa slipped in. Hugh introduced her to Crystal, gave her the sheet
of paper he’d torn off, and asked her to draw up the agreement.

  As soon as she left, he faced Crystal again. “I’ll want to talk with your son’s doctors. Are you okay with that?”

  “Isn’t my word good enough?” she asked.

  “It is for me. But it won’t be for Hutchinson or for a judge. The more people we have vouching for you and your situation, the better. Jay is at a good hospital. His doctors’ word will be crucial in establishing the seriousness of his condition. Among other things, we’ll need to know how much money will be needed in the next couple of years.”

  Crystal put the cigarette to her lips and rummaged in her bag for a match.

  Hugh gave her this time. From everything he had seen in her up to that point, she would reach the right decision.

  “Fine,” she said at last. “His doctor’s name is Howe. Steven, I think.”

  Hugh knew the name. Steven Howe was top-notch. This would help. He wrote the name on his pad and flipped to a new page.

  “Tell me about your work.”

  “I’m a waitress.”

  “Always?”

  “Yes. I started weekends when I was sixteen. If you’re waiting for me to say I wanted to go to college, don’t. I did lousy in high school. I hate studying.”

  “Then tell me about your job. Where do you work?”

  She drew on the cigarette. Exhaling a ribbon of smoke, she said, “It’s a bar and grill. Lots of beef and chicken. Lots of regulars who leave lots of tips. And booze. Lots of that. The booze makes the biggest profit for my boss and for me.”

  “Who’s your boss?”

  She looked down at her hands, turned the cigarette, took another draw.

  “I’ll have to know,” Hugh explained gently. “He’s the one who’ll have to vouch for Hutchinson being in his place on a night you were working.”

  “Todd MacKenzie,” she murmured. “Mac’s Bar and Grille. He’s the owner.”

  Hugh wrote it down. “How long have you worked there?”

  “Eight years, less the two months after Jay was born.”

  “You worked right up until the birth?” Hugh asked in surprise.

  “I didn’t gain much weight. Besides,” she added with a half-smile, “the regular guys liked me. They were kind of protective, y’know?”

  Hugh suspected more than a few were turned on. He had already established that Crystal was attractive.

  “Does Todd know who fathered your baby?”

  “He guessed. I didn’t say he was wrong.”

  “Did he see you leave with Hutchinson?”

  “I didn’t leave with him. He was outside in his car when I finished work.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it a rental car?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Color? Make?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Who approached whom?”

  “I went to the car. He was just waiting, and there was no one else left. He asked if there was a place we could go. I told him to follow me.”

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t know the way.”

  “I mean, why did you want to be with him? You said you don’t sleep around.”

  She put the cigarette to her mouth, inhaled. “I was feeling lonely. He was there, and he was handsome.”

  “Did you know he was married?”

  “Not then.”

  “Okay. So you went to the motel. Name?”

  “The Exit Inn. It’s in an out-of-the-way place.”

  Hugh wrote it down. “And you took the room?”

  “Yes. He gave me cash.”

  “Do you know the name of the clerk?”

  “No.”

  “Let’s back up a little. Was Hutchinson wearing a suit?”

  “No. A plaid shirt and pants.”

  “Flannel shirt? A hunting shirt?”

  “Yes.”

  “What color?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Did you flirt with him much in the restaurant?”

  “Not with words. There was this…thing when he looked at me.”

  Hugh didn’t have to ask what that “thing” was. Hutchinson was a ladies’ man. He could be talking in a room filled with people, but when his eye passed over a woman, he made her feel she was the only one there.

  “Did anyone else notice it? Your boss, maybe?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did Hutchinson talk with any of the other patrons?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Did he pay for his dinner by credit card?” Hugh asked. A receipt would be proof he was there.

  “He didn’t pay. The guy with him paid.”

  “Do you remember the date?”

  “October seventeenth.”

  “No pause there,” Hugh remarked.

  “It was my birthday,” she explained. “No one else was remembering my birthday, not that he did. But it was something for me that night.” She stubbed out the cigarette. “Jay was the best birthday gift I ever got. Just so you know, I’ve never regretted having him. He’s the best thing in my life. His father was just…” her upper lip curled, “…just a way for me to get Jay. Except for the accident, I wouldn’t go near him again.”

  As reassuring as Hugh found her certainty, it raised another issue. “Did you plan it?” he asked. “Did you want to get pregnant?” That would muddy the works.

  “No,” she said in an emphatic two-syllable no-wa. “I made him use a condom. It didn’t work.”

  “So, if you didn’t want anything to do with him afterward,” Hugh said, trying to trip her up, which was exactly what Hutchinson’s lawyer would do when he took a deposition, “why did you call him when Jay was born?”

  “Just to tell him he had a son.”

  Hugh was thinking that Stan Hutchinson had two other sons and three daughters, not to mention several grandchildren, when Crystal said, “I thought maybe he’d want to know his son. Silly me. Well, I learned. I didn’t call again. And I wouldn’t be wanting money from him now if Jay weren’t sick. You say he won’t want this made public because of his image, well, what about me? Think it’s fun for me to have to go after someone who thinks I’m dirt?”

  “No. I can’t imagine it is.”

  “It isn’t,” she said with some force. “I don’t need rich people. I think they’re shallow and unfeeling and greedy. They use people and throw them away when they’re done.”

  “I’m rich,” Hugh said. Shallow and unfeeling? No. His own DNA test was simply to answer his parents’ questions and his friends’ jokes.

  Melissa Dubin returned with the attorney-client agreement. Hugh looked it over and passed it to Crystal.

  She read through once, then a second time. “What’s the catch?”

  “The catch is that once you sign it, you have to do your part. You have to search your memory—I mean, really search and pull out every possible detail of your time with Hutchinson. Anything you can remember about him will help, whether he wore a watch, anything unusual about his manner, his clothes, his body. We’ll be talking with the doctors and with your boss, but you’re the one who was with the man himself that night. Tell me he has a mole on the back of his thigh, and, assuming the tabloids haven’t printed it, we have him in a compromising position.”

  She looked disgusted.

  “I can’t do it without you,” he warned. “I’m offering my services for free, but I’m not looking to fail, which is what’ll happen if I don’t have your full cooperation. Are you with me?”

  She hesitated a minute, but she did sign. Hugh signed after her, folded one copy, put it in an envelope, and gave it to her. “You’ll do that thinking for me?”

  “Right now?” she asked meekly.

  He went to the credenza, took a small notebook from inside, added a pen, and handed her both. “As soon as you can. Start writing things down. Try reliving the entire night. I want to know what you were wearing, what time you left wo
rk, what time you got to the motel, what time you left. Try to remember something about the clerk. Try to remember where you parked. Did Hutch park beside you? When he left, did he say where he was going? If you knew something about his schedule that wasn’t public knowledge, it’d prove you were with him.”

  She was frowning at the notebook. When she looked up, she seemed cautious. “‘Hutch’? Is that a nickname?”

  “Uh, yuh.”

  “I never heard that on TV.”

  “Actually, I know him,” Hugh admitted. “He owns a summer house not far from ours.”

  “If you’re his neighbor,” Crystal cried in dismay, “why would you ever go after him?”

  Hugh might have cited the man’s self-righteousness, or his propensity for playing dirty. He might have said that Hutch would speak at any charity event but never open his wallet or that he had snubbed Eaton by refusing to be interviewed for One Man’s Line. He might have added the guy insisted on manning the grill, but overcooked his burgers, charred his hot dogs, and cooked his sweet corn until the kernels were hard, none of which was the point.

  “Because,” Hugh said briefly, “he’s wrong.”

  Chapter 10

  At the same time that Hugh was questioning Crystal, Dana set off for the yarn store on a similar quest, but she was at a distinct disadvantage. For one thing, her mother, who had known the man in question, was dead. For another, the affair had taken place thirty-four years ago.

  Oh, and the man’s name was Jack Jones. There had to be dozens of Jack Joneses in or around Madison, Wisconsin, at the time Dana was conceived. Finding the right one might be next to impossible. But she could almost understand why Hugh was desperate to know.

  “Hi, Lizzie, how’s my Lizzie?” Dana called into the back seat. Ironic, how the catalyst for a disagreement could be the sole comfort against it.

  Disagreement? It was more than that, and it was eating at Dana. She tried to find calm in the reminder that she had a career, but when she phoned the Cunninghams about rescheduling, no one was home. The same was true with her contact for the North Shore Designers’ Showhouse, a project she saw as her professional post-baby debut. And when she called to check on the status of the few pieces of furniture still on order for current clients, she learned nothing more than when she had called the week before.