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Consistent with the precepts of the pseudo-Christian renaissance, Altoonans were only disposed to forgiving themselves.
    The state had screwed up, so Larry Mitchell was free. It was that simple for Tollison, though not for his neighbors, to whom the state merited endless license and excuse unless it zeroed in on them. As long as judgment would descend on others, they were willing to let guilt be determined by hunch and hearsay, prejudice and surmise. But when they got into trouble, they hurried to the lawyer most adept at exploiting the safeguards so deplored when less worthy persons sought refuge in them. The irony was that Altoona was so damn small and its legal fraternity so damn conservative, the lawyer they rushed to most often was him.
    Tollison squinted in the sunlight and glanced down the block. When he saw the woman who was walking toward him, head down, brow knit, contemplating a conundrum that apparently trotted before her like a dachshund on a leash, he smiled. As he had been doing figuratively for a decade, he put himself squarely in her path.
    â€œI’m sorry, I …” She zigged to avoid him.
    â€œDamn. One more step and it would have been the most intimate encounter I’ve had all week.”
    Startled, Laura Donahue brushed a lock of caramel-candy hair away from her robin’s-egg eyes, then held up her hands to block out enough spring sunlight to enable her to recognize him. “Keith. I’m sorry, I was thinking about something else. Did I hurt you?”
    â€œOnly because you tried so hard to get out of my way.”
    Matching his smile, she lowered her hands and stuffed them into the pockets of her satin jacket, a burnt-orange balloon around a thick white sweater. “Were you in trial?” she asked carefully. Then, because their circumstances made Altoona ominous, her eyes flicked up the block as his looked down.
    He nodded.
    â€œDid you win?”
    He nodded again.
    â€œYou always do, don’t you?”
    â€œNot always. And even when I win, I lose.” When she frowned, he shook his head to forestall explanation. “So how are you?”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œLong time no see, I believe.”
    She looked toward the neon announcement of a bar called Blackstone’s. “I know. I was going to call you last night, but I haven’t been sleeping too well, so I went to bed early.”
    â€œWhy no sleep?”
    She shrugged an ironic tilt. “Life seems to have gotten awfully crowded lately. There are all these arrangements to be made.” Her lips flicked a stunted grin. “Do you suppose they have efficiency experts in adultery? Give workshops on it, maybe?” When she saw his look, she hurried on. “Plus, I keep hearing things out in the yard that only seem to make noise when Jack’s away.”
    He struggled to remain unfazed. “I didn’t know Jack was out of town.”
    Nodding, she evaded his gaze.
    â€œWhere is he?”
    â€œL. A.”
    â€œWhen did he leave?”
    â€œSunday.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you—”
    She hurried from the question. “He’s convinced he finally got the financing for his resort lined up. He was very excited when he called the other night.”
    As Tollison struggled to make sense of what she said, the sun, like her revelations, became too much for him. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go over there.”
    He pointed to a bench in the park beyond the courthouse, but she pulled away and shook her head. “Not here, Keith.”
    He dropped his hand. “We need to talk, Laura.”
    â€œI can’t; I don’t have time.” She finally faced him. “I know I should have told you Jack was going away. I know we should have … taken advantage. I wanted to, but—”
    A car passed and honked. They both looked and, recognizing the driver as the local baker, both waved. In face of another reminder of the need for caution,