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available to take the job here at Bellywasher's. This place wouldn't be the same without you."
       Just as I hoped, the compliment made a smile blossom across Eve's face. Unfortunately, even the fact that I was
    100 percent sincere wasn't enough to make her smile last. Though the incident with Brad had happened nearly eighteen months before, some hurts were too painful to be forgiven—or forgotten—so quickly.
       The waterworks started again, and Eve plucked a tissue out of the box that sat on one corner of my desk. Her words bubbled with tears. "I'm glad I work here, too. But that doesn't make what Brad did any easier to live with. He lied about me. There's no excuse for that. And you know, I could never prove it, but I think that whole story about me stealing . . . I think he said that to cover up some shady dealings of his own. If there was money missing from the cash register, I bet it went right into Brad's pocket." Eve's cheeks, usually a delicate shade of pink, got dusky. Her eyes hardened. "There's no reason a guy like Brad Peterson should even walk the earth," she said.
       It was a surprisingly severe statement, even for Eve, who never bothers to hide her feelings. Uncomfortable with her anger, I did my best to soothe her.
       "I'm sorry," I said. "If I knew this Brad was the same Brad you worked with, I never would have let him sign up for the cooking class. I can give him a refund and ask him to leave. I know Jim wouldn't mind. Would that make you feel better?"
       "Oh, don't worry about me." Eve touched the tissue to her eyes. "I'm over my own personal hurt, Annie. Honest, I am. I mean, I'd still like to see the guy boiled in oil. Or burnt to a crisp on our grill. Or eaten by sharks. But, honest, it isn't me I'm thinking about. Not anymore."
       I sat up, interested. "You mean—"
       "He's done it to other women. Sure." Eve blew her nose. "It happened to Valerie Conover not two months ago, and she's been down in the dumps ever since. And before that it was Gretchen Malovich. It's not fair, Annie. None of it. Brad Peterson runs over people. He ruins their lives. He's a real Weasel."
       "I have no doubt of that." I nodded in sympathy. "Any guy who treats women like that is a scumbag."
       "Not just a scumbag." Eve looked me in the eye and pronounced the words slowly and carefully. "Brad Peterson is a Weasel."
       There was something about the way she emphasized that last word. We weren't talking lower case. Brad Peterson was a Weasel with a capital W. As for the other women Eve had mentioned . . .
       "Valerie and Gretchen . . ." I looked at her carefully. "I don't know them, and you've never mentioned them before. Who are they, Eve? And how do you know them?"
       It wasn't my imagination—Eve's cheeks got even redder. She looked up at the ceiling. She looked down at the floor. She folded her hands in her lap.
       "I'm not supposed to betray confidences," she said.
       "And I'd never expect you to. But—"
       "Well, I have been dying to tell you." Eve scooted forward in her chair, her eyes suddenly shining not with tears but with excitement. "I wouldn't have said a word," she made sure she added, "if you hadn't talked me into it."
       I didn't argue the point. What good would it have done, anyway? And besides, by this time, I was more than just curious. I gave Eve my full attention.
       "It's what I couldn't tell you about before. You know, earlier this evening when you were checking students in for class," she said. Now that she was divulging everything she'd been holding back, the words tumbled out of her in a rush, along with a hiccup of excitement. "I mean, not the part about seeing Brad here because, of course, I hadn't seen Brad here yet. I didn't even know he would be here. But Brad and Valerie and Gretchen . . . Yeah, that's exactly what I was talking about."
       I remembered our conversation from earlier in the evening, and suddenly, it all