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girls, how’s that one doing? The one who kept calling you yesterday?”
    “Annabelle. She’d gotten into a fight with her roommate; that’s what all the calls were about. If someone doesn’t see things her way, she has no problem getting physical with them.” A note of frustration crept into Paige’s voice. “Bert had a chat with her about it last night, but I don’t think she’s afraid of anything or anyone.”
    “She’s afraid of something ,” Claudia reasoned. “You said she tried to kill herself.”
    Paige’s expression softened. “Poor kid, she’s had a lot to deal with. Her mother was killed in a car crash when she was six. Annabelle was in the car, but she was thrown clear.”
    Claudia’s heart went out to the girl who had suffered such a traumatic loss. “No wonder she has problems.”
    “It was big news at the time—you probably saw it on TV. Her mother was Valerie Vale, the actress. Her father is Dominic Giordano.”
    “The movie producer?”
    Paige nodded. “The head of Sunmark Studios.”
    It had been a fairy-tale wedding made for the media— the producer and the starlet. Claudia recalled all the hoopla that surrounded the event. The fairy tale had turned tragic just a few years later when Vale’s car slammed through a guardrail high above Malibu and plunged into the ocean below, leaving behind a young child.
    “I remember the story,” Claudia said.
    “She’s had plenty of problems growing up. She has trouble making friends and—” Paige broke off. She looked down at her hands, appearing suddenly unsure of herself. “Um, Claudia, the reason I came here today . . .”
    Claudia waited, figuring that Paige probably wanted to plead her case, to make sure she was going to offer the “right” opinion on the questioned signature. If that was it, she would shut her down fast. In fact, she had decided in Paige’s favor, but it had to be clear that her opinion was independent of any pressure.
    “Yesterday, when I was here, you didn’t let Bert push you around or . . .” Paige paused, then rushed on. “Well, I got the feeling you were someone I could trust.”
    “Yes?” Claudia responded cautiously. Paige might trust her, but at this point, the feeling was far from mutual. “What is it you’re concerned about?”
    “It’s just—I guess I’m like Annabelle. I don’t have anyone I can to talk to either. No one.”
    “ You have no friends? I’m not sure I believe that.” Claudia got up and went to the refrigerator and filled the creamer jug, then leaned back against the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee to brew and waiting for what might come next.
    “Oh, I have loads of acquaintances . The women at the country club tolerate me because I’ve got money, but they make it obvious I’m not one of them. It’s like that movie Pretty Woman, remember? Julia Roberts got all dressed up like a perfect ten in gorgeous clothes, but the women at the party made fun of her because she didn’t belong. Well, that’s how I feel.”
    Paige made a wry face. “There’s always plenty of men around with their tongues hanging out. But it’s not the same as having a girlfriend to talk to and, well, I feel like we could be friends.” It almost sounded like she was inviting Claudia to a playdate.
    Claudia had a policy that said mixing business with friendship was a bad idea, but something about the wistfulness she heard in Paige’s voice intrigued her. “Okay,” she answered, willing to listen but still wary. “But I’m not a therapist.”
    “I need a friend ,” Paige repeated. “Not a therapist; someone who’s not involved with the Sorensen family. Someone who doesn’t have any vested interest in what happens with this . . .” She waved her hand. “This mess I’m in. Just someone I can talk to because, basically, I’m scared.”
    Claudia swung around from the coffeemaker, where she had been filling their cups.
    “ Scared? Of what?”
    “Not what. Whom. Torg’s son,