18 NoraNora’s pumps crunched on gravel as she paced in the courthouse rose garden, smoking and reviewing her closing arguments before the hearing’s final session began at ten o’clock.
Dressed again in her courtroom outfit of mud-colored blazer and yellow ocher skirt, she circled the central fountain. Sunlight sparkled on water cascading over a copper sculpture of leaping salmon.
Beside it, she felt unspeakably drab. If things ever calmed down, she had to get more clothes.
Channing sat on a stone bench in the shade of a birch tree. She’d exchanged yesterday’s sweater dress for a figure-hugging sheath in sapphire-blue jersey.
“I wish I had a jury,” Nora called to Channing. “Give me a reason to move during my speech.”
“No pacing allowed,” Channing retorted. “Judge doesn’t want to waste t
