Saving Phoebe Murrow: A Novel by Herta Feely

You’re a lawyer. Just say it’s been a trying day, like Amanda.”
    He smiled at her. “Look, hon, it’s not like Phoebe robbed a bank or something. In fact, we don’t know for sure she was there, whether she smoked or not, or if she even knew that some of the kids were planning to smoke. So remember that. Act like she’s innocent, which she probably is.” He drained what little was left of his scotch. “Come on, I’ll get you another drink.”
    They began to circulate and things didn’t go as badly as Isabel had anticipated; she found the wine bolstered her confidence, and the years of lawyerly training allowed her to steer conversations. Isabel’s feelings toward Phoebe, however, remained mixed and confused. And when she came face to face with Sandy, the thought occurred to her that this had all been Jessie and Emma’s fault. They’d probably convinced Phoebe to accompany them.
    â€œYou’re not letting them get to you, are you?” Sandy asked.
    â€œGet to me? Who?”
    Sandy tilted her head, as though examining Isabel’s face to see if she was serious. “You know, everybody here. About the big deal.”
    Squaring her shoulders and narrowing her eyes, Isabel asked, “Exactly what do you know?”
    Sandy drew closer and adopted a confidential whisper. “Well, the girls and a few boys were over at Sam’s and his mom walked in on them. Right in the middle of everything. Caught them red-handed. So people are talking about that … and our girls.”
    â€œAre they talking about our daughters? And what is it they’re saying?”
    â€œWell, no one’s said anything specific, not to me. But you know how people are. They’re thinking it.” She arched her brow then moved even closer to Isabel, who couldn’t help but notice her cleavage-revealing garb. A fur-trimmed ivory cashmere sweater.
    Isabel took a half-step back. “So let’s just keep it that way,” she said with a meager smile. “They can think all they want. But I dare them to talk about my daughter.” Though she’d promised to be nicer to Sandy, she simply couldn’t.
    â€œI getcha and I’m with ya,” Sandy said with a half-cocked grin.
    Isabel inched away. “I’m sorry, will you excuse me? I promised Amanda I’d meet up with her. Room parent stuff, you know.” She smiled dismissively.
    â€œSure, no problem.” Sandy’s grin had turned into a frown. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” she managed.
    â€œI’ll do the same,” Isabel said before she turned and left. Only later would she reproach herself for not having pried out the details of the girls’ day that Sandy seemed to possess.

Chapter Nine
    Sandy took in a deep breath before heading into the adjacent room for a drink. She certainly needed one. She couldn’t believe what a snobby bitch Isabel had been. Wedging her way into the crush of people surrounding the bar, she glanced around for Bill but instead spied Ron at the front of the crowd and edged toward him. She brushed up against several men along the way, smiling coyly as she squeezed by.
    More than once Les had commented on her resemblance to Marilyn, and Sandy wondered what the star must have felt. So beautiful and sexy, and yet so lonely and sad. On occasion she could relate to her sense of abandonment, and at other times she felt plain sorry for her. Mostly, though, given Marilyn’s fame, the words “what a waste” would flit through her mind.
    Sidling up behind Ron, she said in a low breathy tone, “I hate to ask, but would you mind getting me a glass of champagne?”

    Ron glanced over his shoulder. The attractive woman seemed familiar, surely he’d seen her somewhere, but he drew a blank.
    â€œSandy Littleton, Jessie’s mom,” she explained as if reading his thoughts. With a beguiling dimpled smile, the