The Devil's Interval by Linda Peterson Page A

one of our sons on Death Row,” I said.
    â€œI can’t,” he said.
    â€œI made myself go there,” I said. “I mean, I know they’re not going to murder anybody.”
    â€œExcept each other,” he said.
    â€œI can’t even joke about this. But I’m telling you, when I can’t sleep, that’s what I picture. Some weird set of circumstances where one of them mistakenly ends up in some terrible place. And I would do anything, confront anyone, recruit anyone to fix what’s wrong.”
    â€œMaggie, I worry this is some projection you’ve got going on with that guy’s mother. You don’t need to lie awake obsessing about what if it were Zach or Josh.”
    â€œI’m not choosing to lie awake,” I said grimly. “It’s just what happens. And right now, there’s a small thing I can do to help. And I want to do it.”
    â€œWho’s working the story?” asked Michael.
    â€œWhoever Hoyt assigns,” I said. “Probably Andrea.” I felt a twinge of guilt. “I’ll just be helping.”
    â€œAnd you’ll keep me posted?”
    â€œEvery step of the way,” I promised. “Scout’s honor.”
    â€œYou were never a Girl Scout, cara ,” he said.
    â€œLook who’s talking,” I countered. “Mr. Not So Clean in thought, word, or deed.”
    â€œThis is a perfect discussion to continue with Dr. McQuist,” said Michael. “I can’t wait to hear what she thinks.”
    â€œI don’t believe she thinks independently,” I said. “She’s supposed to help us think.”
    â€œI thought she was growing on you,” said Michael.
    â€œOh, you were just impressed because she could translate the Italian,” I said.
    â€œAnd you weren’t?” asked Michael. “You’re not always the smartest girl in the room, you know.”
    â€œI am, too,” I said. “Knowing the most commonly quoted line from Dante doesn’t make somebody smart. Or even educated.”
    â€œYeah, well, if you think it’s that common, try wandering thehalls of that elitist little magazine of yours and doing a survey,” said Michael.
    â€œI’ve got to go,” I said. “Very busy. Very, very busy.”
    â€œBut relaxed,” he said.
    â€œSurprisingly relaxed.”
    I hung up on his self-satisfied little chuckle.

CHAPTER 10
    T ell me,” I said to Travis, “about the moment when your relationship with Grace Plummer changed.”
    He shrugged. “I told the trial lawyer. I’ve told Isabella. I’ve told the cops.”
    â€œUh-huh,” I said, “but you haven’t told me.” We stared each other down.
    â€œOr, don’t…” I said. “Just as easy for me to get back to my day job.” Travis had seemed pleased, but not surprised, when Isabella told him I would try to help.
    I flipped the pad shut, and started to tuck it in my purse. We were sitting in the visitors’ center again, and this time, because it was a weekend, the place was filled with people. Kids, mothers, exhausted-looking, but making an effort—lipstick on, earrings in place.
    With Hoyt’s reluctant blessing, Andrea was taking on the story. Since I had access to Travis, I was working that angle. “You are so transparent,” Andrea said. “You’re assuming that my cosseted Connecticut debutante self will be soiled by a trip to San Quentin. I’ll have you know I’ve been there already. Twice, in fact. On stories, before I came to this lifestyles-of-the rich-and-famous glossy you’re running. How starchy does that make me?”
    â€œAndrea, my friend,” I said, “the fact that you used the word cosseted and debutante in a single conversation makes you plenty starchy. But we love that starch! It’s like going undercover on a vicesquad, but you don’t have to dress up like a hooker.