Genuine Lies

stack of research books stacked on the floor, she swore only halfheartedly. She really was going to get this all tidied up. Soon.
    Following habit, she took her day’s tapes out of her briefcase to file them in the desk drawer. Her mind was on a cool glass of wine, perhaps a quick dip in the pool before Brandon got home from school. But it snappped back quickly as she stared into the drawer and lowered herself into the chair.
    Someone had been there.
    Very slowly, she walked her fingers over the tops of the tapes. None were missing, but they were out of order. One of the few things she was compulsively organized about was her interviews. Labeled and dated, the tapes were always filed alphabetically. Now their order was random.
    Yanking open another drawer, she pulled out her typed draft. A quick glance reassured her that all her pages werethere. But she felt, she
knew
someone had read them. She slammed the drawer closed and opened another. All of her things, she thought, all of them had been riffled. But why?
    A bubble of panic sent her racing upstairs. She had very little of great value, but the few pieces of her mother’s jewelry were important to her. As she scrambled into the bedroom, she cursed herself for not asking Eve to put the boxes into her safe. Surely she had one. But she also had a security system. Why in hell would anyone break into the guest house to steal a handful of heirlooms?
    Of course, they hadn’t. As the relief washed over her, Julia could call herself an idiot. The single strand of pearls and matching drop earrings, the diamond studs, the gold brooch in the shape of the scales of justice. They were all there, undisturbed.
    Because her legs were weak, she sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the old jewelry boxes to her breast. It was foolish, she told herself, to have such a desperate attachment to things. She rarely wore any of those pieces, only occasionally took them out to look at them.
    But she had been twelve when her father had given her mother the brooch. A birthday present. And she remembered how delighted her mother had been. She had worn it at every case she had tried, even after the divorce.
    Julia made herself stand and replace the boxes. It was possible she had misarranged the tapes herself. Possible, but unlikely. Yet it was just as unlikely that anyone would breach Eve’s security in broad daylight and make themselves at home in the guest house.
    Eve, Julia thought with a short laugh. Eve herself was the most likely candidate. They hadn’t had a session in three days. Curiosity and arrogance might have made her want to go through the work.
    And that would have to be corrected.
    She started downstairs again, intending to look through the tapes once more before phoning Eve. Before she’d reached the bottom, Paul was rapping on the front door.
    “Hi.” He opened it himself and strode in without invitation.
    “Make yourself at home.”
    The tone had him tilting his head. “Problem?”
    “Why, no.” She stood where she was, feet braced apart, chin angled for a dare. “Why should it be a problem for people to waltz in? After all, it’s not my house. I only happen to be living here.”
    He lifted his hands, palms out. “Sorry. I suppose I’ve been living with California casual for too long. Want me to go out and try again?”
    “No.” She slapped the word out at him. There was no way he was going to make her feel foolish. “What do you want? You’ve caught me at a bad time, so you’ll have to make it fast.”
    He didn’t have to be told it was a bad time. Her expression seemed so calm—she was good at that—but her fingers were busy twisting together. It made him only more determined to stay. “Actually, I didn’t come to see you. I came to see Brandon.”
    “Brandon?” The instant warning bells had her arms dropping stiffly to her sides. “Why? What do you want with Brandon?”
    “Loosen up, Jules.” He settled on the arm of the sofa. He liked it there—really liked it, he realized. There was something about the way she’d inhabited the cool comfort of the guest area and had made it her own. A kind of charming untidiness, he mused, that spread Julia everywhere. The odd earring on the Hepplewhite table, the pretty high heels tilting against each other where they’d been stepped out of, a scribbled note, a china bowl full of rose petals and rosemary.
    If he went into the kitchen, he’d find more of her there. And upstairs, in the bath, in the