Sleight of Hand by Kate Wilhelm Page B

universe. That's what some of them came for, to kick up their heels a little, to see shows their wives won't let them watch at home, to drink too much, maybe play around a little and to gamble. I'm there to work. They get what they came for and so do I."
    There was a flaw in his argument. He was a professional taking advantage of amateurs, even if he didn't cheat. But, she had argued with herself, didn't those bankers take advantage of loan applicants with the fine print that they knew would not be read or understood if it was? Didn't too many doctors vacationing on pharmaceutical largesse take advantage of patients by prescribing high-cost medicines that their sponsors wanted to sell when generics or lower cost drugs would be equally beneficial? She had given up the argument and never raised an objection again. It was too difficult to determine, much less navigate, that elusive line that defined ethical behavior. All parties were getting what they wanted when they played poker with Wally, that was enough.
    Wally had started to walk toward her and when he drew near he began talking, the way he always did. "I asked Andy what to do about all that moss on the roof. You know what he told me? You'd never guess. He said don't touch it. Leave it alone. It's all that's holding those shakes together. Exactly what I wanted to hear." He grinned and put his arm around her shoulders. "Gave me some advice about the fireplace, too. Let's go have a look and I'll tell you."
    In the living room, which they had not yet touched, as he talked about the difference between open fireplaces and inserts, she leaned into him slightly. He stopped talking and looked down at her.
    "Feel a little nap coming on?"
    She nodded and he laughed and squeezed her shoulder. "Old folks like us need our naps," he said.
    Even that, she thought happily. Even that. No matter what lay in the future, coming home had rejuvenated him, and her, too. She had never been happier, in spite of the fear Jay Wilkins had inserted into their lives. They left the living room and headed toward the bedroom, not really running, but not dawdling either.
    After talking with Meg, Barbara regarded the slim folder with the Lederer material in it. She started to put it in the tray of "To File" folders, then changed her mind and put it with the active folders on her desk. She had a strong hunch that the Lederer case would not end just yet.
    The evening newscast had a brief mention concerning the identification of Connie Wilkins s body and the ongoing investigation, but the following morning's newspapers had a longer account.
    Barbara read it carefully while eating breakfast, then stopped at a name she knew: Adele Wykoph. Connie Wilkins had done a lot of volunteer work in the past, and one of the organizations she had helped had been the Women's Support Center. Its director was Adele Wykoph. Barbara had referred many women to the center over the years, and she and Adele were friends, comfortable with each other, trusting each other. She waited until she got to the office, then called Adele.
    Adele's voice sounded strained and husky when she answered her phone, hesitant when Barbara asked if they could get together later that day.
    "Maybe another time, after a day or two? I don't think I'm up to much right now. I just found out I've lost a dear friend. I think I'll knock off early and go home to the consolation of a stiff drink or two."
    "I'm sorry," Barbara said. "I saw the center mentioned in the article about Connie Wilkins. That's what I wanted to ask about."
    "She's the friend," Adele said. She sounded as if she were choking. "God, why her?"
    "Let me pick you up and we'll go somewhere quiet and talk. It might do you some good, and I'll ply you with the drink or two and see that you get home safely. Think how many others you've advised to talk about it, whatever it is."
    "I can't leave. The staff is ready to melt down. What would that do for our clients, to see the support team in worse shape