Vengeance Is Mine by Joanne Fluke

didn’t bother to zip up her jacket. Something about being so close to Dale had made her feel contaminated. The cold air helped. She almost ran the last half block to the clinic door.
    â€œThat bad, huh?” Louise raised her eyebrows as Michele closed the door to her office and leaned against it, breathing hard.
    â€œWorse. I threatened to turn him over to the police if he didn’t cooperate. And I didn’t have a shred of evidence. Cindy told me she’d never sign a complaint against her own father.”
    â€œSo you bluffed him.” Louise grinned. “Maybe you ought to take up playing poker, Michele. I think you’re a natural.”
    â€œI don’t know what I would have done if he’d denied everything. But it’s all set, Louise. Twenty-four hours from now Cindy’ll be starting a new life in Connecticut.”
    Louise looked concerned as she noticed Michele’s shaking hands.
    â€œMaybe I’d better take your last appointment. You don’t look like you’re in any shape to handle the lady from Foley.”
    â€œI forgot I had another appointment.” Michele poured herself a hot cup of coffee. “What’s her problem, Louise?”
    â€œShe’s twenty-nine years old, and she’s got eleven kids. She wants to know if we can make her husband board up the bedroom window. He told her that inhaling night air causes pregnancy.”
    â€œOh, no.” Michele sighed deeply. “Give me a minute and then send her in. I’m fine now, Louise. Really.”
    â€œNo, you’re not.” Louise opened the door and turned to look back. “You just added cream and sugar to your coffee and you drink it black.”
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    â€œThere’s no chicken leg on this wall, Brian.”
    Judith Dahlquist stood on top of a chair holding a Kentucky Fried Chicken ad in her hand. A collage of vegetables, desserts, breads, beverages, and entrées covered three walls of Brian Nordstrom’s big kitchen on First Avenue. Even though the fourth wall was far from completion, at least half of the bright pink enamel was covered. Judith could understand Brian’s rush to redecorate his kitchen. It was impossible to cook in a room that looked like the inside of a Pepto-Bismol bottle.
    â€œIt’s there somewhere.” Brian was firm. “Greg glued it up last night. Did you look behind the refrigerator?”
    â€œIf it’s behind the refrigerator, no one’s going to see it anyway.”
    â€œMaybe not, but I’ll know it’s there. If you put up another chicken leg, it’ll destroy the artistic integrity of my kitchen.”
    â€œOh, for Pete’s sake, Brian! Art is nothing but appearance. You don’t get what you can’t see.”
    Judith climbed down and faced Brian angrily. He glared back at her.
    â€œMaybe you can’t see the other chicken leg, but it exists, and we both know it.”
    â€œIt doesn’t exist for me, Brian. It’s like the tree that falls in the forest. It makes no sound if no one’s there to hear it.”
    â€œOh, Judith!” Brian sounded exasperated. “That’s an entirely different case. You never did understand Berkeley.”
    Greg Hendricks looked up from the picture he was trimming. It sounded as if Judith and Brian were gearing up for one of their classic arguments.
    â€œHey!” Greg held up his hands in a time-out sign. “Don’t start shouting at each other. We’ve got neighbors next door.”
    â€œIt’s all right, Greg.” Brian grinned at him. “We’ve got the windows closed, and nobody can hear us. It’s not like the apartment.”
    Judith laughed out loud. Brian had almost lost the lease on his apartment after one of their marathon debates on artificial intelligence. The manager didn’t seem to understand that art professors like Brian were born to argue.
    â€œHere, Judith.” Brian handed her a