“An appeal,” Bree said. “Not your jurisdiction,” she added, in case Cordy got a little nosy.

“Doesn’t seem to be going all that well, from the look of you.”

“Could be better,” Bree admitted. “I don’t think I’m going to get a reversal. I did get a review of the sentencing, though. I suppose that’s something.”

“Win some, you lose some,” Cordy said. “All part of the great game of justice. But you did okay on the Lindsey Chandler case. Got the kid into therapy instead of a jail sentence. There’s hope for that kid yet.”

The elevator bumped to a stop. Cordy got out. So did Bree.

“I do believe there may be. She walked up to the theft charges, and that helped a lot.”

“Ah, the rewards of plea bargaining.”

“She wouldn’t allow me to plea-bargain, Cordy. Just threw herself on the mercy of the court.”

“Uh-huh.”

Bree smiled a little. “But even cynical old you have to feel good about this other thing, Cordy. You know the program Lindsey’s in—it’s good. Plus, if you keep your nose clean for the first six months, you can choose either to be released to your family on weekends or to stay in the center. Her mother asked her to come home, and Lindsey’s agreed. So there’s a step in the right direction there. And what’s more, she’s volunteered restitution of sorts. She’s talked her brother into sharing the costs it’d take to fund a new rehab facility here in Savannah.”

According to Ron, Carrie-Alice’s confession about her affair with Hansen had not divided mother and daughter. Lindsey had given her mother a long, thoughtful look, and said: “So you’re sort of a screwup, too?” And then did The Shrug, of course. But it was The Shrug accompanied by a reluctant smile.

“Maybe.” Cordy snorted. “Your appeals case having the same kind of mixed result? Little teeny steps instead of a nice clear win? How much of a long shot was it?” She held the glass doors open, and Bree went through first. Outside, the sky was the crisp blue that heralds the advent of early winter in Savannah. Ron waved at her from her car. The sun glinted off the gold of Sasha’s fur, as he poked his head out of the driver-side window. He barked when he saw her coming. Bree waved them on. She wanted to walk.

“How much of a long shot?” Bree repeated. She thought of Probert Chandler who betrayed his daughter. She thought of Josiah Pendergast—and the kind of eternity he faced; driven by hellish forces to haunt Bree until some final showdown. No neat resolutions for any of them. “Nine to one, going in. But I got the sentence reduced. And it’s three to one that he’ll feel it’s fair.” She faced Cordelia with a smile. “He did it, you see. The crime he was committed for. But like Lindsey, he threw himself on the mercy of the court, and he’s attempted restitution. And like Lindsey, he was pretty sorry about the way he’d lived. But we’ll see.”

She stopped at the corner of East Bay and Houston. They had walked all the way down to the turnoff for 66 Angelus Street. Cordy couldn’t follow her there. But Sasha could.

“I guess you could say the whole thing’s in Limbo, for the moment.”

There was a newly dug grave in the cemetery surrounding 66 Angelus Street. It was empty, of course, but the tombstone awaited the arrival of the murderer. Justice would catch up with him. It always did.