Turning her back on Mindy, Nora studied the polished black granite surrounding a full size fireplace.
Above the granite, a large bare wall rose to the ceiling like a display area in a museum.
Holding up her open hands to simulate a picture frame, Nora tried to visualize the piece of modern art that belonged on the wall.
Instead of an oil painting, her great-grandfather’s branding irons floated into her mind.
Until the depression brought hard times, Great-Grandpa had owned a cattle ranch.
He’d gone bust. But her grandmother was proud to be a cattleman’s daughter. She’d hung the three work-worn irons on her front room wall.
Now, they were buried in the stacked cardboard boxes filling one end of Nora’s studio apartment.
In her imagination, she unpacked and moved them to the space above the granite fireplace.
Black iron against the white wall.
Old on new.
The mental picture stole Nora’s breath.
That wall was made to show off her family heirlooms.
Nora blinked and her eyes slid away from the fireplace to the windows overlooking Main Street.
Five tall rectangular panes and a glass double-door marched along the wall’s bottom half. Two more tiers of smaller-paned windows sat above them in the top half.
Shaded on this late afternoon.
But morning sun would pour in and flood her great room with light.
Brighten the start of every day.
Nora sighed.
The joke was on her.
Despite the familiar loft ceiling, she hadn’t time-traveled back behind bars.
Instead, the sumptuous master suite had transported her light years away from that tiny cell with the shared bunk bed and stainless steel commode.
She and her cellmate couldn’t keep secrets from each other. Good thing she and Winifred Yates had gotten along so well.
When Winnie was released, she’d followed Nora to Spokane. A common wall separated Winnie’s studio apartment from the mirror-image one she rented.
Her ex-cellie would soon move out and leave her behind.
A sign that she should move on, too?
Move here?
In this spacious room, she could lie down on the carpet and spread out her arms and legs in a big X and her fingers and toes would touch nothing but air.
She’d feel absolutely, totally, one hundred percent free.
Turning back to face Mindy, she saw that the realtor had moved her elbow off the bar top.
“Where do you work?” Mindy asked.
Her tone was conversational but her gaze was piercing.
Unnerved by the realtor’s intensity, Nora didn’t name the private nonprofit where she’d been employed since finishing law school.
Instead, she recited the street address.
Mindy drew her chin down in a satisfied nod. “Up near the courthouse. Makes sense.”
Nora winced.
Mindy had pegged her as a member of the legal profession. Probably mentally boosted the asking price because all lawyers are rolling in dough.
“Come out on the balcony for a minute,” Mindy added. “I want to show you a couple of features you’ll love.”
Beckoning Nora to follow, she strolled toward the glass door.
Nora felt like a cornered mouse.
Pussy footing on her kitty-slippers, Mindy was moving in for the kill.
The realtor pushed the door open and asked, “Did you walk from your office?”
“A whole six blocks,” Nora admitted warily.
“That close?” Mindy made a humming noise. “This is the perfect location for a woman who works seven days a week.”
Nora trailed the realtor out onto a ten-foot-long balcony with a wrought-iron railing.
Looking down toward the street, she saw the leafy tops of curbside birches trembling in the air currents.
Waving past the treetops, Mindy said, “If you need fresh air, the riverfront park is only two blocks that way.”
Warmth kissed Nora’s cheeks and the light breeze ruffled her copper curls.
She peered north, searching for the red tile roof on the park’s clock tower.
The downtown mall blocked her view.
Probably what Mindy wanted to show her.
One floor below, a skywalk crossed above Main Street, connecting the building she was in with the shopping center.
“Everything you need is only minutes away,” Mindy pointed out. “Nordstrom. Anthropologie. Williams-Sonoma.”
Convenient mall access would be a big plus for most potential buyers.
Not Nora.
She was so busy, she shopped online and had her purchases delivered to the office.
She’d been inside Nordstrom twice.
Two years ago, she’d found a jacket dress the same coal-black shade as a judge’s robe to wear to a Washington State Superior Court hearing.
When fate put her in US Federal Court a few months later, she’d bought a stylish jacket to dress up a knit dress. Both dress and jacket were the bright green of spring grass.
She’d wanted to stand out from the three dark-suited lawyers who’d joined her motion.
Her client had been innocent of murder.
Their clients were not.
In both appearances, she’d won new trials.
Her superstitious colleague would insist that Nordstrom was her lucky store. If she shopped there more often, she could count on more courtroom wins.
Why not move in and upgrade her wardrobe at the same time?
The master bedroom closet could hold twice as many clothes as she owned.
Except, she wasn’t superstitious. She made her own luck.
And she had enough clothes.
Besides, expensive home furnishings and professional-quality cookware had never been on her wish list.
She wouldn’t burn through her inheritance manufacturing a cool urban lifestyle. This condo was so not-her. She’d get out before she was lured into buying it.
Preparing to tell Mindy that she had an urgent appointment elsewhere, Nora squared her shoulders and drew a breath.
The smell of recently burned tobacco filled her nose.
Her eyes narrowed.
Where would a secret smoker hide butts on this long skinny balcony?
Nora’s gaze flicked to the far back corner. She spotted a black plastic ashtray on the floor next to the wall, tucked beneath a curlicue in the railing.
Three lipsticked filter ends gave Mindy away.
Nora’s shoulders dropped.
Tobacco addicts were a hunted minority. To survive in a hostile world, they had to stick together.
She couldn’t run off from a sister smoker without explaining.
“I love the feeling I got in there,” she began.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Mindy crowed. “I can’t believe this used to be a boring old department store.”
“I like it a lot,” Nora admitted. “But I can’t afford to buy it.”
“You can’t afford not to,” Mindy said. “You can’t take care of your clients unless you take care of yourself.”
Nora’s eyes widened. “Do I know you?”
“No, no.” Mindy waved her hand like she was erasing the question.
“I recognized you from the newspaper photo,” she said. “You’re the famous lawyer.”
Nora laughed. “My fame doesn’t translate to fortune.”
Mindy shrugged. “If you have a steady income and can put some money down, we’ll find financing, no problemo.”
Mindy pulled a pack of Merit Ultra Light Menthol 100s out of her jacket pocket. “You mind?”
“Not a bit.” Nora reached into her bag for her smokes and lighter. “I’ll join you.”
Mindy tucked her right elbow into her left palm and put a cigarette between her lips.
Nora lit it for her and fired up her own.
Mindy blew a cloud of smoke heavenward and leaned toward Nora. “Did you really grow up in a trailer park?”
Nora snorted. She’d never shake the trailer-trash tag. The press loved it too much.
“I only lived in a trailer until I was five,” she informed Mindy. “After that, I lived in a real house till I turned eighteen.”
Mindy’s chin went down in a nod of understanding. “Of course. You were eighteen when they put you in prison.”
Nora steeled herself. She didn’t answer personal questions about her two-plus years in an Oregon correctional facility for women.
“I’m impressed by how you turned your life around after you got out,” Mindy added.
The realtor had moved on to the up-by-the-bootstraps chapter of her life.
Nora was tired of retelling that story but it was better than describing what she’d come up from.
“I had a lot of help,” she said, readying herself to praise her grandmother and the lawyer who became her mentor.
But Mindy was done chitchatting.
“Do you own your current home?” she asked.
Nora shook her head. “I’m renting.”
The realtor eyed her. “How old are you, thirty-five?”
“Thirty-six,” Nora replied.
“Definitely time to consider home ownership. This condo will be an excellent investment.”
Mindy collected the ashtray, stubbed out her cigarette, and motioned Nora to do the same.
The realtor tucked the ashtray back into its hidey-hole and slapped her palms together as if preparing for serious hands-on work.
Shooing Nora toward the door, she added, “Let’s take a look at your balance sheet and figure out how to get you in here pronto.”