Lana had wandered into the library, but after a few moments she wandered back out with a book in her hand to the Sun Room. She'd tucked it down under her arm, by her hip, as she'd passed Harvey -- he didn't need to know she'd bypassed a raft of classics, including Doyle's oeuvre, for a little thriller whose grip on the legal process might be charitably called naive.

Then again, the truth wouldn't make for much of a story, after all. It mattered to the people caught up in it, but from the outside it was a boring, often sordid, mess. There had been a few exceptions; Hollywood was too nearby for there not to be, but once the luster faded from a star, even a three-day trial was beyond most people's attention span.

There were plenty of armchairs, and Lana claimed one, along with an end-table, and spread her lunch out on the latter while parking herself more neatly in the former.

[free!]