The Unbidden Truth

“Her carefully crafted approach to the legal thriller continues to separate Wilhelm from the competition.”

—Publishers Weekly on No Defense

“Sensitive, thought-provoking, and involving, Death Qualified is an unqualified success.”

—Los Angeles Times Book Review

“Wilhelm is a masterful storyteller whose novels have just the right blend of solid plot, compelling mystery, and great courtroom drama.”

—Library Journal

“Brilliantly plotted, lyrically written, alluring and magical…Wilhelm’s story is a wrenching masterpiece about love, loyalty, and lies.”

—Booklist on The Good Children

“Wilhelm demonstrates once again her sure understanding of human nature and her ability to wring more suspense from emotional violence than the physical variety.”

—San Diego Union-Tribune on The Deepest Water

“One of the masters of psychological fiction in America.”

—San Francisco Chronicle

“Wilhelm’s skill in spinning out endless complications while keeping every subplot perfectly clear makes this legal thriller her best in years.”

—Kirkus Reviews on Defense for the Devil

Call home the child, whose credulous first hours

Burn at the heart of living, and surprise

The better reason with unbidden truth.

—David McCord

“A Bucket of Bees”

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Part Two

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

It was a lazy Friday afternoon, the kind of day that leads thoughts to hammocks and shade trees. Barbara Holloway stifled a yawn as she escorted her last client of the day at Martin’s Restaurant to the door. August was always slow, and she had taken notes of four clients’ complaints about neighbors, evil debt collectors, recalcitrant landlords. She had caught up with Internet news, had her terrorist anxiety renewed, answered e-mails and was wishing that she had a shade tree and a hammock. She was looking forward to a dinner with friends and then a movie.

Now it was time to take down her Barbara Is In sign. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Guys like that turn into pussycats when authority hits them in the head. Sometimes the law can carry more punch than a bat.” Her client, a thin young woman of twenty-one, with a three-year-old child and a one-year-old, looked relieved.

When Barbara opened the door she was surprised to see another woman standing by the steps. And she was not the sort of client who usually turned up at Martin’s. Her hair was gray and beautifully styled, short with a bit of wave; her skin was lovely and unwrinkled. About sixty, trim, and well-dressed in a cream-colored linen skirt and silk shirt, wearing a gold chain and small gold earrings, she looked as if she could be the owner of the black Saab parked at the curb. It was as out of place here as she was. Martin had renovated a simple house, had torn down interior walls to make a dining room with six tables and six booths, and he cooked some of the best food to be found in Eugene, but Barbara doubted that the woman on the doorstep had ever driven through this neighborhood, much less considered eating here.

“Ms. Holloway, may I have a few minutes?” the woman asked.

It was ten minutes before five, and at five-thirty Martin liked to have the restaurant empty, in order for him and his wife Binnie to set the tables.

“Of course,” Barbara said, moving aside. She took down her sign and motioned toward her table where Martin was picking up the carafe and cups. He paused a moment.

“Can I bring you something? Coffee, wine?”

Martin was big enough to fill a doorway and as black as night. A white beret was striking in contrast; it seemed to glow. And he never offered wine to her clients. He had sized up this woman as rapidly as Barbara had done.

“No, thanks,” the woman said, seating herself.

Then, as Martin walked back to the kitchen, she turned to Barbara. “I know it’s late and I’ll be as succinct as I can. My name is Louise Braniff. I’m in the music department at the U of O, and I give private piano lessons to a few students. Also, I’m a member of a society of women. We call ourselves the Crones’ Club, but officially we’re the Benevolent Ladies Club. We sponsor various causes that we consider worthy. Sometimes surgery, sometimes a scholarship, or helping someone get a start in business, various things. All directed at girls or women. We want to retain you.”

“To do what?”

“Defend Carol Frederick, who is accused of murdering Joe Wenzel.”

Barbara studied her more closely. “Murder suspect comes under your definition of worthy cause? I think you’d better start a bit further back.”

“Of course. How we choose our recipients is a starting place, I imagine. When one of us learns of a particular instance where a gift of cash would change a life, we meet and discuss it and investigate the person we’re considering, and if we all agree, then one of us is chosen to make the proper arrangements. In this instance we decided that I should approach you since I was the one who proposed helping Carol Frederick originally.”