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Mother and son share intimacy while gardening for Earth Day.

"Good morning, Mr. Salazar," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Gina Ellerby, your attorney."

As she walked into the room, I couldn't help but stare. José had warned me that she was young, but this woman looked like she might have just graduated from high school! She was attractive enough, but she reminded me of one of those pubescent starlets that the Disney Channel seems to churn out like clockwork.

She turned around and caught me staring at her. "Is everything alright, Mr. Salazar?" she asked in a high-pitched voice that sounded like a little girl's.

"Excuse me," I said, "but do you mind telling me how old you are?" I knew it was rude of me, but I couldn't help myself.

Her face turned red and she drew herself up to her full height, although that didn't help much. "I know that I look younger than I am and that I have a childish voice, Mr. Salazar. But I'm 27 years old, I graduated from law school, I passed the bar exam and I have been accepted to practice law in the State of Florida. Now if that isn't good enough for you, I'll leave and you can find another attorney to represent you," she said hotly.

I held up my hands, both to stop her from leaving and in apology for my rudeness. "I'm sorry, Ms. Ellerby, it's just that you took me by surprise. Look, we've gotten off to a bad start - let's try again. I'm Andrés Salazar, but my friends call me Andy. I'd like you to represent me."

She took a deep breath and then extended her hand to shake mine. "Apology accepted," she said. "I'd like to call you Andy, and you can call me Gina. I'm looking forward to working with you. Now, Mr. Pasquo gave me a summary of your situation, but I'd like to hear the details from you."

"Well," I began, "Felicia and I drove up here on Thursday . . ."

"Oh, Andy," she interrupted, "what am I thinking? I'm so sorry about your wife. I meant to say something when I first came in."

I nodded; at that point there wasn't much more to be said except to thank her for her concern. Then I went on with a quick rundown of the events of the weekend, although I didn't talk about our little swap with Don and Mia on Saturday night. Somehow I felt like it would be disloyal to Felicia's memory to talk about that.

Gina took notes as I went through my recitation, and when I had finished it was time to get started on the 30-minute drive over to Inverness. Gina volunteered to drive, and as we headed east on FL-44, she told me that she didn't anticipate a problem. "I've already had a look at the Coast Guard report on line, and they're showing this as a boating accident. I'm guessing our session today is just routine to close the books on the case. You had the misfortune of encountering a couple of rednecks, but don't worry: they won't try that with me around."

I was starting to feel better about having Gina as my attorney. She'd obviously done her homework, and I liked her spirit.

When we got to the Inverness Sheriff's Department, it was Sheriff McGee himself who wanted to talk to us. It quickly became obvious that this was not to be a routine session. He began by going over the same questions his deputies had asked about my whereabouts on the day of the accident. I felt very uncomfortable having to admit that there was no way I could prove that I had been in the room all day.

"You say you were taking a nap from about 10:00 in the morning to almost 4:00 in the afternoon. That's a mighty long nap - you must have been pretty tired out from the night before," the Sheriff remarked, raising his eyebrows.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat; this was an area I'd wanted to avoid. "Well, we'd stayed pretty late at the nightclub dancing," I said.

He made a note on his pad. "So how would you characterize your relationship with your late wife, Mr. Salazar?" he asked, catching me off guard.

"Good, Sheriff, very good," I said quickly. "I mean we had our disagreements like every couple does, but we had a great marriage."

Gina gave me a sharp look, and I realized that she didn't like the way I'd answered the question.

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