Fatal [antikvár]

1 KATE JAMESON AND BETH TULLY WALKED WEST AT THE bayside edge of Crissy Field. The hnes of the Golden Gate Bridge materiaUzed in haphazard fashion through the fog in front of them, but neither paid much attention. This was a view they encountered nearly every time they walked together, and they usually tried to do that once a week, so none of it really registered—not the choppy gray-green bay sloshing to their right, the bridge looming ahead, the kite-boarders, the sailboats, the joggers passing by— all of it swathed in the ubiquitous, wispy fog. They'd been roommates twenty years before at the University of San Francisco and though their lives had taken different turns, they were still close friends who rarely ran out of things to talk about. The walk, from GhirardeUi Square to the bridge and back, took them about an hour, and usually the first half of that got devoted to discussing their offspring—Kate's two and Beth's one, all teenagers. There was never a dearth of material. When they finally arrived at the bridge and turned