Jo-el Boudreaux's left eye ticked twice, and he took a single step toward me and I stood. Edith was pulling at his arm, her face red. I said, "I saw you with Milt Rossier. We know about Leon Williams and Edith's father. Rebenack was extorting Jodi and her studio, and Rossier is extorting you."

Boudreaux's eye ticked again and he shook his head. "No."

Edith said, "He says that Rossier killed that redheaded man. Do you know about tliat? Are you covering up for him?"

Boudreaux blinked hard, and he looked at his wife. "You know better than that." He squinted at me to stop the blinking. "If I knew who murdered Jimmie Ray Rebenack I would make an arrest. Maybe you did it. Maybe I should take you in for questioning."

I said, "Sure. That would look good in the local papers."

He shook his head again, and now the eye was ticking madly, like a moth caught in a jar. "I don't know what Edie's been saying to you, but she's been confused. She's not making sense."

Edith made a sudden, abrupt move and slapped her husband on the side of the face. There wasn't a lot on it, but the sound was sharp and clear, and Jo-el stepped back, surprised. Edith grabbed his arm and shook him. "Don't you dare speak about me that way! We have been living in a way that makes me ashamed, and I want it to stop. I want it to stop, do you hear?"

Jo-el took his wife by her upper arms. You could barely hear him. "You want me to go arrest your father? That's what will happen, and won't that be fine? You can even testify at his trial."

Edith was crying.

Jodi said, "We're on your side. Maybe we can help you. Maybe we can work together."

Jo-el Boudreaux said, "There's nothing to talk about. I don't know anything about this, so you take care of your business and let me worry about mine."

Edith was crying harder. "I want to stop lying. I want this to end."

Jo-el said, "Edie, Goddammit. There's nothing to talk about." Denying it to the end.

Edith pulled away from him and ran back through the house, and a door slammed. For a long moment no one moved, and then Boudreaux went to the front door and held it open. He was breathing hard, and it took him a minute to control it. He looked at me and said, "Do you have a statement that you wish to make in the murder of Jimmie Ray Rebenack?"

"Let us help you, Jo-el."

He looked at Jodi. "I'm glad Edie had a chance to meet you, but there's just been a misunderstanding here. We don't know anything about Milt Rossier, or about the murder of Leon Williams."

Jodi said, "You're being a fool."

Boudreaux nodded and looked back at me. "Where's it go from here?"

I said, "Jesus Christ, Boudreaux."

He blinked hard once. "I want to know." I thought he was about to cry.

I took a deep breath. "It starts here, it stops here. We won't give you up."

Sheriff Jo-el Boudreaux stood at the door, the big hand holding it open, the soft sounds of the neighborhood drifting in with the moist scent of cut grass, and then he simply walked away, back across the living room and through a door and after his wife.

Jodi and I went out through the door, closed it behind us, and drove away. The late afternoon had given way to the evening, and the sky in the east was beginning to purple. Fireflies traced uneven paths in the twilight.

Jodi huddled on her side of the car, arms crossed, staring out the window and chewing her lip. The lip started bleeding so she stopped with the lip and chewed at a nail. We drove in silence.

I said, "So say it."

"They're good people. He thinks he's protecting her because he's a big dumb goober, but he's making it worse for both of them."

"Uh-huh."

She glanced at her watch and her right knee began bouncing. Nervous energy. "I have to go back to L.A. to finish the show, but I can't just walk away. I want you to stay here and find out what's going on and see if you can help them."

The air had cooled, and smelled sweet, but I didn't know from what. "I have found that, in cases like this, the only way to escape the past is to confess it. They don't seem anxious to do that."

"I want you to try. Will you?"

"What about you?"

She looked at me. "What does that mean?"

"Who are you, Jodi? Do you want these people in your life?"

She stared at me for what seemed like years, and then she crossed her arms and settled back into the shadows. "I don't know what I want. Just help them, okay?"

"Okay."

CHAPTER 22

W e drove directly to the airport. Jodi bought the last remaining first class seat on a flight readying to leave the gate. They held the plane. Can't just fly away and leave America's sweetheart holding her bag.

Jodi said, "Call me whenever you want. The pickups should only take a few days, and then I'll come back."

"Sure."

She gave me a kiss, and then she was gone. A businessman with a receding hairline watched Jodi get on the plane. "Say, podnuh, that who I think it is?"

"Who'd you think it was?"

"That one on TV. The singer."

I shook my head. "Nope."

As I walked back through the terminal, I felt alone and at loose ends and overly aware that Lucy Chenier was only a short drive away. Of course, Lucy seem particularly interested in my proximity, but that didn't make it any easier. I tried not thinking about her. I thought, instead, that perhaps I should do something exciting to clear my head. With a clear head, I could probably think of a way to help Edith Boudreaux, which was, of course, what I was being paid to do. Also, something exciting would probably make it easier to not think about Lucy.

It was twenty-three minutes after seven, and there were exactly six people in the terminal besides me. A man of action is ever resourceful, however, and one's options are limited only by one's imagination. Hmm. I could hike up to the levee and shoot rats, but that would be noisy and one probably needed a rat-shooting permit. Difficult to obtain. Okay, I could scale the outside of the state's thirty-two-story capitol building then paraglide onto the Huey Long Bridge, but where would I get the parasail? Rent-a-chute was probably closed, too. Elvis Cole, this is your life!

I drove to the Riverfront Ho-Jo, checked in yet again, then ordered a turkey sandwich from room service, and went up to my room. Twenty minutes later I was eating the sandwich when the phone rang. I said, "Diminished expectations. Elvis Cole speaking."

Lucy Chenier said, "If that was a play on Great Expectations, it's too obscure."

I said, "Hi." My heart speeded up and my palms went damp. We are often not as tough as we make out to be.

Lucy said, "I want to apologize for the way I acted. I'd like a chance to explain."

"It's not necessary."

"Jodi phoned me from the plane. She told me a little of what's going on, and, as before, she asked me to assist you in anyway possible." She sounded mechanical, as if she were nervous.

"All right."

Lucy didn't say anything for a moment, and I wondered if the line had gone dead. Then she said, "I'm making dinner. If you'd like, you could join me and we could talk about these things."

"That would be very nice. Thank you."

"Do you remember the way?"

"Of course."

There was another pause before she said, "Then I'll see you soon."

"Yes."

"Good-bye."

I hung up and stared at the phone. Well, well. I threw away what was left of the turkey, took a quick shower, then talked the bartender in the hotel bar into selling me a bottle of merlot and a bottle of Chardonnay for three times what they were worth. I made it to Lucy's in fourteen minutes. Try getting across Los Angeles in fourteen minutes. You'd need a Klingon battle cruiser.

Lucy's neighborhood was quiet, and her home was well lit and inviting. The same man and woman were walking the pinto Akita. I parked in the drive behind Lucy's Lexus, and nodded at them. The woman said, "It's such a lovely night."