“Okay, so you like her.”

Amanda’s smile was weary.

Barnes said, “You really like her for it?”

“No, but I don’t want to rule her out. She’s unstable and she knew Davida’s habits better than anyone.”

No sense belaboring the subject. “Are you coming to Sacramento with me tomorrow?”

“Of course. Why are you even asking?”

“The memorial’s scheduled the day after the funeral. I set up the interview with Lucille Grayson for when it’s over.” Barnes smiled like a cat with feathers in his teeth. “Is that okay?”

“What’s on your mind, Willie?”

“After the funeral, I’m going to Don Newell’s place for dinner at five thirty.”

She stared at him. “And I’m not invited.”

“I can get you invited.”

“But…”

“It’s up to you.”

“But you didn’t mention me the first time around.”

“It was more of a social thing- old-boy barbecue.”

Amanda whistled. “Oh, man. First high school buds, then Jane Meyerhoff, then this. Maybe you’d like to take over the entire case by yourself?”

“C’mon, Amanda, don’t be- ”

“You think I’m losing my touch? I was the one who just got Minette to confess to the break-in.”

Barnes had seen that as teamwork. He said, “That was great, but with Donnie Newell, there might be things I can- he might be uncomfortable talking in front of you.”

“Good-old-boy sex talk?”

“Woman talk,” said Barnes. “Specifically his relationship to Davida.”

“While you’re with him, I could talk to the wife who hated Davida. Or is she too hysterical and weak to pull it off?”

“I thought about that, Mandy, I really did. But then instead of the dinner being a friendly invitation, and the boys retiring for a cigar, it’s too much like a cop interview. You know, you take one, I take the other.”

He was making sense, although Amanda hated to admit it. “If you exclude me from anything one more time, I’m walking. This is a partnership, remember?”

“Mandy, you know how much respect I have for you- ”

“Don’t go there, Will. I’m too pissed off for condescension.”

“Look, I really do respect your opinion. As a matter of fact, I took your advice.”

She regarded him with narrowed eyes. “What advice?”

“You know…me and Marge Dunn. I rented a convertible. We’re going to drive through Napa and Sonoma, do a couple of tastings.”

Actually, Barnes hadn’t prepared a damn thing but Amanda’s idea had been a good one, and it seemed like a dandy time to tell her. “Any idea if there’s a cheese shop en route? I think a cheese, fruit and wine picnic would be great. You agree?”

Amanda sighed. “Actually, I do have an address. Also, try The Olive Press near Sonoma. And if she’s still tolerating you by the end of the day, I’ve got some dinner recommendations.”

“That would be super- ”

“Now cut the crap and rent that car and stop bullshitting me. I’m still pissed, Will.”

“I know you are. How about coffee at Melanie’s? I’ll pay.”

She cracked up. “You think you can get me to come around with a measly mocha latte?”

“Lunch?”

“You’re getting warmer.”

“Chez Panisse? I know one of the waitresses, maybe if it’s slow- ”

“Thanks, love to.” Amanda smiled. “I’ll pull out the car while you check your wallet.”

19

Though she had no children, Davida Grayson had left behind a legacy. Her lust for life, her obsession with justice for the underclass, her dogged pursuit of righteousness were iterated and reiterated by each speaker. Those who eulogized her knew her well enough to make it sound real. Everyone pledged not to let Davida’s dream of creating a new stem-cell line perish with her.

In the end, Lucille Grayson had acted with class and had allowed Minette Padgett to speak. Surprisingly, Minette was clear of thought and steady of balance. She spoke briefly- always a sign of discretion- and from the heart. If Barnes hadn’t known what a nutcase she was, he might’ve choked up.

When the hour was up, the casket was loaded into the hearse, and a community that had loved Davida offered its final good-byes. The graveside service was to be a small and private affair.

Amanda checked her watch as she and Barnes filed out of the auditorium. They joined the massive black wave undulating toward the exits. It was shortly after three. “Your man-to-man dinner still on for five thirty?”

“Far as I know.”

“Did you see Newell here?”

“I looked for him, couldn’t find him anywhere,” Barnes answered.

“We’ve got time to kill. Want to grab a cup of coffee?”

“Why not?”

She walked slightly ahead of him, made her way through the throng. Civil but still pissed off.

Outside the auditorium, Barnes caught up with her. “I called Newell this morning. You’re invited for dinner.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“Because you should be there. After dinner, I’ll take Donnie, and you occupy Jill Newell, just like you said.”

Neither detective spoke for several footsteps.

Barnes said, “You know I’m a loner, Amanda. I work well with partners but only up to a point. I feel a little bad about that, but not too bad. I am what I am. But that doesn’t mean that when someone calls me on my bullshit I can’t set it right.”

They walked a couple more steps in silence.

“Did you tell Newell I was definitely coming?”

“I said you might. Didn’t know if you had other plans.”

“I don’t now.”

“So I’ll call Donnie and tell him it’s a go.”

“How about if I call Jill and ask her if it’s okay for me to come to dinner? Then when she says yes, I’ll thank her personally and ask her if I can bring anything.”

“Woman to woman,” said Barnes.

“Person to person.”

As a state capital, Sacramento played a fine host to its politicians. It had classy restaurants, several art museums courtesy of Crocker Bank, concert halls, a few theaters and the ARCO arena with its NBA team, the almost-champ Kings. But like most cities, it had multiple identities.

In Sacramento ’s case, that meant a mining history and agricultural presence. When the Kings made the play-offs, the fans came armed with cowbells.

Barnes had grown up in a semi-rural, farming community twenty quiet miles from the capitol dome, where, like most of his schoolmates, he learned how to shoot a rifle and use his fists. The music of choice was country for the masses and bluegrass for those serious about guitar and fiddle. Having a gay brother and living in Berkeley had altered Barnes’s perspective but had never totally erased it. As Amanda had pointed out, sometimes he reverted to the cowboy thing. Sometimes to his detriment.

But this wasn’t one of those times. Sitting at the Newells’ big pine dinner table, wearing his bolo tie, a soft pair of Wranglers and well-broken boots, he felt right at home.

The ranch-style house sat on ten acres of oak and eucalyptus in a semi-agi neighborhood with barns and paddocks. The furniture was a chain-store leather ensemble complete with two La-Z-Boy lounge chairs fitted with cup holders that faced a sixty-inch flat-screen TV. Whatever art in sight was made by the Newell kids. Most of the table conversation centered on the kids asking the adults to pass around the food. Everyone praised Jill on her fine cooking, which was no lie. Jill seemed to take little joy in the attention. Shy woman, she always had been.

During the meal, Barnes snuck several sidelong glances at Amanda who ate sparingly and complimented the behavior of the Newells’ three kids.

As far as Barnes could tell, no thanks to Don who was loose and jocular and made no attempt to act parental.

It was Jill who ran a tight ship.

She was statuesque, about five ten, with a weathered oval face, high cheekbones, and piercing brown almond eyes that suggested Indian blood. Her lips were full but she rarely smiled. Her hands had been roughened by use, her fingers long but her fingernails short. She wore tight jeans and a loose-fitting sweatshirt. Her chestnut-colored hair was tied up in a high ponytail.