Lilith Beaudare was working hard at holding back a smile. Jessop stared at his deputy until her mouth assumed a more respectful line. “Just get on with the housework, girl.” His feet were heavy on the floorboards as he stomped down the narrow corridor. The door slammed shut behind him.

The deputy leaned the broom against the cell block wall. It was well within Mallory’s reach.

Stupid move, Deputy.

The woman turned to Mallory. “You know why that bastard thinks he can talk to me that way?”

“Because you’re a woman? Or because you’re black? Pick one. I haven’t got all day for this crap.” She reached out through the bars to grasp the broom.

The deputy only watched her do this, unconcerned, not realizing that a broom could be a weapon – if Mallory chose to drive it through the bars and into the deputy’s gut. If she really wanted to do some damage, she could drive the broom handle into the deputy’s throat. It would only take a second. But it was not Lilith Beaudare she wanted to damage.

“It was a mistake to tell him you were at the top of your class,” said Mallory, moving the broom along the floor. “He’s going to gnaw on that for a while, and then sometime after lunch he just might put it all together.” She had fluffed a small pile of feathers up to the bars, and now a sweet light southern drawl crept into her voice. “Hand me that dustpan, will you?”

The deputy’s face was fixed in rapt attention as she surrendered the copper dustpan with its nice sharp corners to tear the flesh of a throat with only minimum force.

Oh, Deputy, you have a lot to learn, and I am going to teach you.

“I know your name can’t be girl.” In fact, she knew that Deputy Beaudare’s middle name was Mary. Most of Mallory’s information came from Jane, who brought her meals three times a day and didn’t mind holding up both ends of a conversation.

She brushed the feathers into the dustpan. And some took flight, escaping between the bars.

“My name is Lilith Beaudare.” And now, unbidden, the deputy also handed over the large green garbage bag, which would fit so nicely over the dark head if Mallory chose to suffocate the life out of this rookie cop.

“Lilith, this is no place for an up-and-comer like you. First in your class? That would have guaranteed you first pick of assignments.” She set the bag and dustpan on the small chest of drawers by her bed. “He’ll have to wonder what you’re doing here in St. Jude, the smallest parish in the state. And the town’s population wouldn’t fill two city blocks of New Orleans.”

“I was born in this town. It makes sense that I – ”

“Well, no it doesn’t. It would make sense for you to get as far away as you could. First in your class? Not small-town material. No, there’s definitely something wrong with this picture.”

Mallory came back to the cell door and got on with the chore of fluffing the feathers along the strip of floor by the bars. “He’ll have to figure you for a liar. Or maybe you’re a screwup, and this is a punishment detail.”

“I am not a – ”

“You could be a plant.” Well, that shut her mouth. “Yeah, that would work.”

Even Jane, of Jane’s Cafe, had found it odd that the state police should send the sheriff a deputy. Tom Jessop had been hiring and training his own people for decades. “You’ve made a lot of mistakes, Lilith. But maybe he’s as dumb as you think he is. Maybe he won’t put it all together… unless somebody puts the idea in his head.”

The woman said nothing. She was only gaping.

Mallory gestured to the stuffed armchair opposite her bed. “Come into my office and pull up a chair. I’m going to fix your life.”

The invitation was delivered so like an order, the rookie nearly followed it. But she stayed the hand that was reaching for the door, the hand with the key. Her arm dropped to her side, and she only stared at her prisoner.

Mallory lowered her eyes in submission. She returned to the bed and knelt down on the floor to move the broom underneath it, stirring a small cloud of feathers into the open. Her back was turned when she heard the clicks of the key working the tumblers of the lock. Footsteps entered the cell, and the door was locked again. When Mallory looked up, the deputy’s hand rested on the gun in her holster.

Perfect.

Mallory gestured to the armchair, inviting her guest to sit down. The deputy remained standing, eyes on the prisoner, as though Mallory might be a viper in striking distance. And she was.

“So he humiliated you.” Mallory turned her attention back to the leathers at the far corner under the bed. The armchair creaked behind her. “I bet he does that a lot.” She turned to see the deputy sitting in the chair, rigid, hands tightly clutching a dustcloth.

‘He’s a son of a bitch,“ said the deputy, teeth clenched. ”I could write him up for – “

‘No, that’s a bad idea.“ Mallory swept feathers into the dustpan as she went on in an easy tone, low and conspiratorial. ”If you ask someone else to solve your problem, they’ll write you off as a loser. That’s what I’d do.“

Oh, the rookie didn’t like that at all. Well, tough.

“Here’s a better idea,” said Mallory, emptying the dustpan into the green plastic bag. “Be the kind of cop no one would treat that way.” She stood up slowly and swept feathers closer to the armchair. The deputy sat ramrod straight, distrustful in every alerted muscle.

Mallory picked up the dustpan and began to herd the feathers into it. “Shoot better, even if it means putting in overtime and paying for extra practice rounds.” She walked to the window of the cell and ran one finger over the sill, staring distastefully at the dust. “Think better – don’t be in such a damn hurry to get the words out.” Now she strolled back to the deputy’s chair. “You don’t want to open your mouth unless you have something to say, and then you only say something worth listening to.”

The deputy seemed more relaxed now. Her grip on the dustcloth had lightened. Mallory bent down and plucked the cloth from the woman’s hand in a natural, easy movement. She began to rub the surface of the chest of drawers. “Never take crap from anybody. If you take it once, you’ll take it forever. If it means a fight, then fight – even if you know you can’t win.”

Mallory made intense eye contact until the other woman found it uncomfortable and dropped her guard to look at the floor. Mallory walked closer to the deputy’s chair. She bent low, her fair head next to the dark one, so close – sisters now. “Wear the bastard down.” And now she whispered, giving equal weight to every syllable, “Make this your religion.”

Mallory moved quickly to rip the gun from the deputy’s holster. She pressed the muzzle to the woman’s skull. As a throwaway afterthought, she said, “Oh, and there’s nothing quite as stupid as losing your gun to a prisoner.”

Lilith Beaudare showed all the signs of deep embarrassment, but no fear. Mallory liked that – she liked it a lot. This rookie cop had promise. She sat down on the edge of her bed and leaned toward the woman.

“Now I’ll tell you why the sheriff treats you like dirt. It’s because you’re a useless rookie, green as they come.”

And maybe you’re also a spy, Lilith Beaudare. State or federal, I wonder?

“Right now you’re no help to him at all. You’re more likely to get yourself shot.” Mallory held the gun a little higher as a show-and-tell exhibit. “Point taken? Now do you understand your place in the world?”

The deputy nodded.

Mallory turned the gun around and handed it back to her. The deputy only stared at it for a second, as if disbelieving it could be within her reach. Then she accepted it and pointed it at her prisoner.

Mallory ignored the gun barrel leveled at her heart. “School’s out. I fixed your life. I probably saved it – you won’t lose your gun again, will you? You owe me big-time, girl.”