"He's not much of a hunter," Gage said, "the senator. Probably got excited."

After a silence, Gage said, "Wayson said you used to be a homicide detective. This ain't that. No question about the weapon, senator's twelve-gauge. Not much reason to look for the shell casing, but help yourself if you like."

Jose looked up and grinned. "Nah. Just thinking out loud. I'm good. I saw the place. Pretty clear how it all happened."

"Cut and dry."

"That's what I'll tell her," Jose said. "Sorry to drag you out here."

"It's on my way."

Jose let the chief lead the way out, but before he followed, he reached into his pocket and set the GPS.

The two of them trudged back to Jose's truck. He dropped the chief off at his cruiser, noticing for the first time the camera mounted above the gates. As he left, he watched the cruiser disappear in his rearview mirror, guessing that the chief wasn't going home but to report in to the senator.

Jose took the highway a couple of exits north, then got off and found a diner where he had a plate of hash and eggs and several cups of coffee in a booth next to the dusty window. He took his time eating and spread the police file out across the tabletop of his booth, digging into it, and burning through the last light of day.

CHAPTER 24

CASEY LURCHED AWAY, STUMBLING AND LOSING HER FOOTING because of the unrelenting grip on her arm.

She curled her fingers into a claw and slashed up and across in the direction she thought her attacker's face must be. The nails caught something, slicing through like butter, and the man cried out without letting go.

Casey screamed.

"Casey Jordan!" he shouted. "Are you Casey Jordan?"

She could see him in the light now, not the abusive husband of Soledad Mondo but a bulky, fiftyish man with a bulbous nose, wearing a tweed sport coat, and with a bad, frizzy gray comb-over hanging half off his balding head.

"Let me go, you son of a bitch!" she shrieked, swinging again.

This time he caught her hand and grabbed hold of it tight, backing her down into the doorway, surprising her with his strength.

"Are you Casey Jordan?" he hollered.

"Yes," she said. "Let go of me!"

The man released her wrists and stepped back into the shadows, fumbling with something inside his coat pocket, maybe a knife, maybe a gun. She gasped and thought to run, or kick him in the balls, but felt stuck in cement with limbs paralyzed by their own weight.

Whatever he took out flashed in the gloomy entryway. She blinked.

"I'm serving you with court papers," he said, extending the packet and jiggling it at her while he patted his bleeding cheek.

"You hide in my entryway?" she said, not taking it. "You think you can just do that?"

"It was all open," he said.

"You're a process server?" she asked.

"Sometimes people run," he said. "You cut me. Anyway, here."

She took it and he stepped around her.

"What's this about?" she asked, wheeling on him.

He shrugged and stopped in the glow of the light, examining the blood on his fingertips and stopping up the slash marks with a handkerchief from his pocket.

"I just serve them," he said. "But I always tell people, if they think about it… they'll know."

Casey watched him shuffle away down the canal. She pulled the door shut tight and threw the bolt, flipping the light switch and tearing open the sleeve that held the court documents. With practiced precision, her eyes quickly found the meat of it.

Her lip curled up off her teeth and she snarled.

"You asshole," she said, thinking of her ex-husband as she went up the narrow stairs. "You sick, pathetic, washed-up asshole."

She slapped the papers down on the dark green granite of the kitchen island, went to the fridge to pour a glass of sauvignon blanc, then picked the papers back up again, shaking her head. She crossed into the living room and flopped onto the couch, snatching up the phone.

"Paige? It's me. I got a new low for you."

"The DA?" she said.

"My ex," Casey said. "He's suing me."

"You're divorced already."

"For slander."

Casey heard the rustle of her putting her hand over the phone to whisper. She said, "You told someone about his pecker?"

"The movie," Casey said, snapping open the papers. "For the goddamn movie. Listen to this: 'false portrayal of his excellent character and impeccable integrity.' Can you vomit?"

"How much?" Paige asked in a normal voice.

"What?"

"Is he suing for?"

Casey barked out a laugh. "Five million."

"Can he do that?"

"He just did."

"But can he win?"

"Of course he can't win."

"Then tear it up, honey," Paige said.

Casey didn't reply. Then she said, "I don't think, anyway."

"You're the lawyer."

"Not a First Amendment lawyer. I told them he didn't say some of the crap they put in there. How can I be liable for that?" she asked.

"You're the lawyer."

"Thanks. You keep saying that."

"Look, I'm at dinner right now," Paige said, "and they just put a big hot steak in front of Luddy and he's giving me the hairy eyeball. Want to meet us after for a drink?"

"No, I'm sorry," Casey said. "I just wanted to vent. You should have seen the creep who served me."

"Served what?"

"The papers," Casey said. "The lawsuit. They have to give it to you in person. So you can't say you didn't get it. I have to respond to the goddamn court."

"You want me to leave, honey? Come over there?"

"No, you have your dinner."

"'Cause I can. I mean it."

"You're sweet. Tell Luddy I said hi."

"I'll do that."

"Paige?"

"What, honey?"

"I'm sorry to keep bothering you, but do you know Senator Chase at all?"

"Little rooster," she said. "Drinks too much when he can. Nothing like his father, who my daddy always said was a prince. Oh, Luddy, you stop that and eat already."

"How about the wife?" Casey asked.

"Mandy? A little too good for the rest of us, I've heard. Don't know her that well."

"Could you introduce me?"

Paige laughed and said, "She used to be an actress, that's what they say, so I can't imagine she wouldn't want to meet you with your own Lifetime original. What does that have to do with you getting sued?"

"Nothing," Casey said. "It's a whole other story. I'll tell you when I see you."

"How about I ask her to our little fund-raising tea tomorrow?" Paige asked. "Sissy James's husband is one of the senator's biggest supporters. I'll have her ask. If she can, I'm sure she'll come for Sissy. The little rooster will make her."

"Perfect," Casey said.

CHAPTER 25

NELLY MOVED QUIETLY THROUGH THE UPPER HALL TO HER mistress's dressing room with an armful of clean clothes before plunging into the darkness of the closet. Tiffany lamps sprang to life, exposing rack after rack of dresses, pantsuits, skirts, tops, and gowns. The scent of cedar-an undercurrent in the dark-seemed to fade. Nelly drank in the sight. Mahogany shoe cubbies filled the back wall. A ladder on brass tracks ran the length of the room. The entire village where Nelly had been born could have been dressed thrice over by the clothes in this closet.

Silently she returned the silk undergarments to their drawers, two skirts to their hangers, a cashmere sweater to its shelf, and a lace teddy to its dainty hook. Mrs. Chase liked her clothes replaced by the end of the day and she liked the work to be done while she dined. Nelly suspected that that way it seemed as though a fairy revived the soiled clothes magically, and not that dirty Mexicans like her had touched the pretty things.

Nelly checked the plastic watch she wore on the inside of her wrist, almost seven-thirty and the end of her fourteen-hour day. Still, she was grateful to be inside the house where the broad tile roof, the thick wood beams, and two AC units the size of small cars kept the place cool and comfortable. Also, she'd last worked in the household of a woman who made Mrs. Chase look like a saint.