"I used to, but the last few years, there just hasn't been any time for it," he admitted. "I remember, though, there's nothing like

that feeling of peace that comes over a man when he's-"

"Holding a fishing pole in one hand and a cold beer in the other?"

"Yeah, that's right. Nothing like it in the world."

They started discussing their favorite lures and bait, and then did a good deal of bragging about the fish they'd caught. Jake was impressed. He didn't think anyone understood or loved fishing as much as he did, but he had to admit that from the way Theo talked, he had met his match.

"I'm telling you, you ought to come up to Bowen. We've got the best fishing in the state, and I mean to prove it to you. We'll pass

a good time out on my dock."

"I may take you up on the offer sometime," he said.

"What do you do for a living?" Jake asked.

"I'm an attorney."

"How come the chief of police is sending you flowers?" he asked. He looked sheepish as he added, "They were sitting on the counter at the nurses' station before they brought them on in here, and I read the card."

"I came to New Orleans to give a speech," he said, leaving out the feet that he was being honored by the local authorities.

"I work for the Justice Department."

"Doing what exactly?"

"I was assigned to a special task force," he said. He realized he was still being evasive and added, "The area was organized

crime. I just finished up."

"Did you get your man?"

Theo smiled. "Yeah, I did."

"Are you out of a job now?"

"No," he answered. "Justice wants me to stay on. I'm not sure what I'm going to do."

Jake continued with his questions. Theo thought he would have made a great prosecutor. He had a sharp mind and a quick wit.

"You ever think about going into private practice?" Jake asked.

"Sometimes."

"There aren't any good attorneys in Bowen. We got two over in St. Claire, but they'll rob you blind. Folks don't think much of them."

While Jake talked about his town, Theo kept trying to think of a subtle way to bring the subject back to Michelle.

"Is your daughter married?" So much for subtle.

"I was wondering when you were going to get around to asking me about Mike. The answer's no, she isn't married. She hasn't

had time. Of course, the men in Bowen and St. Claire are all trying to get her attention, but she's been too busy setting up her clinic to pay them any mind. She's still young," he added. "And smart. Lord, is my girl smart. She finished college before she was twenty, then started in on her medical training. She had to go out of state to do her residency, but she came home to visit every chance she got. She's mindful of family," he added with a nod. "And she's pretty too, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is."

"I figured you'd notice."

Jake stood up and put the chair back against the wall. "It was nice passing the time with you, but I should go now. You get some sleep, and I'll carry that box to the car. Dr. Cooper gave my daughter some old surgical equipment, and when she asked me to come and fetch it, she was smiling like it was Christmas morning. If you ever make your way to Bowen, you be sure and come

by The Swan. That's my bar," he explained. "Drinks on the house."

He was at the door when Theo stopped him. "If I don't see your daughter before she leaves, please tell her thank you for me,

and also tell her how sorry I am about the dress."

"I'll be sure and tell her."

"Maybe our paths will cross again someday."

Jake nodded. "Maybe so."

CHAPTER SIX

John's friends never saw it coming. Two weeks to the day after Catherine's funeral, Cameron happened to run into the grieving widower at Commander's Palace, a four-star restaurant located in the Garden District. Cameron was sitting in one of the dining rooms waiting for his attorney to join him to discuss the never-ending and thoroughly nauseating topic of his divorce settlement. His wife was determined to destroy him financially and to publicly humiliate him in the process, and from the way things were going, it looked as though she would succeed.

John was having dinner with a young woman in the next room. The blond looked vaguely familiar. Her head was bent down, and she was diligently writing in her Day-Timer.

Cameron couldn't remember where he'd seen the woman before, but he was pleased to see his friend out for the evening, even

if it was business. John's moods had been so volatile since his wife's death. One minute he was overjoyed, almost euphoric, and the next, he was wallowing in self-pity and depression.

The blond lifted her head, and Cameron got a good look at her face. She was quite pretty. He still couldn't place her. He decided to interrupt the couple to say hello. He ordered a double scotch neat as fortification to get through the ordeal ahead

of him with his attorney, then started winding his way through the tables into the next dining room.

Had he not dropped his pen, he never would have known the truth. He bent down to scoop it up, and that was when he saw John put his hand on the blond's thigh under the white linen tablecloth. Her legs spread, and she shifted ever so slightly until she was leaning into his hand, which was now moving upward under her dress.

Cameron was so shocked by the intimacy he almost lost his balance. He quickly caught himself and stood. Neither John nor the woman noticed him. She had turned her head and was staring off into space, her eyes half-dosed in obvious bliss.

Cameron couldn't believe what he was seeing, but that instant of disbelief swiftly turned into confusion.

He suddenly remembered who the blond was, though he couldn't recall her name. She was the insipid female who called herself an interior decorator. Cameron had met her in John's office. Oh, yes, it was all coming back to him now. She didn't have taste or talent. She had turned his friend's office into a bordello parlor by painting the beautiful walnut-paneled walls a deep, garish mustard yellow.

She obviously had talent in another area though. The way John was all but licking his lips as he greedily stared at her pouting mouth indicated she was real talented in the bedroom. Cameron continued to stand near the doorway, staring at his friend's back while the truth settled in his mind.

The son of a bitch had duped them all.

Incredulous, and at the same time overwhelmed with anger, Cameron turned and walked back to his table. He tried to convince himself that he was jumping to the wrong conclusions. He had known John for years and trusted him completely.

Until now. Damn it, what had John done to them? White-collar crime was one thing; murder was quite another. The club had never gone this far before, and what made it all the more chilling was that they had convinced themselves that they were actually doing a good deed. Tell that to a jury of their peers and watch them laugh.

Dear God, had Catherine really been terminal? Had she been dying a slow, agonizing death? Or had John simply been lying to them to get them to do his dirty work?

No, not possible. John wouldn't have lied about his wife. He'd loved her, damn it.

Cameron was sick to his stomach. He didn't know what to think, but he did know it would be wrong to condemn his friend without knowing all the facts. Then it occurred to him that the affair, if that was what this was, could have begun after Catherine's death. He latched onto the idea. Yes, of course. John had known the decorator before his wife's death. The blond had been hired by Catherine to redecorate her bedroom. But so what if he had known her? After his wife died, John was grieving and lonely, and the young woman was available. Hell, she probably pounced on his vulnerability right after the funeral.