"Yes."

"Where was he tested?"

"I don't know."

"Was Jason tested?"

"We donated some blood for the DNA match. I spoke to our doctor first. Larry Klein. He's a lovely man. Very cute. Jason just thought it was part of a routine physical."

"Do you think the rest of the family knows anything?" I said.

"To my knowledge, you and I are the only ones who know about this, and of course Dr. Klein."

"You know he went to Dr. Klein?"

"No. He said he had. And was waiting for the results."

"You're sure Clive is Jason's father?" I said.

"I said I was a courtesan. I am not a whore."

We sat for a while. I thought about the offer. The case had its own merits, and it was also a wedge back into the situation. It is very bad for business when someone kills your client. I might see Penny again, whom I liked. I would almost certainly get a further look at Dolly's knees, which I also liked.

"Georgia in August," I said. "Hot dog!"

TWENTY-EIGHT

IT WAS HOT in Lamarr. The sky was cloudless and the sun hammered down through the thick air. I parked at the top of the long driveway. Everything was pretty much the same. The lawn was still smooth and green. The sprinklers still worked, separating small rainbows out of the hot sunlight. On the wide veranda in the shade, two guys in Security South uniforms stood looking at me. As I got out of my car one of them walked down the front steps and over to me. He was carrying a clipboard.

"Your name, sir?"

"Spenser," I said. "Nice clipboard."

"I don't see your name here, sir."

"With an S-p-e-n -s-e-r," I said. "Like the English poet."

"I still don't see it, sir. Did you call ahead?"

"I certainly did."

"And who'd you speak with?"

"Some guy said his name was Duane."

"I can check with him, sir."

"Sure," I said.

He walked a few steps away, reached down and adjusted his radio, and spoke into a microphone clipped to his epaulet. Then he listened, readjusted his radio, and walked back to me.

"Duane says he informed you already that you're not welcome," the security guy said. He was a little less respectful when he said it. The other security guy, still on the veranda, came a couple of steps closer, though still in the shade, and let his hand rest on his holstered weapon.

"I know," I said. "But I'm sure he didn't mean it."

"He meant it."

"Does Penny know I'm here?"

"Miss Clive doesn't want to see you."

"How disheartening," I said. "Stonie? SueSue?"

"Nobody wants to see you, pal. Including me. I'm sick of talking to you."

"I knew you were trouble," I said, "the minute I saw your clipboard."

"Beat it."

He pointed a finger at my car. I nodded and got in and started up.

"There's more than one way to skin a cat," I said.

Unfortunately I couldn't think what it was, so I rolled up my window, turned the a/c up, backed slowly down the long driveway to the street, and drove back into town to talk with Becker.

He was at his desk in the sheriff's substation in Lamarr, drinking Coca-Cola from one of those twenty-ounce plastic bottles shaped like the original glass ones.

"You remember the original bottles," I said when I sat down.

"Yep. Glass, six ounces."

"And then Pepsi came along and doubled the amount for the same price."

Becker grinned.

"Twice as much," he said, "for a nickel too, Pepsi-Cola is the drink for you."

"And nothing's been the same since," I said.

Becker shrugged.

"Shit happens," he said. "What are you doing back in town?"

"I have a client."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Who?"

"Dolly Hartman."

"She want you to find out who killed Walter?"

"Yep."

"Thinks we can't?"

"Notices you haven't," I said.

Becker nodded, sipped some Coke.

"Not much to go on," he said. "Plus the Clives have buttoned up tight."

"I know. I went out there. Couldn't get in."

"Well, I can get in, but it doesn't do me any good. Nobody says anything."

"Dolly implied that you might be walking a little light around the Clives because they're connected."

"Dolly's right. I'm appointed by the sheriff. But the sheriff ain't appointed by anyone. He gets elected, and that takes money."

"And the Clives have a lot of it."

"You bet," Becker said.

"You getting some pressure?"

"Un-huh."

"Between you and me," I said. "You got any thought who killed Clive?"

"You used to be a cop," Becker said. "When a rich guy dies, who's first on the list?"

"His heirs," I said.

"Un-huh."

"Any more horses been killed?" I said.

"Nope."

"You think there's a connection?"

"I wasn't getting pressure, might be something I could look into."

"I'm not getting any pressure," I said.

"Yet," Becker said.

"What do you know about Security South?" I said.

"Just what I already told you."

"Is what you told me something you know or something they told you?"

"Something they told me," Becker said. "At the time, I had no reason to look into it."

"And now?"

"Next year's an election year."

"Not for me," I said.

"Look," Becker said. "I'm a pretty good cop, I do say so. But I got a wife never worked a day in her life, I got a few years left until I'm eligible for a pension, I got a daughter in Memphis I send money to pretty regular. You bring me stuff that can't be ignored, I won't ignore it."

He picked up his Coke, and drained the bottle and put it back down slowly on his desk.

"Can you say 'stalking-horse'?" I said.

Becker almost smiled.

"Best I can do," he said.

TWENTY-NINE

THE BATH HOUSE Bar and Grill was jumping. It was crowded with couples dancing, couples sitting at tables with their heads close together. The bar was packed two or three deep. Tedy Sapp was at his table, alone, drinking coffee. As I pushed through the crowd, people moved out of my way. Those who looked at me did so without affection.

"Back again," Sapp said as I sat down across from him. "You're not a quitter."

"New client," I said.

A waiter came by and poured Sapp some coffee. He looked at me. I shook my head.

"Nothing to drink?"

"Long day," I said. "It'll make me sleepy."

Sapp glanced around the room.

"What do you think of the scene?" he said.

"Not my scene," I said.

"It bother you?"

"Nope."

Sapp looked at me for a time.

"Nothing much does," he said, "does it?"

"Way the patrons acted when I came in, I figure I'm not their scene, either."

Sapp grinned.

"You don't look like a gay guy," Sapp said.

"Neither do you," I said.

"I know. That's why I do the hair color. Trying to gay up a little."