“Bad people are after your son, at least they were. They think he possessed something important to them. I have no idea what that something is, do you?”

“I swear I don’t.”

“I kept your identity from the police but enough people know who you are and where you live. So the best thing for you is to be somewhere else.”

“You think that Donata was involved?”

“I think you should pack a bag.”

Lola stood up from the chair, causing a squeal on the linoleum. The sound woke Sammy. He jumped down—ready to go with his new family.

Lola took a step and then stopped.

“Why did you ask about my real name?”

“Because if you lied about it I would have left you on your own to sink or swim.”

She gave me a questioning glance and then walked off toward her bedroom; her crossroad chosen—and mine too.

24

24

There was a hotel called the Pink Palace on the Venice boardwalk back then. It was run by Esther Maron, a woman who had once been married to a friend of mine who died. The Palace was a more or less safe haven for anyone wanting to drop out of sight.

“Will this do?” I asked the mother whose grief had finally come to an end. We were standing in the parlor of a fairly large two-room suite. From the third-floor window you could see the rippling Pacific in fading summer light.

“It’s beautiful here,” she said sadly.

“You know the drill, right?”

“Don’t talk to anyone I know. Definitely don’t tell anyone where I am. Just look at the water and wait for you to call or come.”

“Me or Fearless Jones.”

I put a hand on her shoulder. This caused her to turn away from the eternal sway of blue.

“I could have saved Craig if he told me the truth,” I said.

“I’m not lying to you, Easy. I’m not no fool.”

“I want you to stay here until I say otherwise,” I told my dead client’s mother.

“I might decide to go out to the desert,” she said. “Palm Springs. A place called the Summer Sands. If I’m gone from here that’s where I’ll be.”

“Anybody else know to look for you there?”

“Only Craig.”

Feather was asleep on the downstairs divan near the koi pond. She was using an old army blanket that I’d brought home from the European campaign. I sidled up next to the settee wondering if I should let her sleep out the night where she was. But then Sammy jumped up on the blanket and began licking her face mercilessly.

Feather woke up laughing, pulling the puppy from side to side by his jowls and ears. They were best friends for life just that fast.

“What’s his name?” Feather asked.

“Sammy.”