“Actually, she only held me up for two dollars,” I said.

Felice walked with her head bowed, but I could see she was smiling. “Would you have paid five?”

“Probably. When do you expect your father to be home?”

“Tomorrow. He’s on a bus trip with his buddies to Atlantic City.”

This was a lie. Lynda Lynch had said that Bazinet ran a septic business. Who else’s pumper truck could I have passed earlier?

Felice had seemed so forthright that my instinct had been to trust her. Knowing that I was dealing with a liar disappointed me. She seemed clever and good-humored, and I had wanted to like her.

“Why go all the way to Atlantic City to gamble when there’s a casino half an hour from here in Oxford?”

“The hookers. My dad doesn’t get sex anymore without paying. I feel sorry for him, but the pickings around here are slim.”

As she’d intended, that remark shut me up for a minute.

We began following the loop counterclockwise, past the blackened ruins of Jamal Marquess’s trailer.

“Your father has lived here a while, I understand,” I said at last. “How about you?”

“I thought you wanted to talk about Professor Chamberlain.”

“I do.”

“We never actually met, but he seemed like a piece of work. I’ve always been biased against eccentric people, though. They’re performance artists and scammers, in my experience.”

Again, her response intrigued me, but I had to remind myself to stay on topic.

“How did he and your father get along?”

“They disliked each other, as I’m sure you already know.”

“Why?”

“It’s not the gay thing, if that’s what you’re thinking. My dad is open-minded for a man of his generation. He doesn’t believe in casting stones. Unlike Chamberlain who judged everyone and everything. Humans were a disappointment to him, I’ve heard.”

“Did they get into arguments?”

“I know where you’re going with that. My dad was hunting on the river the same morning the professor went overboard. But they didn’t have any interaction—my father kept his distance from the professor to preserve his peace of mind—and the wardens cleared him of any involvement.”

To me it sounded like a well-prepared story, which didn’t necessarily make it a lie.

“Were you living with him at the time?”

“I was still with my ex down in Savannah. I had learned I was pregnant when he ran off. It seems a lifetime ago.” She gazed up at me with an embarrassed smile. “We were supposed to be talking about my dad.”

“We’re just talking.”

“No, offense, but I dated a cop once. Police never just talk, whether they’re on duty or off.”

“Ouch.”