“Okay, I hope you don’t mind if I check in on you later?” Grayton said.

“Not at all,” she replied. “Thanks for the flowers.”

“I have to be going … . I’ll call the parkway police. Let them know I’m interested in finding out who did this.”

“Good,” Lancette said.

As Grayton opened the door, he turned toward Dunne: “Clarence, end-of-day tomorrow on those evaluations?”

“Yes, Jake.”

“Small world,” Grayton said.

“You said that on the way in,” Dunne noted.

“And the size hasn’t changed since then.”

Grayton left the room.

Dunne drove Lancette home in his wife’s Volvo sedan. He followed Lancette’s directions through the large complex of identical brick townhouses and pulled up in front of her house. In her lap were the tulips.

“So what do we do now?” she asked.

“Tell each other what we lied about?” he said.

“Only if we get Grayton into the conversation.”

Dunne almost laughed.

“Someone’s out there,” he said.

“Think I’ll stay at my parents’ tonight.”

“Same last name?”

She nodded.

“Try a friend, then,” he suggested.

“Good advice.”

“Yeah. I know how to protect.”

Both were silent for a moment. Two mothers with their toddlers walked past the car.

“I’m mad,” she said. “I hate being made afraid.”

Dunne hoped she would explain more. Give her room, he told himself. She used her index finger to flick aside a tear.

“Hate it,” she said.

Nothing else was coming, Dunne thought.

“We should talk some more,” he said.

“Maybe,” she said. “I need to …”

She didn’t finish the sentence. Dunne wrote his phone numbers on a card and handed it to her.

“Where are you going to be?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“Don’t stay here,” he said sternly.

“I won’t. I’ll call you. I will.”

“If you’re on to something and anything happens,” Dunne said, “I won’t know where to pick up.”

Lancette got out of the car.

“I could say the same about you,” she said.

She went inside and examined herself in the bathroom mirror. It hurt to comb her hair. She could feel a headache growing. The pain suppressants were wearing off. She placed a few strands of hair over the wound on her forehead. She went to the kitchen, found the phonebook, and dialed a car service.

“I’d like to schedule a pickup for later today,” she said.

29 - New Orleans June 28

29

New Orleans June 28

“When do we go home?”

Those were the first words Rudd said when she and Addis returned to the bed-and-breakfast.

“Tomorrow,” he said.

“In the morning?”

“I may have to see someone. Let me find out.”

“Can we stay in tonight? Order some food?”

She kicked off her shoes and grabbed a file of legal papers.

“Sure,” he said.

Addis picked up the phone messages that had been slipped under the door to the suite.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.