'You know this is al bulshit,' I said. 'What I can't figure out is why Davenport is gunning for me.'

'Parker Davenport has his own mind about things.'

A truck rumbled by, blasting us with a wave of hot air. Crowe straightened.

'I'm going to talk with our DA, see if I can't inspire a push for that warrant.'

Something suddenly struck me. Though Larke Tyrel had cited trespass when he'd banished me from the investigation, the issue of the courtyard house hadn't been raised today.

'I tracked down the owners.'

'I'm listening.'

'The property has belonged to an investment group caled H&F since 1949. Before that it was owned by Edward E. Arthur, before that Victor T. Livingstone.'

She shook her head.

'You're talking way before my time.'

'I've got a list of the H&F officers in my room. I could bring it by your office after I check on my car.'

'I need to swing by Fontana when I'm done with the DA. We've got Fox Friggin' Mulder over there thinks he's found an alien.' She looked at her watch. 'I should be back by four.'

===OO=OOO=OO===

I drove back to High Ridge House, feeling feverish with anxiety. To work off the tension I offered Boyd a jog. I also felt I should make up for breakfast. Not one for grudges, he accepted with enthusiasm.

The road was damp from yesterday's rain, and our feet made soft popping sounds on the muddy gravel. Boyd panted and his tags jingled. Jays and sparrows were the only other creatures breaking the stilness.

The view was another Impressionist tableau, an endless expanse of valeys and hils polished and buffed by a briliant morning sun. But the wind had shifted overnight and now carried an edge. Each time we moved into shadow, I sensed winter and shortening days.

The exercise calmed me, but not much. As I climbed the stairs to Magnolia, my chest tightened at the memory of Monday's intrusion. Today my door was closed, my belongings intact.

I showered and put on fresh clothes. As I turned on the phone it rang in my hand. I answered with rigid fingers. Another journalist. I hung up and dialed Pete.

As usual, a machine took the cal. Though I was anxious for an opinion on my legal situation, I knew it was useless to try his other numbers. Pete had both car and cel phones, but rarely recharged either. If he did progress that far, he'd forget to turn the unit on, or he'd leave it on a dashboard or bedroom dresser.

Frustrated, I dug out McMahon's fax, stuffed it in my purse, and headed downstairs.