“Your dumbass friend said you talked to the gunman for a minute. He said he thought maybe you knew him somehow. Tell me, then, was it Malachi?”

“Yeah. It was him.”

“What did you say to him?” she asked, closing the door behind her and shutting us both outside. “What did he say to you?”

So this was it—just me and her. I didn’t get Dave for backup, and neither did she. All shields down. Unless I wanted to waste more of the night with the nervous shakes, I’d have to fire the first shot. “I don’t see why I should tell you. You never tell me anything.”

She held me in her gaze like a frogsticker with a flashlight. The challenge had been delivered. I couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or impressed. She’s hard to read. “What you want to know?”

Might as well start with the big one. “Who’s my father?”

At least she wasn’t surprised. She must have been expecting it for years. “Don’t know. We didn’t even know Leslie was pregnant when Momma sent her into that place.”

“You must have known she was seeing somebody. She was your baby sister. You must have known there was someone up her skirt. Damn, Lulu, she must have been a couple of months along when you sent her in—the newspaper said she was only there for six. Come on, who was it?”

If she was surprised that I’d gotten hold of the old clippings, she didn’t show it. “I told you. I don’t know.”

“Was it Avery?”

“No.” The word flew out of her mouth without hesitation. “It wasn’t him.”

“Then who was he? Why does Malachi think I’ve got something to do with him?”

“Because he’s crazy. He’s crazy and he doesn’t know shit.”

“Now you’re lying.”

“Don’t you call me a liar.”

“Then you tell me the truth.”

“Okay, the truth is it doesn’t matter about Avery. He’s been dead generations before you were born. And the rest of what I said was the truth. Malachi’s a crazy little fuck stick to think you’re Avery come back, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Then what harm would it be to tell me about Avery if it really don’t matter? Maybe the police will let me talk to Malachi, and he’ll fill me in,” I bluffed.

“You won’t really do that,” she said, but I could tell she wasn’t so sure. Her hand reached for the porch rail and her lips tightened. She was holding something back.

“Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t. But I tell you what—I might.”