“And this is the guy you want me to talk to?”

“Nuts, right?”

He told her he’d think about it.

“I guarantee you’ll find him … interesting.”

“We’ll see. I’ll let you know.” He got out of the little car, watched her turn around and head back down the narrow road.

His short walk up through the pasture provided a powerful break from the day, flooding his consciousness with the aromas of nature in early spring: the complex sweetness of the moist earth, air that smelled clean enough to purify one’s soul—to wash away the obstructions that stood between one’s mind and the truth of things.

Or so it seemed—until he was in the house five minutes, had gone to the bathroom, washed his face, and Madeleine had asked about his day.

He recounted as comprehensively as he could the details of the three peculiar meetings he’d had with Kim and the people with whom she was involved—Rudy Getz with his Rollerblader, Larry Sterne with his Mister Rogers cardigan, Roberta Rotker with her unhinged exhibition of marksmanship. And he told her everything he knew about Max Clinter—the peculiar, tragic character whose life was forever changed by the Good Shepherd.

He was sitting at the table by the French doors, and Madeleine was chopping vegetables on a cutting board by the sink.

“Kim wants me to stay involved in this thing for another day. I’ll be damned if I know what to do.”

Madeleine sliced the end off a large red onion. “How’s your arm?”

“What?”

“Your arm. The numb spot. How is it?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t …” His voice trailed off as he rubbed his forearm and wrist. “Okay … the same, I guess. Why do you ask?”

She turned the onion around in her hand, peeling off a couple of layers of the tough outer skin.

“How about the pain in your side?”

“Fine, at the moment. It’s an intermittent thing, comes and goes.”

“Every ten minutes or so, I think you told me?”

“More or less.”

“How often did you feel it today?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Not sure if you felt it at all?”

“I couldn’t say.”

She nodded, sliced a large zucchini down the middle, laid the halves on the board, and began chopping them into bite-size half-moons.

He blinked, stared at her, cleared his throat. “So what you’re saying is that I should let Kim hire me for another day?”

“Did I say that?”

“I think you did.”

There was a long silence. Madeleine cut up an eggplant, a yellow squash, and a sweet red pepper, then put everything into a large bowl that she carried to the stove, tilting the contents into a sizzling wok. “She’s an interesting young woman.”

“In what way?”

“Smart, attractive, ambitious, subtle, energetic—don’t you think?”

“Hmm. She definitely has some depth.”