“The fearsome foursome,” Mary Alice said as she eyed Portia’s handwritten note. “Most of this is on the computer. Don’t you have your own files?”

And then some. “Nothing official,” Portia hedged. “I’ve looked over what’s on the computer but, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see the actual files.”

“Makes me no never mind long as Lacey’s okay with it. Just give me a sec.” High heels clicking, Mary Alice walked to a bank of file cabinets and started searching through the folders. In a matter of minutes, she had slapped the pathetically thin files on the counter and Portia signed them out. Portia carried the few documents back to her cubicle and decided she’d copy everything within the files just so she’d be ready.

She prayed she was misguided, but all her instincts told her it was only a matter of time before one of the girls’ bodies showed up.

When it did, and there was an actual homicide case to be solved, she’d be ready.

Two classes down, too many more to go, Jay thought as he drove north on Friday night. With Bruno by his side, nose to the crack in the window, and Springsteen blasting through the stereo, he hauled some new plumbing fixtures and tiles toward Baton Rouge. Even in the darkness as he squinted into the headlights of cars heading toward New Orleans, he noticed more evidence of Katrina that had yet to be cleared: uprooted, long-dead trees, piles of rotting boards alongside homes being restored by the most stalwart and determined of Louisianans.

So far he’d settled into his new routine. He enjoyed the challenge of renovating his cousins’ house and had found teaching exhilarating. Except, of course, for dealing with Kristi. After the first night when she’d run him down to clear the air between them, they hadn’t spoken. She hadn’t asked a question in class, nor had he singled her out to answer one he’d thrown at the students. She’d sat at the back of the room, taking notes, watching him, her expression fixed and bland. Icily cool and disinterested.

Definitely un-Kristi.

The fact that she tried so hard to look studious and unanimated made him smile. Obviously, by her attempt at detachment, she was having as hard a time dealing with him as he was with her.

Well, fine, he thought, flipping on his wipers for a second, just to scrape off the thick mist that was settling with the night.