After she’d told him she’d be fine. She grabbed the phone and placed a call, but, as expected, he didn’t pick up. Typical. Whenever he was on a case, he was hard to reach. That part she understood. His whole fascination with the ghostly Jennifer was the thing that bugged her.

Yet he’d obviously called in a few favors to have the police drive by the house. He was just such a control freak when it came to security. No doubt because of his line of work. He’d seen the worst of human nature and cruelty time and time again. Not to mention the times that danger had hit close to home, when she and Kristi each had been victims of madmen.

She sighed, releasing some of her indignation.

Maybe the security detail wasn’t such a bad idea.

After all, she had received some harassing calls.

She poured herself a cup of tea, walked into the den, and logged on to the computer. She’d already scouted out the best deals on flights to the West Coast and had found one that would be perfect. It left this afternoon, putting her in L.A. around 7 P.M. Just in time to take Bentz to dinner and give him the news that he was going to be a daddy again.

She clicked on the Web site and found the reservation that she’d placed on hold. With another click of the mouse, she purchased the ticket. One more click and the e-ticket was printed and in her hand. She had about four hours to pack and get herself to the airport, and then she was off to Los Angeles.

She’d already asked Tawilda, who knew where the spare key was hidden, to stay at the house for a couple of days and look after Hairy and Chia. The only loose end was letting her husband know she was coming, and that was proving difficult. She’d tried to reach Bentz this morning and had come up dry. He hadn’t answered his cell phone and when she’d called the motel, she’d been a little alarmed when the clerk told her that he’d checked out.

Why?

Was he switching to another motel?

Was he coming home?

Or flying off somewhere else?

She didn’t want to travel all the way to L.A. only to find out he’d flown to Seattle, or Boston, or Timbuktu. The fact that he’d checked out of his motel bothered her.

She tried him again and the call switched immediately to voice mail.

It was time they had a heart-to-heart. Before he got into too much trouble.

“Oh, Rick,” she sighed, carrying her cooling tea onto the veranda. The dog was on her heels, the smell of the bayou thick in the mist rising between the cottonwoods and cypress. A mockingbird was trilling softly, a heavy breeze fluttering the leaves and teasing at her hair.