“Too late for the swallows, I think. They come in the spring.”

“Then?” she asked.

“I needed to get out of that fleabag of a motel.”

“To find Jennifer?”

A pause. “Maybe.”

“Seen her lately?” She couldn’t hide the sarcasm in her voice. Who was he kidding?

“I don’t know.”

She wanted to tell him he was being foolish. Instead she bit back a sharp reply and moved to safer territory. “How’re you feeling? Your leg.”

“It’s still attached.”

“Doing your exercises?”

“Every day.”

“Liar.” She laughed and she heard him chuckle.

“What’s new with you?”

She gathered her strength, told herself she was just going to blurt it out and let the chips fall where they may, when Harry S, hearing something outside, started barking like crazy. “Hey, you, hush!” she said and heard her husband laugh again.

“Great. You call me just to shut me up.”

“I think I’ve told you, I’m one fabulous wife.”

“I…know…Livvie…maybe a million times…” His voice was faint and spotty; she couldn’t catch all the words.

“Hey, I can’t hear you. You’re breaking up.” But she was too late with her message. The call was already lost and she said to the dead connection, “By the way, Hotshot, you’re going to be a father again.” But, of course, he wouldn’t be able to hear her and she decided, once again, giving Bentz that kind of news over a spotty wireless connection was a bad idea.

Lately it seemed she didn’t have any good ones. She carried her cup into the kitchen and left it in the sink while a quarter moon rose over the cypress and pine trees rimming the backyard. A few stars winked and when she cranked open the window she heard a chorus of bullfrogs loud enough to give the Boss a run for his money.

She fed Chia, talked to the bird, and then, still feeling antsy, decided to take a turn on the treadmill. She’d wait until Rick came back to Louisiana, or, if this wild goose chase of his took too long, she’d fly out there and give him the good word about her pregnancy face-to-face.

“Five days, Bentz,” she said, tapping a finger against her chin. “Five days. That’s all you’ve got. Then, California, here I come.”

“Who found the bodies?” Hayes asked. Glad to be out of the tiny claustrophobic closet of a storage unit, he breathed the fresher air of the freeway system during rush hour. So what if their gas and diesel exhaust collected under the overpass? At least the smell of death wasn’t filling his lungs.