Downstairs, Annie and Mia insisted on hearing a blow-by-blow account of our trip. They were munching on hot popcorn, and Serenity was gobbling it down faster than either of them. I edited out the worst of Dolores’s traumatic memories, but they could tell that Serenity and I had both been rattled by our experience. While Tee gave them an almost comedic version of our escape from the Garden District, I called Carl Sims and asked if he could check on Cleotha Booker for us. When I described the situation, Carl told me he’d feel better parking his cruiser in front of her house for the night. I thanked him, then pointed upstairs and held out my sweaty shirt to let the girls know I’d be taking a shower. Serenity kept talking, but a split second before I passed through the door, she looked over Annie’s head and gave me an almost imperceptible nod. Annie was laughing out loud as I climbed the stairs, and I said a silent thank-you to Tee for shielding her from the reality of our New Orleans experience.

As the steaming water washes away the sweat of our trip to the hurricane-ravaged city, I think again about calling John Kaiser. But doing that at this juncture would risk destroying Dolores’s faith in me, and that I cannot do. Now that she’s been reassured that Mrs. Booker is okay, Serenity and I will have time to work on her. The only problem is that Dad’s trial proper begins tomorrow.

As I rinse the shampoo from my hair, I see Serenity once more, sashaying into that alley like a strung-out prostitute and kicking over the VK biker’s Harley. From the safety of my bathroom it seems funny as hell, and I laugh aloud. After the water begins to cool, I get out and quickly dry off, then pull on some warm-ups and a T-shirt. I’m about to head down to check on the girls when a soft knock sounds at my door.

“Yeah? Mia? Annie?”

The door opens, and Serenity steps into my room.

“Cool to talk in here?” she asks.

“Sure. Are Mia and Annie okay?”

Tee shuts the door behind her. “I told them I needed a shower, too.”

Which means Annie could knock on my door at any time. “How do you feel about Dolores’s condition?” I ask.

“She’s scared to death. I think I’d better stay here with her tomorrow. During the trial, I mean. Otherwise she might bolt.”

“Agreed.”

Serenity sits on the chair beside my dresser. Then she drops her head between her knees, sighs heavily, and rubs her scalp hard. After twenty seconds of this, she straightens up, shakes out her hair, then smiles strangely.

“That was wild, wasn’t it?” she says.

I laugh once more. “I don’t think that biker will ever forget you.”

“I’m just glad I didn’t have to shoot him!”