She brushes a strand of black hair from her eyes. “Penn, you’re scaring me. What is it?”

I summarize the day’s action with the precision of a legal brief, and Caitlin doesn’t interrupt. This is the upside of living with a brilliant woman. She may not be much of a cook, but she can digest information in a fraction of the time it takes most people. I begin with Shad’s call to my office this morning and edit myself on the fly. I tell her there’s a video recording of Viola’s death, and that Henry Sexton made it, but not that he kept a copy for himself. I explain that Viola died brutally and that a botched mercy killing seems possible, but Shad Johnson is contemplating murder charges against Dad. After quickly outlining the crime scene evidence, I tell her that, according to Henry, the Double Eagle group had a standing hit order on Viola if she ever returned to Natchez, probably because Viola knew things that could send surviving Double Eagles to prison—things related to the kidnapping and murder of her brother, a local civil rights activist. I also explain that the murder charge is being driven by Viola’s son, who only appeared in Natchez this morning. Caitlin pays particularly close attention here, but I distract her by moving quickly past the subject.

I sketch Henry’s theory about Double Eagle involvement in the local meth trade but elide Henry’s belief that my father had suspicious ties to Brody Royal or individual Double Eagles. I also leave out the murder of Glenn Morehouse, the fact that Morehouse was one of Henry’s sources, and everything about the murders of Albert Norris, Pooky Wilson, and Dr. Leland Robb. (No Brody Royal avenging his daughter’s “honor,” no “Huggy Bear” who could put Brody Royal in jail, and most of all, no plot to assassinate RFK. Those items are the heroin that Caitlin could not bear to resist.) Most damning (should Caitlin discover the truth), I say nothing about Henry and me working together to nail the Eagles, or Kirk Boisseau covertly diving the Jericho Hole tomorrow. I’ve become adept at the self-editing process over the past few years with Caitlin, and the only reactions I see are an occasional raised eyebrow and some added color in her cheeks.

As soon as I finish my summary, though, she says, “You’re not telling me everything about Henry Sexton. Not by a damn sight.”

“I promised him I’d keep some things confidential. Henry’s pretty sensitive about the work he’s done on those old cases.”

She smiles with more than a hint of envy. “Rightfully so. He’s done good work, and he doesn’t want me to steal it.”

“So, now you’re up to speed. Back downstairs?”