“No, but I’m glad she’s coming. The more heads on this subject the better.”

Hardwick made a skeptical face—his usual face—stood up from the table and stepped over to the French doors. He gazed out curiously for a while before asking, “Fuck are you up to out there?”

“What do you mean?”

“That pile of lumber.”

Gurney came to the door. There was indeed a pile of lumber that he’d missed on his way into the house. His view had been blocked by the asparagus ferns. For a moment he was at a loss. There were stacks of what appeared to be two-by-fours, four-by-fours, and two-by-sixes.

He took out his phone and entered Madeleine’s number.

Surprisingly, she picked up on the first ring. “Yes?”

“What’s this stuff out back?” Even as he was asking, he realized the answer was obvious and calling her had probably been a mistake.

“Lumber. For the chicken house. I had it delivered this morning. The things you said we’d be using first.”

He started raising his shields. “I didn’t say we’d be using them today.”

“Well, tomorrow, then? Don’t worry about it. If you’re too busy, just point me in the right direction and I’ll get started myself.”

He felt cornered, but he remembered a wise man once saying that feelings aren’t facts. He decided it would be prudent to keep his irritation out of his voice. “Right.”

“That’s it? That’s the reason you called?”

“Right.”

“Okay, see you tonight. I’m on my way into a session.”

He slipped the phone back in his pocket.

Hardwick was watching him with a sadistic grin. “Trouble in paradise?”

“No trouble.”

“Really? You looked like you were going to bite that phone.”

“Madeleine is better at switching focus than I am.”

“You mean she wants you to get involved in something you don’t give a shit about?”

It was a comment, not a question, and like many of Hardwick’s comments, it was rudely true.

“I hear a car,” said Gurney.

“Got to be Esti.”

“You recognize the sound of her Mini?”

“No. But who the hell else would be driving up that crappy little road of yours?”

A minute later, she was at the side door and Gurney was letting her in. She was dressed a lot more conservatively than at Hardwick’s house—in dark slacks, white blouse, and dark blazer, looking like she’d come directly from the job. Her hair had lost some of the sheen it’d had the previous night. She had a manila envelope in her hand.

“You just coming off a shift?” Gurney asked.