Apparently, Leroy, Mahlon, and Towbin had all gone to some experimental prep school in New England, Mahlon and Towbin on scholarships, Leroy by grace of his father’s fortune. Even now, Mahlon looked at Leroy with the kind of awe that translates: “How could he exist, in the U.S.A.” But the death of Leroy’s parents (by local lore, an act of the Mafia; according to the insurance companies, an act of God), had left Leroy the sole survivor of his family. As they recounted their pasts to Cypress, Leroy said little. Mahlon was determined that Cypress understand.

“You see, as an eighteen-year-old, Leroy had control of his property in the state of Missouri, so Towbin advised Leroy to invest the money from the sale of the house and the insurance. He was our first client, and we’ve been looking after him ever since.”

“Oh my,” Cypress thought silently, “the Whiz Kids. No wonder Leroy never mentions family. He doesn’t have any damn family.” She glanced at Leroy. Now he’d explained where this money they lived on came from, but he hadn’t explained so much else . . . no mention of this school, his parents, his loneliness and anger after such a thing.

Dr. McCullough and his wife Eleanora had been found burned to death in their car, on the way back to St. Louis from the family farm south of Independence. Officially, the brakes failed. Leroy winced, as Towbin laid out the details.

“We think Dr. McCullough had been set up by organized crime, since he was running a successful campaign against gambling and vice in East St. Louis.” Leroy waited for Towbin to say more. The two friends stared at each other; Towbin dropped his eyes first.

“Why don’t you tell Cypress the rest,” Leroy demanded.

“Leroy, you on that again? That was vicious hearsay, man. Let it be.”

“No. Cypress, besides championing the rights of the decent citizen, they say my father had taken up with some white woman who was none other than the sister of some cracker in the rackets.”

Leroy swallowed some cognac, and looked about absently. Towbin was exasperated.

“Listen, Leroy. All that was talk, man, just talk. Of course, they couldn’t let a niggah die without spoiling his reputation. Another fool dying for a white woman, that’s what they’d like us to think; but I knew your folks, Leroy, and you know that’s not what happened.”

“So you see, Cypress, according to the school therapists—or one of them—my father’s adventures killed my mother and left me a wealthy orphan. Is that Oedipal enough for you?”

Cypress didn’t know who to believe. Leroy had never expressed any hostility toward anybody as long as she’d known him, but now he was verging on bitterness. Mahlon caught Cypress’ attention.