I touch his arm in sympathy. Another interrogation trick.

“I’ve heard rumors to that effect,” I say. “I’m sorry to learn they’re true.”

He lowers his voice and somberly shakes his head.

“If you knew the half of it, Caleb … you’d be more than sorry. You’d be worried. You might even be telling some of your police buddies.”

Oh? My ears prick up at that. I try not to show it, but I’ve subtly moved to the edge of my seat.

“What do you mean?”

“Over the years … I’ve heard some of my relatives accuse one another of theft. Embezzlement. Money laundering. Bribes. Some have even … tossed around threats of violence.”

“Violence?” I ask. “Okay, now I am getting a little worried, Billy.”

He’s about to say something, but stops himself. And back-pedals, like he’s realized he’s admitted too much.

“Look, you used to be a cop,” he says, sounding distressed. “You know what people are like. David says stupid things in the heat of the moment. Things he doesn’t mean. If I thought for one second anybody in my family would ever actually act on their words … ”

His tone suddenly changes from rueful to cheerful.

“But enough about our dirty laundry,” he says, sitting up. “I’m sure this is boring you to death.”

Quite the opposite, of course. But it’s clear he wants to drop the subject. So I don’t press it. I’ve already learned plenty.

“I know you need to get back to the kitchen,” I say, “so I won’t keep you. Just one more question. How well do you know Beatrice St. Ville?”

“Bea? I’ve met her a few times. Why?”

“The other day,” I reply, “I swung by her café on Freret Street.” I didn’t bother telling him my real reason for stopping by.

“What’d you think?” he asks.

“She does a great black-bottom pecan pie with pistachio à la mode,” I answer. “Your pistachio cream pie with candied pecans made me think of it. It’s worth a try.”

His smile grows wider.

“Where do you think I got the idea?” he asks. “I’ve eaten there with Emily a bunch of times. Bea’s whole social justice mission—hiring ex-cons to be cooks, recovered drug addicts to be servers—my sister loved it. She was one of the café’s first investors. Even got David to open his wallet up, too.”

Interesting. I still only have a few dots. But slowly, it seems like they’re starting to connect. At least I sure as hell hope so.

“Thanks again for the great meal, Billy,” I say, standing and shaking his hand.

“Anytime. Hopefully we’ll be seeing more of each other, Caleb.”

I firmly grip his palm.

“Something tells me we will,” I say.

CHAPTER 31

A coincidence in a police investigation is like an honest man in politics.

They’re pretty damn rare.