“Mrs. Giddreaux?”

“Yes, Luther.”

“Seem to be a piece of this roof missing.”

He looked over at her. She held her purse tight in front of her and gave him a look of such innocence it could only be a front.

She said, “I believe I heard something to that effect, yes.”

Luther continued moving his gaze from the point on the ridgeline where he’d spotted the gap, and he found a dip exactly where he was hoping he wouldn’t—in the center of the spine. Mrs. Giddreaux was still giving him that wide-eyed innocence, and he placed his hand softly under her elbow as he led her inside.

Most of the first-floor ceiling was gone. What remained leaked. The staircase just to his right was black. The walls were missing their plaster in half a dozen places, the lathes and studs exposed, and scorched black in half a dozen more. The floor was so eaten away by fire and water that even the sub flooring was damaged. All the windows were boarded.

Luther whistled. “You buy this place at auction?”

“About so,” she said. “What do you think?”

“Any way you can get your money back?”

She slapped his elbow. The first time, but he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. He resisted the urge to hug her to him, the way he’d done with his mother and sister, loving that they’d always fought him, that it had always cost him a shot to the ribs or the hip.

“Let me guess,” Luther said, “George Washington never slept here, but his footman did?”

She bared her teeth at him, little fists placed to little hips. “Can you fix it?”

Luther laughed and heard the echo bounce through the dripping building. “No.”

She looked up at him. Her face was stony. Her eyes were gay. “But of what usefulness does that speak, Luther?”

“Can’t nobody fix this. I’m just amazed the city didn’t condemn it.”

“They tried.”

Luther looked at her and let out a long sigh. “You know how much money it’ll take to make this livable?”

“Don’t you worry about money. Can you fix it?”

“I honestly don’t know.” He whistled again, taking it all in, the months, if not years, of work. “Don’t suppose I’ll be getting much in the way of help?”

“We’ll round up some volunteers every now and then, and when you need something, you just make a list. I can’t promise we’ll get you everything you need or that any of it will arrive in the time you need it, but we’ll try.”

Luther nodded and looked down into her kind face. “You understand, ma’am, that the effort this will take will be biblical?”

Another slap on the elbow. “You best set to it then.”

Luther sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”

Captain Thomas Coughlin opened the door to his study and gave Luther a wide, warm smile. “You must be Mr. Laurence.”

“Yes, sir, Captain Coughlin.”

“Nora, that’ll be all for now.”

“Yes, sir,” the Irish girl Luther’d just met said. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Laurence.”