The numbness left Danny, replaced by an adrenal spike of fear. “But no later.”

Raphelson said nothing.

“Ralph,” Danny said. “Ralph.”

Raphelson turned his head, looked at him.

“No later than tomorrow,” Danny said. “Right?”

“I can’t guarantee anything.”

Danny sat back in his seat. “Oh, my God,” he whispered. “Oh, my God.”

In Luther’s room, he and Isaiah packed the laundry Mrs. Grouse had brought up to them. Isaiah, a veteran traveler, showed Luther how to roll his clothing instead of folding it, and they placed it in Luther’s suitcase.

“It’ll give you a lot more room,” he said, “and you’re less apt to suffer wrinkles. But you have to roll it tight now. Like this.”

Luther watched Isaiah, then brought the legs of a pair of trousers together and started rolling them from the cuffs.

“A little tighter.”

Luther unrolled the trousers and made the first curl twice as tight and clenched his hands as he continued the roll.

“You’re getting it now.”

Luther cinched the fabric hard between his fingers. “She going to be okay?”

“It’ll pass, I’m sure.” Isaiah lay a shirt on the bed and buttoned it up. He folded it and smoothed the creases and rolled it up. When he was done, he turned and placed it in the suitcase and smoothed his palm across it one last time. “It’ll pass.”

When they came down the stairs, they left the suitcase at the bottom and found Yvette in the parlor. She looked up from the afternoon edition of The Examiner, and her eyes were bright.

“They may send the State Guard to the trouble spots.”

Luther nodded.

Isaiah took his customary seat by the hearth. “I expect the rioting is near over.”

“I certainly hope so.” Yvette folded the paper and placed it on the side table. She smoothed her dress against her knees. “Luther, would you pour me a cup of tea?”

Luther crossed to the tea service on the sideboard and placed a cube of sugar and spoonful of milk in the cup before adding the tea. He put the cup in its saucer and carried it to Mrs. Giddreaux. She thanked him with a smile and a nod.

“Where were you?” she said.

“We were upstairs.”

“Not now.” She took a sip of tea. “During the grand opening. The ribbon cutting.”

Luther went back to the sideboard and poured another cup of tea. “Mr. Giddreaux?”

Isaiah held up a hand. “Thank you, but no, I’m fine, son.”

Luther nodded and added a cube of sugar and sat across from Mrs. Giddreaux. “I got hung up. I’m sorry.”

She said, “That big policeman, oh, he was mad. It was as if he knew exactly where to look. And yet, he found nothing at all.”

“Strange,” Luther said.

Mrs. Giddreaux took another sip of tea. “How lucky for us.”

“I guess that’s how it turned out.”

“And now you’re off to Tulsa.”

“It’s where my wife and son are, ma’am. You know if there was any lesser reason, I’d never be going.”