I picked up the phone, cradling the receiver between my shoulder and ear. I dialed the first number on my list. It rang and rang, eventually disconnecting without anyone picking up. I breathed a sigh, somehow relieved. I checked the next number that I’d circled. Another try to find the Lady. I was starting to dial when the phone merengued to life in my hands. I froze. Lou grinned up at me from my phone. How appropriate that she’d want to talk after a case, even if she didn’t know it was happening. It would distract me, and I didn’t want to be distracted tonight. I brought the glass to my face, tried to cool myself down. But if I didn’t pick up, she’d keep calling.

“Hello.”

“Hiya.” Lou’s voice was chipper on the other line. It almost always was, after she got laid. “What are you up to?”

“Lou, what do you want?” I unbuttoned the top of my white dress, crumpled under Carrigan’s touch. There were dark smudges near the collar and along the hem. It would never look the same, even laundered. But I didn’t need it to.

“Touch-y,” Lou said, clicking her tongue over the line. “Come outside.”

“What? Why?”

She huffed a sigh. “C’mon, do it.”

I pulled back my curtains, looked down to the pool in the center of the courtyard. Lou sat on the rim, her toes in the water, jeans rolled up to her knees. The phit-phit-phit of night-running sprinklers fizzed the air behind her. A bottle of champagne was tucked against her side, the steam from evaporating chlorine probably warming the glass. I wondered if it could be considered a tradition if we’d only done it twice in two years. She gave me a warm smile, held up a hand. I held up two fingers—two minutes—and let the curtain drop, hanging up the phone.

God, this heat would never let up. Even at night. The cotton of the dress chafed against my chest, which was damp, clammy. I stood up, unbuttoned the dress the rest of the way, balled it up, and threw it in a corner. Maybe I’d never have to look at it again. I tucked a towel under my armpits and went down to meet Lou in my bra and panties.

“Look at you,” Lou said, giving me an appreciative once-over as I sat down. She handed me the bottle of champagne already opened.

“I thought you were pissed about my drinking.” I pulled the edges of the towel down and turned to face her head-on—if she was going to ogle, she might as well get the whole thing. I took the bottle and chugged. I passed it back to Lou, who was making a point of keeping her eyes firmly aboveboard.