“Come in, come in,” Lou said, guiding me inside so we could get down to the business of drinking. She steered me to the kitchen, where, on the island, she’d already placed a bottle of Hendrick’s, uncapped, and two tumblers made of thick purple glass that shined in the moonlight beside it. A lime wedge, lying belly up, between the two.

There were details of Lou everywhere in the house, but nothing that told you anything. On the mantel in the living room sat several pictures of Lou smiling openmouthed with people who had her same coloring, close enough to pass as family. One sad photograph of a little girl, hands folded beneath her chin like an angel. I didn’t want to know where she’d gotten that one. Unlike me, and unlike Jackal, Lou wanted her place to pass for a home.

But every single piece of furniture was exactly the same age. If you took the books down from the bookshelf, you’d notice that all of the spines were uncracked. Most of them were expensive, shiny-jacketed hardbound copies or else rare auction pieces. Each cheap frame on the mantel had come from the same store, and not a single one was chipped. Almost all of the pictures of Lou, the little girl notwithstanding, were of the same age, too.

“Are we celebrating?” I sat down at the table, my hands trembling in my lap. I took a sip to steady myself. The gin wasn’t particularly chilled. She must have had it out, waiting for me, for some time. “I don’t feel much like celebrating.”

Lou watched me as I sipped. “I know these last few weeks have been hell,” she said, “and the last time we spoke, it ended poorly. But I have missed you so much.”

I looked down at the drink. In the fluorescent light, I could see the slight cast of blue prismed in the gin. Blue gin, blue fleur-de-lis, blue corpse, blue Lou. I threw back the rest of my gin. I was searching so hard for an angle, and I had nothing but round edges. Nothing left, nothing left.

“I spent the day with a few old friends of yours. Lafferty and MacLeish.” My voice caught, and I coughed, trying to hide it.

Lou put her drink down. Her face was so white I could’ve counted her freckles if I wanted. She chewed on her upper lip as she worked it out. “You wouldn’t be here if you’d been booked for murder.”

I laughed bitterly. “They didn’t book me.” I stared at the table. I couldn’t get the words out.

“Jo,” Lou said, a mask sliding over her face, her eyes a big blank. Keeping herself shuttered to me. “What did you tell them?”