Susan tromped through the mud, chin down against the rain. The bricks were wet and the tarp was slimy, but she managed to jam the lilies into the bin and then replace the cover.

It felt good.

Not as good as having a job.

But good.

She was headed back into the house when she heard the goat. It made a little goat sound.

“Oh, come on,” Susan said.

The goat was standing in the rain, looking at her. It whined again.

“Go into your house,” Susan said, pointing to the big wooden doghouse that Bliss had painted to look like a psychedelic Tudor cottage. The goat was tethered to a stake, but it had plenty of room to get around.

The goat just stood there getting wet.

Maybe it was the wine, but Susan suddenly found herself feeling very bad for the goat. Out there all alone in the pitch-black. Trapped in an urban backyard. Did that goat dream of farms? Of green pastures and kids?

“You’re lonely, aren’t you?” Susan asked.

The goat bayed.

Susan walked over and unclipped the goat’s tether, and led it by the collar up the back porch steps and into the kitchen. The goat did a little dance on the wood floor. Susan thought it looked happy.

She slipped off her muddy boots, took off the wet poncho, and opened another bottle of wine. Then she dried the goat off with a dish towel and led it into the living room.

The goat walked around in a circle a couple of times like a cat, and then fell asleep on the carpet. It smelled a little, but it was better than the lilies.

Chapter 21

CHAPTER

21

The Eastbank Esplanade had been finished in 2001—one and a half miles of concrete trail shoehorned between the interstate and the east side of the river, and connected to the west side with pedestrian walkways on the Steel and Hawthorne bridges.

Archie parked in the esplanade’s public lot, which had been tucked under a knot of freeway overpasses near the Hawthorne Bridge, and looked over at Heil. He would have come alone if he could have gotten away with it. Heil was a good cop. But he wasn’t Henry. And he talked too much.

“You know two feet of water is enough to wash away a car,” Heil said.

“Good to know,” Archie said.

Heil peered up at the dark sky. “Sun will be up in four hours,” he said.

Not soon enough, thought Archie.

They got out of the car. The freeways overhead blocked the rain, but water fell in sheets along every edge. The streetlights were still working. The water that flowed across the surface of the parking lot reflected their white glow.

“Four inches of moving water can knock someone off their feet,” Heil said.