There was a faint aroma from the kitchen, something boiling I couldn’t quite place. “You tell Rayfield about the yardman?”

“I forgot.” His one-sided smile was no smile at all. “You’re worried about old Henry, aren’t you? Well, it wasn’t Henry, not that he gives a damn for anything that breathes. Henry likes poetry and vases. He doesn’t have the guts for killing.”

“Not to mention that he loved your mother.”

He repeated the same unpleasant smile. “Who you been talking to, Shaw? Henry? He never even touched her. Hell, they had separate bedrooms. I could never see how they got it up to have me.”

“They probably knew what they could look forward to.”

It was as if I’d struck a match. Jason stepped forward, fists clenched, eyes full of prep school fights and murdered dogs and all the people who had called him a curse to his parents.

“Jason,” the girl said sharply.

He blinked, stopping in his tracks. I went on as if nothing had happened. “Maybe she had someone else. Was your mother friends with any men?”

“No.” His voice was low and murderous.

“Ever see her with Dalton Mooring?”

His body strained. “Did you?” I prodded.

The girl perched on the edge of the sofa, watching Jason. The room seemed like a cage. Jason stared at his fingernails. “He was there the second last time I went, sitting next to her on the couch. They were having tea.” His voice rasped. “Lydia always liked to have tea.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. They looked surprised, then Mooring started asking about school, how I was doing, bullshit like that—like it was really a big deal to him. He acted strange, kind of embarrassed. She was sitting close to him with her eyes all bright and funny, smiling at me like she didn’t know what to do. I got sick of them both and left.”

“Think he and your mother were having an affair?”

His voice lashed out in sudden pain. “Look, I don’t give a shit what Lydia did.”

The smell from the kitchen was tea.

Jason’s face was contorted in a torment of hate, instability, and thwarted love. “Okay,” I said flatly. “Thanks for the talk.”

“Hang on, Shaw.” Jason’s stare brightened with sudden, malevolent curiosity. “I want to hear how you’re making out with Kris Ann Cade.”

His gaze was keen and oddly excited. The girl looked fragile, her eyes deep blue and scared. “Fine,” I answered.

“I was just wondering. I remember old man Cade was all bent out of shape, you being Catholic and all.”

“That was a while ago.”