“That chemical plant means salvation to a lot of people. Not just blue-collar either. These doctors need patients with private insurance to keep the gravy train running. Everybody’s on their best behavior, trying to sell Natchez as a Southern utopia. We’re pushing our opera festival, the literary celebration, the hot-air balloon race. And this morning you tossed a toad right into the punch bowl.”

I glance around the room and instantly find what I’m looking for: Caitlin Masters, deep in conversation with two older men. “You see that girl?”

Sam cranes his neck. “Caitlin Masters?”

“You know her?”

“I know she’s fine as wine and worth a few million bucks.”

“She printed a little more than I intended her to.”

“Fess up, man. You were just being you. At your pompous best.”

“That’s what Dad said.”

“Speaking of your old man, I’m surprised he came.”

Before I can ask what Sam means, someone taps me on the shoulder. Sam hides a smile behind his drink. I turn and look into the luminous green eyes of Caitlin Masters.

“Are you going to slug me?” she asks.

“If you were male, I might consider it.”

“I know I angled that story in a way you didn’t expect.”

“Angled it? Try sensationalized it. Remember the words ‘off-the-record’?”

Her lips part slightly in surprise. “I honored that request.”

“About the Hanratty execution. But as for Del Payton—” I force myself to shut up, not wanting to argue the point in front of a crowd.

“Why don’t we have lunch tomorrow?” she suggests. “I’d like to help you understand why I did what I did.”

I want to say no, but just as yesterday, something about Caitlin Masters makes me want to see her again. The jade dress is linen, and it lies against her skin like powder. She is a study in elegance and self-possession.

“Is that a no?” she asks.

“Once burned, twice shy,” Sam chimes in.

“I like Wilde’s quote better,” Caitlin rejoins.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“The burnt child loves the fire.”

She winks at me, then turns on her heel and walks away, ignoring the gazes of half the people in the room, who have watched our exchange with intense interest.

“You sure know how to liven up a town,” Sam says, his eyes glued to her retreating form. “And she knows how to fill out a dress. A shiksa from dreamland, that one.”

I step hard on his toe. “You already married one of those, remember? What were you saying about my dad?”

“I’m surprised he came, is all.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure Judge Marston is on the guest list.”