Dread fills me as I turn, certain that I’m about to endure a public dressing-down for my comments in the paper. The speaker is Maude Marston. Leo’s wife is obviously drunk, as she has been for as long as I can remember. In response to the judge’s amorous adventures, Maude developed a sort of battleship manner, charging through her daily social round with prow thrust forward and guns primed for combat. Anyone who whispers malicious comments within her hearing risks a withering broadside salvo or, worse, depth charges dropped with stealth and unerring aim, that detonate days or weeks later, leaving the offender shattered and forever outside the inner social circle. I hate to guess what she has in store for me.

“Whassa matter, hotshot?” she drawls. “Cat got your tongue?”

I force myself to smile. “Good evening, Maude. It’s nice to see you.”

She stares with blank rage, as though the synapses behind her eyes have stopped firing. Maude was once a great beauty, but her two daughters are the only remaining testament to that fact. Her hair should be gray, but it has been bleached and hennaed and sprayed so often that it has acquired a sort of lacquered-armor look. The cumulative effect of that hair, the gin-glazed eyes, combative stance, and scowling avian face stretched taut by various plastic surgeries is enough to send any but the most stalwart running for the exits.

She pokes a grossly bejeweled finger into my chest. “I’m talking to you.”

“You’re drunk,” I say quietly.

She blanches, then pokes me again, harder.

“That’s assault.”

“You gonna have me arrested, hotshot?”

Over Maude’s shoulder I see Caitlin watching from the hall, her eyes flickering with curiosity. “No. I’m going to ask your husband to take you home.”

A harsh cackle bursts from Maude’s lips, and she wobbles on her feet. “You appointed yourself special protector of the nigras in this town or what?”

Sam Jacobs reaches between us and takes hold of my forearm. “Got the drinks! Let’s roll! Great to see you, Maude!”

As Sam pulls me away, Maude speaks softly but with a venom that makes me pause. “You ruined my daughter’s life, you bastard.”

Then she throws her drink in my face.

A collective gasp goes up from the nearby guests. The drink is mostly ice. It’s Maude’s words that have stunned me. I have no idea what she’s talking about. It has to be Livy, but that makes no sense at all. Before I can gather my thoughts for a question, Lucy Perry appears and gentles Maude away from the bar the way a trainer gentles a wild mare.

“Let’s blow this joint before somebody gets killed,” Sam whispers.

As we depart, Caitlin leans toward me. “I can’t wait to hear the story behind that.”

Perfect.

CHAPTER 11