There was a small, uncomfortable silence while Angie realized that she had never spoken to Caroline on the phone before. Then: “Can I help you with something, or did you want to talk to Rivera? Because,” she went on, almost babbling, “she’s not here just now.”

Caroline cleared her throat. “That’s all right,” she said. “I’m happy to talk to you.”

Angie bit her lip and wondered if southern custom required that she respond in kind, but then Caroline had launched into what sounded like a rehearsed speech.

“Miss Zula asked me to call. Tomorrow afternoon she’s going to Savannah to see an old friend. Miss Zula has told you about Miss Anabel?”

“Her high school teacher,” Angie said. “Yes.”

It turned out, as Caroline had called to say, that Miss Zula went to Savannah once a month to visit Miss Anabel, always by train, and this time she was inviting Tied to the Tracks to come along. If all went well and Miss Anabel didn’t change her mind, Tony would be allowed to film and they could interview the old lady.

“One more thing, while we’re on the phone,” Caroline said, and Angie’s heart lurched into her throat.

“I have been meaning to apologize to you about my aunt Patty-Cake’s behavior. She is sometimes a little too protective.”

“She has no cause to be,” Angie said. “I’m no threat to anybody.”

Caroline said, “Of course you’re not. But you’re very pretty and successful and sure of yourself, and you and John—” She paused. “Patty-Cake does have a suspicious nature, but I don’t. I wanted you to know that.”

“Well, good,” Angie said, and wondered why she was vaguely offended instead of relieved.

Later, unable to sleep, she came back down to the kitchen and began to make notes for the next day’s shooting. She was agitated and couldn’t say why, except that Caroline Rose didn’t have a suspicious nature, and thought she was pretty. Which made no sense at all; none of that should matter. What mattered was tomorrow, and the work she needed to do to get ready.

A moth bumped softly against the window screen, and from down the block came a very satisfied postcoital tomcat screech. Angie listened to the scratch of her pen on paper, and contemplated Miss Zula’s devious mind.

In the morning Angie found Tony in the kitchen when she came downstairs. He was trying to get the filter into the coffeemaker, one eye screwed shut. The other, red-rimmed, jerked fitfully. She took the filter out of his hand and shooed him away.

“I take it you’re just coming in,” Angie said. “Where’s Rivera?”

“She got lucky,” Tony said. “Really lucky. Luckier than me, at any rate.”

“Looking for love in all the wrong places?”