“Pardon me?” she croaked.

“I believe you heard my question. I asked why you aren’t married. Unless you consider the question impertinent?” Miss Anabel held out a plate of cookies to Tony.

“Yes. No.” Angie pressed her napkin to her mouth for a moment. “Why does anybody stay single? It’s just the way things are.”

“But you must be close to thirty?”

“I’m twenty-eight. Women marry late these days, if they marry at all. I believe Caroline Rose must be at least thirty-five.”

A light came into Miss Anabel’s eyes, one that Angie recognized. She had grown up with old Italian women who enjoyed a good argument.

“So you haven’t met the right person?” Miss Anabel said.

“Define ‘right.’”

Miss Anabel let out a cawing laugh. “What about you, Mr. Russo?”

“I’ve got one, too. A backbone.”

“You’ve got to be fifty, and you still haven’t married.”

“True on both counts.” Tony leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Well,” said Miss Anabel, “Miss Mangiamele there is a bright young woman. She’s quite pretty though she doesn’t dress well, and she’s single.”

Tony had always been a good poker player, unflappable. He raised an eyebrow in her direction.

“Angie, hey. Want to get married?”

“No,” Angie said, swallowing a hysterical laugh. “Well, not to you.”

“That’s settled,” Tony said placidly.

“So you don’t rule out the idea of marriage.”

“No, Miss Anabel,” said Angie. “I don’t rule it out.”

To Tony Miss Anabel said, “Miss Mangiamele isn’t the only available young woman of your acquaintance. Surely.”

“I know a lot of women,” Tony said. “Of all ages and marital states. But I was inoculated against marriage long ago. At my father’s knee.”

Without missing a beat Miss Anabel said, “Is that why you prefer to spend your time with married women?”

Tony narrowed his eyes at her. “I guess that must be it.”

“Well, then,” said Miss Anabel brightly. “Since I’ve asked my questions, you can go ahead and get out your camera and ask yours. Now that we understand one another.”

Tony and Angie took a taxi back to the train station without Miss Zula, whose habit it was to spend the night in Savannah and do some shopping on Saturday morning before she took the train home to Ogilvie by herself. She neither needed nor wanted company.

“It’s like an outdoor shower,” Tony said, peering out into the rain. Great sheets of it, warm as new milk. “And here I was planning on hanging around for a while, see what Savannah has to offer.” His cell phone rang.

“Don’t let a little water stop you,” Angie said as he fumbled his phone out of his pocket. “I can get back to Ogilvie on my own.”

Then he held up the phone for her to see the caller ID and flipped it open.