It wasn’t until she had started the van and pulled out of the parking lot that she realized that he wasn’t embarrassed but angry, which was a rarity; in her experience, John was able to turn off anger as he would a spigot. It was one of the things that she had liked least about him, his ability to shut down in the face of an argument. Except this time she wasn’t sure, exactly, what or who had made him mad.

Two blocks of silence were enough, and so she said it. “They asked me to sit with them, you know. It wasn’t my idea.”

She saw him startle out of his thoughts, and then struggle to gain his composure.

“What?”

“If you’re worried about me sitting with Caroline’s sisters, it wasn’t my idea.”

“Why would I care?” he said.

“You shouldn’t,” Angie said, biting back the rest of what she might have said. She turned onto Lee Street and stopped the van in front of his house, and then turned to him.

She said, “On a purely professional matter, I need to talk to you about Miss Zula and the documentary.”

John opened the door of the van with a snap and got out, dragging his suitcase behind him.

“Did you hear me?” Angie said.

“I heard you.” He was looking at her with such open hostility that she felt her pulse jump in her throat. But she was Fran Mangiamele’s daughter, and she had never backed down from a surly man in her life, so she leaned toward the open door.

“Wake up, John,” she said. “This is business. I need to talk to you about Miss Zula.”

He blinked at her. “Come into the house if you want to talk.” Then he closed the door with a bang, and walked off.

She sat there for five minutes, debating with herself, watching him move through the house. A window opened, and then another. She imagined him turning on the ceiling fans, looking through the pile of mail, listening to the telephone messages. There would be one from Rob, explaining where he and Kai had gone for the weekend, up to Hilton Head or to one of the lakes. There would be another message from Caroline. She imagined him standing there listening to Caroline talk, her voice a little rough and still lilting, all Georgia. She would be telling him about her drive up to Lake Louise with her mother, how the storm had slowed them down, that she would be back later tonight or tomorrow, that she had missed him and was sorry not to be there to welcome him home.

Angie put the van in drive, and headed for Ivy House.