Rivera said, “Miss Zula took you to call on her, didn’t she? Without any prompting, obviously because she wanted you there. The only thing to do is to talk to her about it directly. My guess is that we play the whole thing down, and people will draw their own conclusions. But she’ll have an opinion.”

“Oh, sure,” Angie said. “I’m looking forward to that conversation.”

The phone began to ring again.

“Why not just turn the machine on?” Angie asked, pouring more wine into Rivera’s glass.

“Because,” Rivera said, “when I got home there were thirty-three hang-ups on it.”

“That many. Okay, but maybe they weren’t for you. It could have been DeeDee.”

Rivera turned her head to look at Angie. “You mean Tony actually went home with DeeDee last night?”

Angie sat down on the chair across from the couch and took a swallow of wine. “I don’t know about the ‘home’ part. He’s hiding out in Savannah, which should tell you something. I wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t see him until Monday morning.”

The phone stopped ringing and started again immediately. Rivera put back her head and howled at the ceiling.

“So what is it with Meg?” Angie said.

“She’s a weeper,” Rivera said. “A high-maintenance weeper. I need at least a day to recover before I deal with her.”

“Okay,” said Angie, gritting her teeth against the ringing of the telephone. “But it might not be Meg. Maybe it’s Miss Maddie. Maybe it’s Caroline. Maybe it’s DeeDee, in which case you can have the pleasure of ratting out Tony. That will put you in a better mood.”

For a moment she thought Rivera had gone to sleep, which was actually possible; she had known Rivera to nap while a jackhammer took apart the pavement directly below her window.

“Fuck it.” Rivera picked up the phone and barked a hello. Angie hoped, in that moment, that it wasn’t Weepy Meg.

Rivera’s scowl cleared. She listened, her eyebrows drawn together in a sharp V.

“Okay,” she said, and hung up. “John is on his way over.”

Angie inhaled a mouthful of wine. When she had stopped coughing she wiped the tears from her eyes. “What?”

“You heard. He said, ‘Tell Angie I’m on my way over.’ I said, ‘Okay.’” Rivera got up from the couch and shook her head so that her hair flew around her face in a short curtain of inky black satin with a beveled edge.

“Why,” Angie said slowly, “would you do such a thing?”

Rivera rounded her eyes and blinked provocatively. “Because, chicklet, it’s what’s best.”

The phone began to ring again. Angie leaned over and picked it up, her eyes fixed on Rivera.

“Hello.”

“Angie?”

“Caroline.” She tilted the phone for Rivera, who came over to listen.