“We had no business knowing about you until you chose to reveal it. It was a coincidence that Brigid was in law enforcement and naturally suspicious. How did you know that she had thought something was … amiss?”

“You mean that I was in prison? Well, you might get out of prison and go straight, but that doesn’t mean you lose your contacts. A guy in Tallahassee called to tell me he had word some elderly white-haired woman was nosing around, asking questions about me.”

Carlo had smiled at hearing the description of Brigid as elderly and white-haired. “Well, your cohort had it partly right,” he said.

The next part was easy, because Beaufort was telling the truth. He explained how he had been a disadvantaged youth, a trial for his mother after his father died in the Korean War. (Well, that part was a lie, but Beaufort was warming to his story.) A young hoodlum, he was arrested for possession of marijuana when that could send you to prison for a couple of years. Then getting out, more hardened than before by his time, he hooked up with his former supplier and started selling. Got picked up on the street again by a sting agent. Did more time—

While he was telling his story, the phone rang. Beaufort stopped in midsentence and looked around the house for where the phone might be. Carlo looked, too, in the direction of the kitchen area across the great room. At the phone on the counter over the liquor cabinet.

“Do you need to get that?” Beaufort asked, not wanting to show he was on edge. “If it’s important. I can always pick up the story when you’re finished.”

“Let it go to voice mail,” Carlo said. “We get so many telemarketers calling we don’t even get up unless they leave a message.”

They both stopped while the phone went through six rings and then changed to voice mail. “Hello, Carlo? It’s Elias. I know you screen calls, I’ll wait for you to pick up.”

Carlo smiled at Beaufort. “Could I freshen your drink?” he asked.

Beaufort shook his head, and after a couple of beats the voice went on.

“Okay then, you’re not within earshot. Call me. I’ll be at the church for another hour. Good—oh, it’s around nine right now. Bye.”

Carlo nodded at Beaufort to go on with his story.

On the third go-round Beaufort had decided to take a step up in the marketing chain and supply the drugs himself. He bought a small boat and was transporting the goods up through the Gulf of Mexico to safe harbors along the west coast of Florida. This went on for a while, but coincided with the Three Strikes and Life law. “Do you remember that?” Beaufort asked.

“I do. It was part of the war on drugs. You got caught then?”