“Now I want some answers,” Shane said.

“Everybody wants answers. I want breakfast,” Joey said, and went up the ladder right behind Xavier.

Like that’s gonna work, Shane thought, and followed him up.


When Agnes put the third platter of pancakes and the second plate of ham on the table, the atmosphere lightened considerably. There was something about being full enough to relax yet still hungry enough to enjoy food with plenty of it still on the table, that just mellowed the hell out of people.

And there were a lot of people at her table, she thought happily.

“So, Garth,” Carpenter said genially.

“Is here to paint the house with Doyle,” Agnes said brightly. Carpenter smiled at her gently. “I was here last night, Agnes.”

“Right,” Agnes said.

“Who sent you, Garth?” Carpenter said. His voice was soft, but there was no denying it.

“My grandpa. He found that newspaper picture on his window-shield, you know, the one with the dog in it? And he wanted me to get the necklace it had on it in the picture, except the dog don’t have no necklace on it.”

Carpenter looked at Agnes, and she said, “I have no idea where the necklace went.”

Doyle put up a hand. “That was my foolish doing. I found that piece of junk when I was clearing up around here, and I put it on Rhett as a joke.”

“A joke,” Carpenter said. “And where is this joke necklace now?”

“I pawned it,” Doyle said. “I asked Agnes if she wanted it, and she told me I could have anything I found cleaning up, so I took it to Atlanta and pawned it. Sorry.”

“You pawned it?” Agnes said. “I thought it was junk.”

“It was,” Doyle said. “I got five dollars for it. You want the five dollars? If I overstepped, I’m real sorry, lass.”

He didn’t look sorry, and when Agnes thought about it, she couldn’t exactly remember telling him he could have anything he found, either. He probably could-she wasn’t interested in most of the stuff he turned up-she just couldn’t remember telling him that.

Which was just like the old reprobate.

“No, I don’t want the five bucks,” she said. “I don’t care about the necklace.”

“Why Atlanta?” Carpenter said. “Savannah’s closer.”

“I was in Atlanta,” Doyle said. “Now, would you be suspecting me of something, Mr. Carpenter?”

“I have an unfortunately suspicious soul, Mr. Doyle,” Carpenter said. “I would also like to know who arranged for Mr. Four Wheels to find the newspaper picture in his car.”

“Don’t know that,” Garth said, and shoveled in more food.

“And what is it that you do for a living, Mr. Carpenter?” Doyle asked.

“I am, among other things, a man of the cloth, Mr. Doyle,” Carpenter said, and Agnes almost dropped her spatula.

“And what denomination would that cloth be of?” Doyle asked.

“I am a Spiritual Humanist,” Carpenter said. “We believe in helping others improve their conditions. In living, for example, Mr. Doyle, a life free of deceit.”

“So, how about those pancakes?” Agnes said. “I’ve still got Shane and Xavier to feed and then there’s Lisa Livia coming over, and you wouldn’t believe how she can put them away, so I’m thinking at least another batch. And then there are ribs for lunch. Are you staying for lunch, Mr. Carpenter?”

Carpenter kept his eyes on Doyle. “Why, thank you, Miss Agnes, I would be delighted to stay for lunch.”

“Well, then I’ll get these ribs marinating and perhaps you can man the grill-”

The phone rang and Agnes answered it.

“Miss Crandall?” Reverend Miller said, pitching his voice deep for effect as usual, thereby sounding, as Lisa Livia had once said, like God making an obscene phone call.

“Good morning, Reverend Miller,” Agnes said, wondering what excuse the minister had come up with this time for barring Maria from wedded bliss with a Keyes under his watch.

“I was just wondering if Miss Fortunato is what you’d call a regular churchgoer?” Reverend Miller asked.

“Hell, yes,” Agnes said, having no idea. “Every Sunday. She wouldn’t miss. I’d love to chat about that, but I’ve got a kitchen full of people to feed, so if that was all you wanted…”

“You’re sure about that,” Reverend Miller said. “Because I feel strongly-”

“I do, too,” Agnes said. “You have a good day.” Then she hung up. Xavier came out of the basement, followed by Joey and then Shane. Xavier looked at Carpenter and said, “Who is this?”

“My business partner,” Shane said as he cleared the doorway. “And what business is that?” Xavier said. “Housework,” Carpenter said.

Shane introduced Joey to Carpenter, and Agnes grabbed Garth’s sleeve and pulled him close.

“When breakfast is done,” she whispered, “I’ll distract them and you get out of here. I’ll tell them I told you to go. It’ll be all right.”

Garth’s pale bony face looked stricken, his freckles standing out against the white. “But what about the ribs?”

“What?” Agnes said.

“And the paintin’?” Garth said. “I gotta help Mr. Doyle paint the house, right? And then have ribs. And this house needs a lotta work. You need help.” He was nodding at her, serious.

Agnes put her hand on her forehead. “Uh, Garth-”

“I’ll work for room and board.”

“Garth-”

“Don’t send me back to the swamp, Miss Agnes,” Garth said, his voice pathetic. “I hate it there. I’ll sleep in the basement, honest.”

“You can’t sleep in the basement,” Agnes said, appalled. “You got a barn or somethin’?” Garth said.

“Well, yeah,” Agnes said. “Taylor turned it into a catering hall. It even has a loft apartment with a bathroom. But-”

“It’s got a bathroom?” Garth said.

“Oh, hell,” Agnes said, and then her baser self took over and reminded her that she really did the need the house painted and God knew what else was going to turn up before the weekend. And with a Thibault on the premises, maybe the rest of the clan wouldn’t show up to shoot her. And he liked her cooking.

Well, he probably liked anybody’s cooking, but it was a real pleasure to see that boy eat.

“Yeah, sure, you can stay a couple of days,” she said, knowing she was going to hell for exploiting the bathroom-less and then thought about the rest of her day.

To Do List, she thought. Feed cast of thousands, several of whom are killers and one of whom is an underage dognapper now living illegally in my barn. Plan flamingo wedding. Remember not to screw hitman’s brains out again even though he’s really hot. Find nice normal guy without gun permit.

The back door opened and Lisa Livia came in, looking gorgeous in pink capris and a black T-shirt that said expensive in rhinestones. “So,” she said to Agnes, seemingly oblivious to the fact that conversation had just stopped and six pairs of male eyes were now riveted to her rhinestones. “What’s the plan?”

Take revenge on the sleazy bitch who’s trying to swindle me out of my dream house.

It was going to be a very busy day.

Shane escorted Xavier outside without giving Agnes a chance to invite him to breakfast, and made sure the detective actually got in the boat and cast off, puttering away down the Blood River, before he returned to the kitchen, where he found his uncle at the table with the rest of the people Agnes had collected. He thought about dragging Joey out onto the porch, and then decided to sit back and watch. He learned a lot by watching.

There was Lisa Livia, looking damn good, and there was Carpenter, surveying the kitchen population as if they were part of the mission, and Doyle, looking at Three Wheels without much enthusiasm and at Lisa Livia with a wistfulness that was almost sad, remembering lost days maybe. Three Wheels, eating ham and pancakes at the speed of light and watching Agnes with no intent to kill, although, some other kind of intent maybe-try anything and die, kid-and Rhett, asleep under the table once again, like a particularly lumpy brown rug. And Joey…

Joey met his eyes and then looked back down at his cakes and ham.

Agnes put a plate full of pancakes and ham in front of Shane. “Eat.” She poured coffee and put that in front of him, too.

He began to eat, only half-distracted by Agnes’s food this time- the ham crisp and sweet, the cakes thick and light, studded with pecans, the syrup falling in ropes to mix with the melting butter-but getting in the way was Joey, who was up to something that was probably going to get them all jailed or worse.

Doyle looked from Shane to Joey and back again and then said, “Garth, my boy, it is time we began our work day,” and removed a reluctant Three Wheels from the warmth of Agnes’s stove, Three Wheels slapping a slice of ham between two pancakes as he went. Agnes and Lisa Livia took their coffee out onto the porch, and Carpenter sat back, relieved from the distraction of the rhinestones, and watched Joey and Shane finish off their breakfasts.

Joey evaded Shane’s eyes in the ensuing silence until he couldn’t stand it anymore. “There’s really an old blood trail down there?”

“What the fuck?” Shane exploded. “You think I’d just stand there and let him bullshit you if there wasn’t? I was down there for half an hour watching him sniff around. I’m surprised he didn’t take an ax to that wall, but he’s a smart cop. He’s playing this straight and legal. You telling me you don’t know anything about that blood trail or what’s behind that wall?”

“Oh, come on, Shane,” Joey pleaded.

“Don’t fuck with me, Joey. You been lying to me since you called me. Is Frankie Fortunato behind that wall?”