Wednesday#2

"I said I believed her story about the events of the other evening," Xavier said. "Other stories I am not so certain of. Your uncle Joey, for instance ..."

Three Wheels crammed in more toast.

Agnes tried to tune Xavier out, whisking the cooled butter and buttermilk into her eggs and then pouring her wet ingredients into her dry. She folded them together with a spatula and then poured pancakes onto the griddle, sprinkling them with pecans as she thought about hooks for her column—the rise of the two-thousand-dollar wedding cake: a sign of the apocalypse?—but it was all too clear that Xavier was loaded for bear and he'd decided the bear's name was Joey. Damn it, Joey, what have you been up to? She grated cinnamon on top of the pancakes and was watching them carefully for bubbles, worried for Joey, angry with everybody else, trying to figure out what the hell had happened to her life, when she felt a gentle tug on her sleeve over the counter.

"Ah have to go to the bathroom," Three Wheels whispered.

"Out in the hall, under the stairs," she said, talking low. "But you come back, we're not done with you. You hear?"

"Ah will," he said, looking down, and she realized he was looking hungrily at the pancakes.

She flipped them, and they landed perfectly golden, the pecans studding them like garnets.

He sighed.

"Okay, then," she said, and let him go.

She looked over to see Shane at the basement door, holding the dinette chair she'd dropped into the basement, rolling his eyes because she was letting Three Wheels leave the room.

I got Three Wheels covered, she thought. You take care of Xavier.

He pushed the chair under the table and disappeared into the hole, and she put the pancakes on a plate and poured the next batch as Doyle said, "So you be having the law in the basement, I be having an assistant in the bathroom, and somewhere we be having a grieving widow who sealed everything off from devotion?"

"That's about it." Agnes looked around her kitchen, saw that everything was under control, and picked up her cell phone.

"You're a very trusting lass, Agnes," Doyle said.

"Not so much anymore," Agnes said, and punched in Lisa Livia's number.

Shane heldthe ladder steady as Xavier climbed down, tackle box in one hand, but when he got to the bottom, he ignored the center of the room to detour over to the ancient bar, nodding to the mildew-speckled Venus as he passed her.

Shane pointed at the concrete floor. "The boy hit there."

Xavier nodded. "Thank you, son. My concern today, though, is what happened twenty-five years ago in here."

Fucking Joey,Shane thought as he watched Xavier open up the tackle box. "Twenty-five years ago?"

"Long ago in the mists of time, son, your uncle ran arm in arm with the man who owned this house, one Frankie Fortunato." Xavier took out the can of luminol and began walking slowly around the room, spraying. "Who subsequently disappeared. As mobsters are sometimes wont to do. You do know your uncle Joey was once with the mob?"

"Yep. But he left that behind a long time ago. He's an honest man, my uncle." Maybe.

Xavier laughed with genuine amusement as he sprayed. "Joey the Gent? He's got more stories than the library. And most of them are indeed fiction, but I'm interested in the nonfiction ones." He put the luminol can down on the old bar and reached into the kit and pulled out a bulky light, which Shane recognized as infrared. "Care to turn off the overhead?"

Shane flicked off the light as Xavier flipped on his own.

"Well, I'll be damned," Xavier said.

No, you won't,Shane thought, looking at the dragged blood trail that led straight into the wall. But Joey might well be.

Agnes listenedto Lisa Livia's cell phone ring as she put the pancake platter on the table, the phone crammed between her ear and her shoulder.

Doyle said, "This lad who is now my assistant?"

"I know," she told Doyle. "I'm grateful. And I don't think you'll really have to?—"

"H'lo?" Lisa Livia said, her voice slurred with sleep.

"I know, I know," Agnes said to her. "I know it's way too early, but I thought you should know, you were right, and I was wrong, wrong, wrong." She took down a frying pan, unwrapped the ham, and dropped the slices into it to fry, then turned back to pour more batter on the griddle, lowering her voice. "Brenda is swindling me on the house."

"Well, duh," Lisa Livia said around a yawn. "You couldn't wait until noon to tell me that?"

"There's more," Agnes said, and then Three Wheels came back in. "Hold on." She looked at Three Wheels. "Did you wash your hands?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Pancakes are on the table," Agnes said. "Maple syrup's in the pitcher. Butter's in the dish. Ham's coming right up. Are you allergic to nuts?"

"No, ma'am."

"Because there are pecans in the cakes and I don't want you swelling up and turning blue on me."

"No, ma'am."

"Do you swear on the Bible you washed your hands?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Eat."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Agnes turned back to the phone and began to slice more ham. "So there's more."

Lisa Livia said, "Tell me that wasn't Shane you were talking to."

"That wasn't Shane."

"Are those your sour cream buttermilk pancakes?"

"Yes."

Lisa Livia stopped yawning. "I'm coming over."

"Fine, but about Taylor. He's in on the swindle."

"You're kidding me. He signed the papers, too. How dumb is he?"

"Not that dumb. He?—"

"So what's your name, me lad?" Doyle said to Three Wheels as they both helped themselves to pancakes. "Three Wheels."

"No, it is not," Agnes said to him, and then into the phone she said, "Hang on a minute." She turned back to Three Wheels. "Do not say that around Detective Xavier, because he will make the connection that you're related to Two Wheels, understand?"

Three Wheels nodded.

"That's not the name on your birth certificate, right?" Agnes said, not sure. The Thibault clan didn't seem to be wound real tight; it was entirely possible Three Wheels had a cousin legally christened Steel-Belted Radial.

"Nah, that's what Two Wheels called me when I fell off'n my tricycle when I were little," Three Wheels said, semi-morosely. "He were always makin' fun."

"Well, those days are over," Agnes said. "What's your given name?" When Three Wheels looked confused, she added, "Your real name, the one on the birth certificate?"

"Garth."

Agnes nodded. "Garth."

"They kept tell in' my momma she was shameless, and that was Garth's big hit that year plus she just really liked his music so?—"

"Garth it is," Agnes said. "How are those pancakes?"

"Grade A, Miss Agnes."

"Excellent," Agnes said, and went back to Lisa Livia and the cakes on the griddle, flipping them as she cradled the phone, and then moving on to turn the ham. "You still there?"

"Getting dressed," Lisa Livia said, her voice muffled. "I'm trying not to miss any of this. Who the hell is Garth?"

"The kid who pointed a gun at me and tried to steal my dog last night."

"What?" Doyle said, looking sharply at Garth. "I'm real sorry about that," Garth said, forking up another pancake.

Agnes double-checked the cakes on the griddle, took the empty platter, and filled it again, then filled another with the ham.

More batter,she thought, and began a second bowl. Garth must not have eaten in a week. Or he was a teenage boy.

"He tried to steal Rhett, so you're feeding him sour cream pecan pancakes this morning," Lisa Livia was saying. "Makes perfect sense to me. I've missed you."

"Wait'll I tell you the next part," Agnes said. "Taylor?—"

Somebody knocked on the back door, and she stepped back to see who it was.

"Morning, Miss Agnes," Carpenter said.

"Good morning, Mr. Carpenter," Agnes said, surprised. "Thank you for my electricity. Would you like breakfast?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and came inside, pretty much filling the kitchen.

"Have a seat," she said. "Shane's in the basement with Detective Xavier, but I imagine he'll be up shortly."

"Everything in its time." He took a glass from her open shelf, sat down, and poured himself some milk.

"Help yourself to the cakes and ham, too," Agnes said, and put some speed on whisking the wet ingredients for the second batch of cakes as she spoke into the phone again. "Lisa Livia?"

"Who's this Mr. Carpenter? Did he steal your dog last night, too?"

"You really have to come out here for the unabridged version," Agnes said. "The big news is you have?—"

"How's my little Agnes!" Joey said, breezing in from the front hall.

"Joey!" Agnes cast a cautious glance at the rest of the crowd. "Xavier's down in the basement!" And he thinks you did something horrible twenty-five years ago. What the hell's going on?

"Where's Shane?"

"He be in the basement with Detective Xavier," Doyle said, sitting back with a cup of coffee, surveying the crowd with amusement now. "It be like a museum down there. Our Agnes should open it for the public. Get one of them fancy velvet ropes, put me in a uniform, let me decide who goes in and out." He gestured to the door. "Step right this way, ladies and gents! See the historic basement!"

Joey faltered for a moment, and Agnes couldn't tell if it was Doyle's basement humor or the sight of Carpenter and Garth eating pancakes and ham, but then he kept on going toward the basement door.

"Pancakes?" Agnes said, trying to delay him as she mixed the wet ingredients into the dry with a lot less care than with the first batch. Speed, that was the ticket.

"Later," Joey said, and slid a huge package wrapped in butcher paper across the counter to her. "Ribs."

"Thank you," Agnes said, hoping there were enough for everybody, since the thought of Carpenter and Garth in a smackdown over a rack of country ribs was not a pretty one. Carpenter had the edge over Garth on size and training, but Garth had youth and Thibault viciousness on his side. She shook her head and went back to the phone, turning her back on the rest of them. "Lisa Livia?"

"What's going on over there?"

Agnes dropped her voice. "Breakfast. Now here's the news: Your mama's married. Taylor's your stepfather."

"What?"

"I'll see you real soon," Agnes said, and hung up to finish the next batch of pancakes, cut more ham, start the marinade for the ribs, and then begin today's To Do List before moving on to write her damn column.

"You be real careful down there in that museum, Joey," Doyle called, and Joey gave him a funny look before he climbed down the ladder.

"Excellent pancakes," Carpenter said. "The ham is particularly fine."

"Is there more?" Garth said, holding out the empty platter, and Agnes took it back and filled it again while she thought about just what the hell was in Joey's museum in the basement and when she should start the next batch of pancakes.

"Joey the Gent,"Xavier said when Joey reached the basement floor. "Just the man I want to talk to."

The last half hour in the basement, Shane had kept his mouth shut as he watched Xavier use more equipment from his tackle box. Sophisticated the old detective wasn't, but efficient he was. Shane had a feeling Xavier and Carpenter would get along quite well. Old school and new school, same brain.

Xavier pointed to an aged stool between the bar and Venus. "Have a seat, old friend. I found something quite interesting here in Frankie Fortunato's rec room."

"One of Frankie's fine wines?" Joey asked, glancing at the wine rack, but he went to the stool and sat down.

"Not wine," Xavier said. "I found blood."

"Yeah, that bum kid—" Joey began, but Xavier cut him off.

"Not from the Thibault kid. That you can clearly see. This was old blood that someone had tried to clean up. Only showed up with the luminol and the infrared light. It's a blood trail. Leading from there, where the bottom of the stairs had been, around this bar, right up to that wine rack and ending at that wall behind the rack. Blood from a long time ago."

Joey's eyes had that dead look, and he was staring at the detective. Shane had a feeling he was witnessing two old warriors picking up their swords once more.

"I'm willing to bet," Xavier said, "that blood is twenty-five years old. I'm willing to bet that it's Frankie Fortunato's blood type. And I'm willing to bet that when we knock down that wall right behind you, we find Frankie's body."

"How much you got to bet?" Joey asked. "You want me to put some action on this? Give you some kind of odds? You know Keyes, Xavier. Lots of secrets, lots of strange things going on all the time. Lots of skeletons in closets. Sure you want to go poking around?"

As denials went, Shane thought, it was pretty bad.

"In your closet, Joey? Sure."

"This ain't my house or my closet. How long is it going to take you to get that blood test done? I know about your little tackle box, Simon. CSI: Las Vegas you ain't."

"The blood test won't take long at all, and I'm good enough at what I do to get a warrant to find out what's behind that wall."

Joey snorted. "You think so? Agnes's got a wedding to put on here.

And Jefferson and Evie Keyes aren't going to like you fucking around with their only son's wedding. Maybe Jefferson calls the sheriff and they put the brakes on your little one-man show. You're right, you're gonna need a warrant to get behind that wall. Which means you're gonna need the judge to sign off on it. You know, the judge who golfs with Jefferson every week. Whose wife is best friends with Evie."

"And how are the Keyes going to know about this?" Xavier asked.

Joey gave his shark smile. "It's a small town, Simon."

Xavier shook his head. "I'll find out what's behind that wall. One way or another." He climbed up the ladder.

"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 putthe 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?"

Carpenter raised his eyebrows and sipped his coffee.

"Damned if I know," Joey said. "I told you what happened that night."

Shane glared at his uncle. "Is someone else behind that wall, then? You guys whack someone way back when and put the body there?"

"You think we were that stupid?" Joey asked. "Put a body where somebody's gonna find it someday?"

ThatShane believed. "All right." He pointed a finger at Joey. "You swear to me right now, on your beloved Angelina's soul, that you don't know what happened to Frankie Fortunato."

Joey closed his eyes for a moment, and then nodded. "I swear on my dear wife's soul. I don't know what happened to Frankie Fortunato after I left him alive and well with that safe that night."

Shane sighed. There was still a seed of doubt in the back of his mind, and he tried to take apart the way Joey had phrased it to see if his uncle had built in wiggle room with the oath. "Okay, you didn't put anybody behind the wall."

"Well, thank you for that," Joey said, all injured dignity.

Shane fixed him with a stare. "What is behind that wall?"

Joey sat very still.

Carpenter grinned behind his coffee cup.

Joey shifted in his chair, clearly thinking Oh, fuck. He sighed deeply. "Frankie's bomb shelter."

Shane straightened. "What?"

"Frankie's fucking bomb shelter. But you can forget about getting in, ‘cause Frankie had the only key."

Shane pushed his plate away and tried to will some patience. "What ‘fucking bomb shelter,' Joey?"

"Frankie put a damn fallout shelter in the backyard." Joey jerked his thumb toward the river. "Had it brought over on a barge and lifted by crane at high tide at night into the yard; then he covered it up and built the gazebo on top. Even if Xavier knocked the wall down, he ain't gonna find a body. He's gonna find a fifty-foot tunnel ‘cause Frankie used a tunnel to go from the rec room to the shelter. Only people who knew about it were Brenda and me and Four Wheels."

"A bomb shelter?" Shane was still trying to wrap his mind around this development.

"Government surplus," Joey said. "Survive-a-nuclear-blast type of thing. Foot-thick, steel-reinforced concrete walls. Fucking indestructible. Loaded with food and all sorts of survival stuff. Frankie was a little bit paranoid."

"You think?" Shane leaned forward in the chair. "And Frankie had the only key to the shelter?"

"Yeah. Big damn thing almost six inches long. He kept it next to his gun."

No stairs. The entrance covered. The blood trail. The bomb shelter with only one key. Shane thought about strangling Joey with his bare hands. "Four Wheels is coming for the necklace because he thinks Agnes opened the bomb shelter and found the five million bucks from the robbery. That's why you called me in. You knew it wasn't a dognapper and you knew it wasn't just anybody thinking maybe the five million was here. You knew exactly what it was."

"Maybe," Joey said.

"Maybe we need to open the bomb shelter," Carpenter said, and they both looked at him in surprise, Joey probably because he was talking, but Shane because opening a bomb shelter was not in the mission statement.

"Wilson," Shane said to him.

"I am a curious man," Carpenter said.

"You can't do it without the key," Joey said. "That door is thick. And the lock?—"

"Eat your breakfast," Shane said, knowing Carpenter could open anything he damn well wanted to. "We need to go look for a tunnel."

Agnes and Lisa Liviahad taken their coffee out onto the back porch and sat down on the swing.

"So how about this," Agnes said. "Traditional wedding cakes had white icing because refined sugar was the most expensive, so white cakes were the most expensive. Now the most expensive ones are the elaborate ones that come in all different colors. Irony. Great column hook, huh?"

"Taylor's my fucking stepfather?"

"Yep." Agnes gave up on her column, put her coffee on the table, and turned to face Lisa Livia, prepared to be supportive in the fury to come. "He married Brenda the day before we signed the house papers."

"That makes sense," Lisa Livia said.

Agnes looked at her in disbelief. "That makes sense?"

"Well, yeah." Lisa Livia gave the swing a shove and they began to move back and forth, creaking in the summer breeze. "If you accept the insanity that my mother sold the two of you this house with the intention of swindling you out of it and he was in on it, he'd have to marry her. That way when he lost the house to her, he'd get it back because he was her husband. It's the only way he profits from the deal."

"Jesus wept," Agnes said, feeling her rage rise again.

Angry language, Agnes.

It's a Bible verse, Dr. Garvin.

"So of course he's married to my mother," Lisa Livia said grimly. "But he's gonna pay in ways he can't even begin to dream of. She'll probably kill him, too, just like she killed my daddy. So if you're thinking revenge, just wait. It's coming right up on its own."

"You really think she killed your dad," Agnes said, more willing to believe it today than she'd ever been before.

"He'd never have left me," Lisa Livia said. "He loved me."

"Well, you were right about the swindle, so I'm inclined to believe you about this one." Agnes picked up her coffee and blew on it and then sipped it. "Poor Taylor. I almost killed him last night and now Brenda's going to off him anyway."

"You almost killed him?" Lisa Livia's eyes widened. "When he told you about Brenda?"

"Went for him with a meat fork." Agnes shook her head at her own insanity. "Shane took it away from me. Thank God."

"You owe Shane big," Lisa Livia said. "You realize that if you'd killed Taylor, Brenda would have inherited half of this place back?"

Agnes sat up. "Oh, God." Then she stopped. "No, she wouldn't have. I would have. We have a survivorship agreement. If one of us dies, the other gets everything. We have to survive the other one by twenty-four hours and then we inherit, so if Brenda had managed to off me, she'd have gotten the whole place but?—"

"You wouldn't have inherited." Lisa Livia shook her head over her coffee. "You'd have killed him and you can't profit from your own crime. So she'd have gotten it."

"Oh," Agnes said, deflated. "Oh, crap. There really wouldn't have been an upside to forking him, would there?"

"Aside from the simple pleasure of the act itself, no." Lisa Livia gave the swing another push. "We have to figure this out. This is bad. We need a plan."

"A plan." Agnes nodded, trying to relax with the swing as she thought. "A plan is good. Something that puts the house in my name, not in Taylor's."

"Yep."

"And that makes it mine permanently, so Brenda can't ever have it."

"Yep."

"What would do that?"

"Taylor and Brenda dead."

Agnes stopped the swing. "LL, get your mind out of the mob. We're not killing anybody."

Lisa Livia looked at her, her big brown eyes wide with innocence. "It's efficient. We'd have to pin it on somebody else so you could keep the house, but there are a lot of people I'm annoyed with we could stick with the blame. Palmer's best man and his damn practical jokes are bugging the hell out of me. Some jail time would do him a world of good. What's his name? Downer. Downer is an idiot. Let's send him to the slammer."

Agnes started the swing again, fairly sure Lisa Livia was kidding. "Okay, put it down as a backup plan."

"Yeah, we have to wait until the cops are out of here anyway, you can't throw a rock without hitting one. That Hammond kid even came out to the boat to ask Maria about the wedding, although I think that was just an excuse."

"Oh, hell," Agnes said, "he's not going to confuse Maria and make her cancel the wedding, is he?"

Lisa Livia shook her head. "My kid is not that dumb."

"Okay." Agnes went back to stopping Brenda. "What else is there?"

"Blackmail."

"I like that. They're scum, they're bound to have done something horrible." Agnes slowed the swing again. "You really think your mom killed your dad?"

"I know she did. That night he disappeared? I saw her drive his Caddy away. She was the only one in it. They said he ran away because they found his car at the airport, but she was the one who drove it away."

Agnes sat very still. "You were thirteen, LL. How can you?—?"

"Yeah, but I was a thirteen-year-old Fortunato," Lisa Livia said.

Agnes nodded, dying to be open minded. "What if we found proof? We could blackmail her with that. Unless you wanted to turn her in to the cops now." It did seem odd, talking like this about Lisa Livia's mother, until you remembered that Lisa Livia's mother was Brenda Fortunato. Rasputin's kid probably had the same conversations.

Lisa Livia was shaking her head. "I couldn't turn her in. They'd prosecute her, and it would be in the papers."

"So?"

"My uncle Michael would find out," Lisa Livia said with obvious patience. "You know, my uncle Michael, the Don?"

"Yeah," Agnes said. "So?"

Lisa Livia looked at her as if she were insane. "My daddy was the Don's brother. That means my mother whacked the Don's brother. You know how long she'd live once he knew she killed him? Maybe ten seconds. I don't like my mother, but I don't really want her dead." Lisa Livia looked out through the screens to the Blood River. "I just want to know for sure."

"Okay," Agnes said, suddenly feeling better about her own parents. They'd been neglectful and deceitful and they'd deserted her at ten, but they hadn't murdered anybody. Point in their favor. "So where do we look for evidence that your mother, uh, whacked your father?"

"The boxes on the Brenda Belle," Lisa Livia said. "Everything she owns is on that damn boat."

"You think she'd keep evidence? That sounds dumb. Brenda is a lot of things, but dumb isn't one of them."

"I think she wouldn't know." Lisa Livia put her coffee cup down. "She has all her papers packed into boxes and I think she doesn't even know what's there. She'll leave the boat sometime today, she's going stir crazy on there, pacing back and forth, making phone calls and then slamming down the phone, cat on a hot tin boat. The only thing that's keeping her together is the knowledge that she'll be evicting you on Sunday and moving back here. She can't wait to get back here. As soon as she leaves again today, I'll go through as much of it as I can."

"I owe you," Agnes said.

Lisa Livia shook her head, a little sadly. "No, I shoulda done this a long time ago. Besides, you're putting on my kid's wedding. I owe you. I—" She stopped as they heard two sets of car doors slam, and she got up and craned her neck to see who was coming around the corner of the house through the porch screen. "Oh, God, it's Evie and Maria," she said after a moment, dread in her voice. "I gotta eat crow here and get my kid her white wedding back."

"No, wait." Agnes shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose and stood up, too. "I think I can do it. Let me do the talking this time. My trade for you getting me the stuff to blackmail your mother."

"That's fair," Lisa Livia said, and then she put on a smile as the screen door opened and Maria came in, followed by Evie with a dress bag over her arm.

Dress bags, the new hot accessory,Agnes thought, and plastered a smile on her face as she thought fast about how to get rid of the flamingo theme.

Maria said, "Evie called me to meet her here. She has a surprise to show us."

Evie looked like six kinds of hell. "I've come to apologize. Palmer scolded me last night for being overbearing and rude, and he was right. If Maria wants a flamingo wedding, then she should have a flamingo wedding." She reached for the dress bag and unzipped it.

"Well, actually," Maria said, looking jolted.

"I think we can talk about that," Agnes said, stepping forward. "I'm sure we can compromise?—"

"I shouldn't have opened my big mouth," Lisa Livia said.

"So I went to my dressmaker last night, and we worked on the dress," Evie said as if they hadn't spoken, pulling a lot of pink fabric out of the bag again. "Maria, would you please try Brenda's wedding dress on for us?"

Maria took a deep breath and look the dress, which looked a lot lighter, and went inside, detouring into the housekeeper's room. "Really, Evie," Lisa Livia began.

Evie turned to her. "I did not appreciate what you said to me, Lisa Livia, but if someone had spoken to my son the way I spoke to your daughter, I would have felt the same way. I apologize, I sincerely do."

"Oh, don't," Lisa Livia said miserably. "I apologize. I was completely out of line."

"We've been talking," Agnes said. "And we're really both sure Maria will be fine with a white wedding. We think you were right to insist on something classic, like daisies and butterflies, Maria has always loved those, maybe with tiny flamingo accents and then a flamingo groom's cake?—"

"No, no," Evie said. "A girl should have the wedding she wants. I made a mistake. I was glad to spend last night fixing it. My dressmaker is a genius. You'll see."

"Oh," Lisa Livia said.

Agnes looked at Lisa Livia and knew she was thinking the same thing: How do you tell a woman who has stayed up all night and spent a small fortune in dressmaker overtime fees that the flamingo thing was a joke her future daughter-in-law played to teach her a lesson about meddling?

Agnes and Lisa Livia looked away from each other and shut up.

"So have you talked to Maisie Shuttle?" Evie said to Agnes, after they'd discussed the weather and hoped it would hold for the weekend, and how the weatherman was predicting that it would, and how the gazebo was certainly looking lovely.

"Who's Maisie Shuttle?" Lisa Livia said.

"Florist," Agnes said. "Not yet, I'm still getting her machine. Don't worry. Maria will have her flowers, which I'm thinking will still be white, with maybe tiny pink accents?—"

The screen door slapped open, and Maria came out in Brenda's dress, but it was Brenda's dress reborn, the hoop skirt and lace overlay gone along with the meringue sleeves and poufy overskirt and all the other froufrou. It was still flamingo pink, but lighter. Evie must have soaked it forever to rinse out part of the dye and now the cut was streamlined and strapless, with just an edge of netting along the top of the bodice, the skirt still full but with a crinoline not a hoop. Maria looked lovely. Pink as all hell, but lovely.

"That really did take you all night," Agnes said, looking at all the work that must have gone into just removing fabric.

"I wanted to apologize today," Evie said. "I didn't want Maria to think I wasn't... I didn't want her to feel... I..." She looked at Maria. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what got into me. After Brenda and I went to lunch yesterday and talked, I?—"

"Brenda,"Agnes snarled, imagining what that lunch had been like, Brenda dripping poison into Evie's ear.

Maria took a deep breath. "Thank you, Evie, this is a beautiful dress and I'll think of you when I walk down the aisle."

Oh, hell,Agnes thought as she heard somebody walk through her kitchen. "You know what would make this dress perfect? An all-white backdrop with just tiny pink accents?—"

Maria turned to her eagerly, and then the screen door from the kitchen slapped and Brenda stepped onto the porch, invading from the house. "Well, here I am, Evie," she said, looking like she hadn't slept well. "What was so important?" She caught sight of Agnes and smiled, looking predatory. "Agnes, sugar, you had the front door open again, and you know that's bad for my clock, so I just closed it for you. And you've got a big ol' truck coming across the bridge, too. Is that a good idea?"

"It's about time you got that clock out of my hall," Agnes said, and watched Brenda's face sharpen, and then a beat later, she thought, A truck? The bridge can't support a truck. "No," she said, and started for the door, only to be blocked by Brenda, staring at Maria's dress.

"Where did you get that?" Brenda said to Maria.

"It's your wedding dress, Grandma," Maria said, smiling bravely. "I'm wearing it for my wedding."

"My wedding dress?" Brenda said, her pretty face darkening.

"Where's my Italian lace? Where's my bouffant sleeves? Where's my goddamn hoop skirt?"

The same place as your goddamned morals, you worthless tramp."It's been modernized, Brenda," Agnes said. "When you pass something on to someone else, you have to expect changes. You don't get it back."

Brenda glared at Agnes. "I can expect my wedding dress to stay my goddamn wedding dress."

"Ma, it's beautiful," Lisa Livia said. "Evie and her dressmaker worked on it all night. We're really grateful. All of us."

Brenda turned on her, glaring. "Well, I'm not grate?—"

The air was split with the sound of honking, frantic honking, as if a giant duck were being turned inside out, and Agnes said, "What the hell?" and shoved Brenda out of the way to see what was going on.

There was a deliveryman on her back lawn setting loose a large pink bird.

"What is that?"Agnes went out through the screen door and down toward the bird as it broke free of its crate and bolted for the river. It was at least five feet tall, and while she actually did know what it was, she was having trouble accepting the fact.

"Delivery for Maria Fortunato and Palmer Keyes," the delivery-man said, giving up on catching the bird. "They here?"

"Maria!" Agnes yelled, but Maria was right behind her. "Did you order a flamingo?"

"No," Maria said, staring at the bird as it loped, honking, toward the water, but she signed for it when the uniformed chinless wonder with the blond crew cut jabbed the clipboard at her. Then he handed her an envelope and drove off, leaving the crate and the bird behind as he made Agnes's bridge groan again in his getaway.

"That's a flamingo," Lisa Livia said, coming up behind them as Maria opened the envelope, and Agnes said, "Yes, it is," staring in equal disbelief.

"It's a wedding gift from Downer," Maria said, reading the papers from the envelope, and her inflection on "Downer" told them all they needed to know about how she felt about Palmer's best man. "Its name is Cerise."

"What in God's name?" Doyle said, and Agnes turned to see him and Garth crossing the lawn, gaping at the bird, which was still honking frantically, now knee deep in the Blood River.

"Flamingo," she told him. "How's that house painting coming?"

"We need sprayers," Garth said. "That's a flamingo. Hot damn."

"They eat shrimp," Maria said, still reading the papers. "What are we going to do with a flamingo?" Her voice quivered on flamingo, and Agnes realized that after the dress and her grandmother, the big pink bird was probably the last straw.

"Jimbo can get us all the shrimp we want," Garth said, and Agnes took the papers out of Maria's hands and gave them to him.

"You are now chief flamingo wrangler," she told him. "Take care of Cerise until we figure out where she belongs so we can send her back. Feed her lots of shrimp. Maybe that will shut her up."

"Cool," Garth said.

"And paint the house," Agnes added.

"On it," Garth said, and was gone.