Iwoke the next morning relaxed and warm and at peace, with Lucy snuggled beside me in her king-sized bed, small beneath light gray sheets and a comforter. Her breathing was even, and when I burrowed under the sheet and kissed her back, she said, "Mrmph."

I touched my tongue to her skin, and she said, "Sleepin'."

Her back was salty with sweat dried from the hours before. The bed and the room smelled of us and our lovemaking and the warmth of our bodies, and under it was the sweet smell of her fragrance and shampoo and soap. I lay there for a time, enjoying the warmth of her and the memories that the smells triggered, and after a while I could smell the food from the night before and the jessamine that grew around her home. Lucy's bedroom was large, her bed facing toward double French doors that opened toward the backyard.

There were drapes, but the drapes were open so that I could see the used-brick patio and the Weber where we'd grilled the hamburgers. Three or four cardinals and maybe a half dozen sparrows were clustered around the bird feeder, chirping and scratching at the seed. We had cardinals in L.A., but you rarely saw them. The patio and the yard beyond it were filled with bright light, and somewhere there was the two-cycle whine of a lawn mower. It seemed as if there was always the sound of a lawn mower in Louisiana. Maybe that was the nature of this place, that the land was so fertile that life grew and expanded so quickly that a never-ending maintenance was in order, and without it the people who lived here would be overcome. I wondered for an instant if it could be that way with love, too, but then the thought was gone.

I eased out of the bed, careful not to wake her, then pulled on my underwear and went into her bathroom. I brushed my teeth with my finger, then went out to the kitchen. We had probably burned twenty thousand calories last night, and it was either make breakfast or fall upon Lucy and end up arrested for cannibalism.

I washed the dishes from the night before, then searched through her cupboards and fridge until I found Bisquick and frozen blueberries and some low-fat cottage cheese. There was a pancake griddle in a tall drawer beside the dishwasher, but I found a large skillet instead. Old habits. I poured a cup of the blueberries into a little bowl and covered them with water, then found a larger bowl and made a batter with the Bisquick and the cottage cheese and some nonfat milk. I sprayed the pan with butter-flavored Pam, then put it on a medium fire. While it was heating I ran out into the garden, clipped a pink rose, then ran back inside. I drained the blueberries and was mixing them in the batter when Lucy Chenier squealed, "Somebody help! There's a strange man in my house!"

She was standing on the other side of the counter, wrapped in a sheet. I gave her Groucho. "Don't be scared, little girl. That's not a chain saw. I'm just happy to see you."

"Ho, ho. Keep dreaming."

I held out my hand, fingers spread. She laced her fingers between mine. Her fingers were warm and felt good. I said, "Good morning."

"Good morning." We grinned at each other. She made a big deal out of looking around and shook her head. "You cleaned up. You're making breakfast."

I turned back to the berries. "We're a full-service agency, ma'am."

She let the sheet drop and came around the counter and snuggled against me. "You can say that again, trooper." She looked ort from under my arm at the batter. "Pancakes. Yum. What can I do?"

"Find me a spatula?"

She did.

I gave her a kiss. "Will you go in today?"

She snuggled against me again. "Maybe after lunch. I can barely walk, you animal."

I increased the heat under the pan, then spooned in four equal amounts of batter, making sure each pancake had a like number of berries. I made the batter dry so that the cakes would be thick and fluffy. I said, "A woman of your advancing years needs regular workouts, else she gets out of shape."

"Pig." She dug her thumb between my ribs, then hugged me again and widened her eyes. "Hmm. I could think of something to eat besides pancakes."

I adjusted the heat down. When they're thick like that you have to be careful with the heat, hot at first to set the cake and keep it from spreading, then low so that it will cook through without burning. "A man of my advancing years needs enormous sustenance to even pretend to keep up with a woman of your years."

"I guess that's right. Female superiority."

"Tell me about it." I put down the spatula, touched the tip of her nose, then her lips. I said, "You are devastatingly beautiful."

She nodded. "Um-hm."

I ran my finger down between her breasts and along the flat plane of her belly. "Perfect in all discernible ways."

She made a purring sound. "Ah."

"And a pretty fair lay." I turned back to the pancakes.

"That's not what you said last night, big guy." She pressed her breasts into my back, and then she stepped back and touched the places on my lower back and side. "What are these?"

"I caught some frag in Vietnam."

I felt her fingers move from scar to scar. They're little scars. "How did that happen?"

"I was trying to hide in the wrong place at the wrong time."

She bent low and kissed one of the marks and then she touched the puckered scar high on the top of my left trapezius. "What happened there?"

"A hood named Charlie DeLuca shot me."

She ran her finger along the scar. It's a little crater shaped like an arrowhead. She said, "Do you get shot often?"

"Only the once."

She came around in front of me and pulled my face down and looked deep into my eyes, frowning. "Do me a favor and don't get shot anymore, okay?"

"Aw, shucks. Not even a little bit?"

She shook her head. Slow. "Uh-uh."

When the pancakes were done we heaped them with sliced bananas and maple syrup, then sat at the counter with our knees touching. She said, "These are wonderful."

I nodded. "Old family recipe. Ideal for restoring one's energy reserves and reinvigorating the libido."

"Ah. Something to look forward to."

I wiggled my eyebrows.

She said, "So are you going to be able to help the Boudreauxs?"

"I don't know. Jo-el isn't going to cooperate, so I'll have to figure out what Milt has going and how to make him back away. I'll probably need help to do that, so I'll have my partner come in."

"You have a partner?"

"An ex – police officer named Joe Pike. He owns the agency with me."

She ate a piece of the pancake, then a slice of the banana. "Do you have any leads?"

"Sandi."

"The name in Jimmie Ray's papers?"

I nodded and kept eating. I was getting close to the end of the pancakes and was thinking I should make a couple more. "I found two messages on his answering machine from a woman who implied some sort of romantic relationship. If that's Sandi, maybe Jimmie Ray told her what was going on."

"And maybe she'll tell you."

"Maybe." I finished my plate and frowned at the batter. Enough for one more, maybe two.

Lucy split what was left on her plate and pushed the larger piece onto mine. Mind reader. "I won't be able to finish."

"Thanks." I dug in.

She took a last bit of pancake, then set her fork onto her plate. "How will you find her?"

"Shouldn't be hard. If they were close, they would've talked often. I'll go back through his phone bills and try the most frequently dialed local numbers. I'll dial them and hope that someone named Sandi answers."

Lucy leaned forward on her elbows and grinned "You make it sound easy."

"Private detecting has very little in common with multidimensional calculus, Lucille." I finished the last of the pancake and touched my napkin to my lips. "Also, it is only easy if the call from Jimmie Ray's to Sandi's was a toll call. If she lived across the street, her number won't show up on the bills and we're screwed."