Lucy said, "Did you find a way to help the Boudreauxs?"

I shook my head. "No."

Jodi looked back at me. "What do you mean no?"

"I had hoped to find a way to force Rossier out of the Boudreaux's lives so that they could keep their secret, but there doesn't seem a way to do that. Rossier has no family and no known associates other than Donaldo Prima, and their association seems one of convenience. Like all criminal activities, it is a cash business, and Rossier has carefully laundered all the money through his crawfish farm. Milt Rossier answers to and depends on no one. He's safe."

Jodi said, "Well, there must be something."

"We can kill him or arrest him."

She flipped her hand. "Oh, that's silly."

"Prima used to work for another coyote named Frank Escobar. Prima wanted to go into business for himself, but needed a safe and reliable way to move people up from the coast. That's Rossier. Without Rossier, Prima's out of business. Escobar would very much like Prima to be out of business, also. If Escobar knew how to get to Rossier and Prima, he might take care of our problem."

Lucy was not moving. Her hands were on the counter. "You're talking about arranging a murder."

"I am talking about sharing information with Frank Escobar, then letting nature take its course."

Jodi crossed her arms, then uncrossed them. "Are you serious?"

Ben and the other boy came in through the French doors, slick with sweat. Ben was barefoot, and his knees were grass-stained and dirty. The other boy was wearing a Wolverine T-shirt. Ben said, "Moml'mLgonnagoovertoGary'sokay? Hi, Elvis."

"Hi, Ben." I guess the other boy was Gary.

Lucv glanced at the clock on the wall above her sink. "I want you home by nine."

Both boys sprinted away before she finished. "ThanksMom."

After the front door crashed/the house was silent. Lucy went to the sink, ran a glass of water, and drank it. Jodi shook her head. "Well, that killing thing is silly. You can't just kill someone. And the Boudreauxs can't arrest him. If they arrest him, he'll tell."

"The sheriff has no choice. I am not going to allow things to continue."

Jodi put her hands on her hips. "What does that mean?"

Lucy turned back from the sink.

I said, "An old man got shot in the head because Jo-el Boudreaux is scared of something that happened thirty-six years ago. This is not acceptable." My neck felt tight. "If things continue as they have, more old men will be shot and more little girls will die of heatstroke, and that is also not acceptable." The tight neck spread to my scalp, and my voice felt hard and far away. "I have told Jo-el these things, and now he must do something, even if it means giving up his secret, because I will not allow any more old men or little girls to die. I will act if he doesn't." My temples were pounding.

Jodi's eyes flicked to Lucy, then came back to me. "What does that mean? What will you do?"

"I'll go to the Justice Department and give them the case against Rossier and Prima."

Her eyes flicked to Lucy again. "But Rossier will tell on the Boudreauxs." Tell on the Boudreauxs. Like he might tattle.

"I know."

Jodi took one step closer to me, her eyes wide. "But then they'll know about me."

"I know that, too. I'm sorry."

Jodi walked out of the kitchen and into the dining area. She raked her fingers through her hair and looked at herself in the window overlooking Lucy's backyard. It was now dark out, and the glass was a mirror to the room. We weren't talking about the Boudreauxs anymore; we were talking about her. She said, "What happened to confidential? What happened to protecting my interests? You promised me, remember?"

I didn't answer. Her eyes were red-rimmed and filling. I wanted to comfort her and tell her that everything would be fine, but I could not lie to her.

I said, "I saw Boudreaux earlier today. He's going to talk about all of this with Edie tonight, and we'll see how they want to play it tomorrow. I'm sorry, Jodi."

Jodi Taylor walked out. Lucy went after her, and I heard them at the front door, but I could not make out their words. I put my palms on the counter and stared between them. The Corian was flat and gray and seemed of great depth. It was a lovely surface, and I pressed against it and wondered how much pressure it could take. I thought about hot frying pans being placed upon it, and I wondered how often the pans might be placed and how hot they might be before the Corian would be forever changed.

Lucy was gone for a long while, and then there were footsteps and she was standing beside me again, leaning with her back to the counter, her arms crossed She said, "You look like hell, Studly."

"Thanks."

Lucy took a deep breath, then said, "I know you were in Vietnam, but I have to ask this. Have you killed men in the course of your job?"

"Yes."

"Have you committed murder?"

"No. Each time, I was threatened. Each time, I was trying to help an innocent person whose life was in imminent danger."

"Have you acted to create those moments?"

I thought about it. There have been so many moments. Freckles on the arm of a man who works in the sun. "When you involve yourself in these things, you assume a measure of risk. There always comes a point when you can turn it over to the police, but at that point the risk expands. Will the police blow it? Will the client be helped or harmed? Will justice be served? There are always questions. The answers are not always clear, and are often unknown even after the fact."

She let the breath out. "In a given moment you opt to trust yourself."

"Yes," I said. "Always."

She said nothing for several moments, then she turned sideways and reached up to touch my hair. "Well. At least you're honest."

"As the day is long." I tried to smile, but it wasn't much.

"I'm having trouble with this."

"I know."

"The framework of the law is how we define and protect justice. If everyone were to subjectively define justice, order and law would cease and there would be no justice. There would be only anarchy."

"Easy for you to say."

She frowned. Humor often fails when we need it most.

"But you're right. Of course."

She said, "You don't have to do this. You could just walk away, or you could act unilaterally and go directly to the Justice Department to give them Rossier, but you haven't. You're still in it, even though it troubles you."

I looked at her and tried to frame how I felt. "I help people. I work with their problems and try to stay within the parameters that they set and bring them to a conclusion that is just. Their confidence is sacrosanct to me. Do you see?"

"You define yourself through your service to your clients."

"In a way."

"And you've never breached that confidence, or that service."

I shook my head.

"And now you might, for a justice that you see as greater than your client."

"Yes." My voice was phlegmy.

Lucy pulled me around to face her. She gripped each of my biceps and looked up at me. I watched her look at the different parts of my face and head and ears and hair. Her eyes drifted lower, glancing at my chest, maybe the buttons there, maybe the folds of my shirt, as if whatever answers she sought might be in the fabric. She closed her eyes and snuggled into me. "You're a good man, Elvis. You're a very good man."

She went to the kitchen phone, pressed a speed dial button, then asked someone if Ben could stay over. She said that she would be happy to drive car pool in the morning if he could. The someone must have agreed. Lucy said thank you, hung up, then came back to me and took my hand. She gave me one of the gentlest smiles that I have ever seen. She said, "Did you hear?"

"Yes."

"Will you come to the bedroom with me?"