Carpenter looked thoughtful, as if he were calculating something, and Shane was taken aback when he said, “I understand she cooks.”

“Yes.”

“I am often hungry in the morning.”

Shane paid attention. “She makes an excellent breakfast”

“Perhaps I should come for breakfast.”

“That would be… new.”

Carpenter nodded. “A good partnership is flexible.”

“Wilson might not like it.”

“Wilson is retiring,” Carpenter said. “You are in a complex situation. And I am often hungry in the morning.” He touched a finger to his forehead in a salute and readjusted the body bag over his shoulder. “Be centered.”

Then he was gone and Shane went inside to see what Agnes was saying to the wall.

Agnes had gone inside and watched as Carpenter talked to Shane with the body bag over his shoulder as casually as Palmer had talked to Maria with her dress bag over his shoulder. She looked at the basement door and then back to Shane and Carpenter and then back to the basement door, and then she went to the wall, leaned over the table blocking the door, and pushed open the door a crack.

“Hello?” she whispered.

“H’lo?” came a cautious whisper back.

“So who are you?” Agnes whispered.

“I heard shootin’,” the boy said, his voice a soft drawl. “Yes.”

“Damn.” There was a moment of silence, then, “Listen, I got my rights.”

“No, you don’t,” Agnes said, annoyed at his lack of groveling. “You attacked me in my house. I hit the last kid who attacked me with a frying pan.” And then there was the meat fork, she thought, shuddering at the memory of the blood running down Taylor’s neck. “Now who the hell are you?”

The boy sighed. “I’m Three Wheels Thibault.”

“The kid who died here last night was named Two Wheels Thibault. Relative of yours?”

“Cousin,” Three Wheels said.

“Well, I’m sorry for your loss,” Agnes said, and added hastily, “I didn’t kill him.”

“He were a dickhead. Always callin’ names. Actin’ like a big shot. Pokin’ fun. Made me mad, you know.”

“No,” Agnes said. “I wouldn’t know about that.” She looked over her shoulder at Carpenter and Shane, who were still talking. That wouldn’t last long. “Can you climb up out of there?”

“No, ma’am, I tried.” The boy summoned up some outrage. “I think I hurt my ankle. I’m gonna sue that guy who dropped me in here.”

Agnes looked back again at Shane and Carpenter. Shane looked roughly the size of a grain elevator. Carpenter was bigger. “Three Wheels, these are not men who get sued.”

“Think they’re better’n everybody else,” Three Wheels groused.

“No, it’s because anybody who might sue them stops breathing,” Agnes said, acknowledging what she’d been trying to ignore about Shane’s career choice.

“Oh,” Three Wheels said, all grouse gone. “That was the shootin’ thing?”

“Yes.”

“They with the mob? My grandpa used to work for the mob.”

“Who’s your grandpa?”

“Four Wheels Thibault”

“Four Wheels?” Agnes said, and had an out-of-body Two Wheels- Three Wheels-Four Wheels-I-Just-Had-Sex-with-a-Professional-Killer-and-Almost-Died-Three-Times epiphany. “Jesus Christ. Never mind. Who sent you to kill me?”

“Grandpa. ‘Cept I weren’t supposed to kill you, just supposed to get the dog with the collar on’t He said it’d be easy. You was supposed to be alone.”

“Yeah, well, bad luck for you,” Agnes said, and then Shane turned back to the house, and she said, “You be quiet,” and shut the door and stepped away from the wall, realizing as she did that, while she didn’t know the kid she had imprisoned in her basement well enough to trust him, she didn’t know the man she’d just had sex with at all.

Shane came through the door braced for whatever Agnes was up to now. She said, “Is Carpenter gone?” a little more loudly than necessary, leaning much too casually across the basement door, and he thought, Wonderful. She’s bonded with the kid in the basement.

“Yep.” Shane closed the back door. “And so is Macy.”

“That was an interesting conversation,” Agnes said. “‘The package.’ ‘Not a professional’? ‘Half a dime’?”

“The body. Not a professional killer. Five hundred dollars.” Shane jerked his head toward the porch, changing the subject. “So you want to move out there for the night? Carpenter said he’ll have the electricity back by morning. Until then, it’ll be cooler out there.”

“Sure.” Agnes took a deep breath. “Okay, so the kid in the basement. He’s just a kid. I don’t think he was trying to hurt anybody.”

“He had a gun, Agnes.”

“He says he was only after Rhett. I’m sure he didn’t mean any real harm. I think we should just let him stew down there for the night, talk to him in the morning, you scare him, make him see the light. That’ll be plenty enough.” She turned and went past him toward the housekeeper’s room, and then stopped and turned back when he didn’t follow. “So you coming to help carry stuff?” She looked nervously toward the basement door.

Shane sighed. “Agnes, I’m not going to hurt him.”

“He just came to get Rhett,” Agnes said, pleading with him from behind her glasses.

She wasn’t wearing a bra under her dress; in fact, he was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing anything under her dress. He was tired, but not that tired. “What else did he tell you?” he said, trying not to give away that she could probably get pretty much whatever she wanted from him.

Agnes sighed. “His name is Three Wheels Thibault, and his grandpa, Four Wheels, who used to work for the mob, sent him to get the dog. The kid last night, Two Wheels, was his cousin who always picked on him. He says he hurt his ankle when you dropped him in the basement and he was going to sue you but I talked him out of it. I think he’s bluffing.”

“What’s his favorite color?” Shane said.

“Blue,” Agnes said.

He shook his head. “You sure you’re okay?”

“No. People keep trying to kill me.”

“And I keep stopping them,” Shane said.

“And don’t think I’m not grateful,” Agnes said. “You’re getting a really nice breakfast tomorrow.”

“Make enough for Carpenter,” he said. Agnes blinked. “Really?”

“That a problem?”

“No,” Agnes said, her brow furrowing as she thought about it. “No. He seems like a good guy. I mean, his skill set is upsetting, but so is yours, and I’m for you. People are trying to kill me and you’re saving me, so I’m definitely for you.”

Shane nodded. “All right, then.”

“So come help me get the pillows,” Agnes said. “Do not shoot Three Wheels. Save yourself for Grandpa Four Wheels, who sent both boys.”

“I’m not going to shoot Three Wheels,” Shane said, exasperated. “What do you think I am?”

“A hitman,” Agnes said. Shane nodded. “Good call.”

Agnes wrapped her arms around herself. “You could have lied to me, you know.”

“I’m guessing that’s when you pick up the meat fork,” Shane said, and pointed her toward the bedroom.

“I’m giving up meat forks,” Agnes said, and she sounded as though she meant every word of it.

“We’ll see,” Shane said.

Half an hour later, Agnes lay curled into an insomniac fetal position on her back porch under a sheet, trying to take stock. The man she’d planned on marrying was not only married to another woman, he was trying to cheat her out of her house with the other woman, and she’d almost killed him in retaliation. The Southern-Italian wedding of the season that she’d planned with meticulous care was now going to be a flamingo-themed pink-fest. Two different men had shown up with guns and pointed them at her tonight, for reasons that appeared to involve her dog, and one of them had definitely intended to kill her. A man the size of a truck had just removed a body from her kitchen. An underage kid named after a tricycle was trapped in her basement, because the hitman she’d just had angry sex with wanted to talk to him in the morning. And her column still wasn’t done.