“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 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.