We came to another gate. I stopped. I opened my door, and Haley said, “Let me do it.”

Before I could answer, she was out and walking toward the gate. She had her hair back in a ponytail. She was wearing jeans and boots and a plaid shirt and no makeup as far as I could tell. She looked as if she belonged there. She was nearly old enough to be my mother, and she was easily the most desirable woman I had ever met.

Haley waited while I drove through, and then she closed the gate behind us. She walked up to the front passenger side door, opened it, and got in beside me. We headed out across the pasture.

“Is this your land?” she asked.

“It belongs to a friend of ours.”

“Ours?”

“My family. We’ve lived here for generations. Most everybody knows us.”

“Is your parents’ place nearby?”

“My grandparents’ place is, yes.”

“What about your parents?”

“My mother died when I was six. My father’s doing twenty-five to life in prison.”

We had come to another gate. I stopped. She got out without a word. Once we were through that gate, the country around us started to get rocky.

She said, “Do you mind if I ask something?”

I stared straight ahead. We were on a dirt track that wove uphill between mesquites and limestone outcroppings, barely wide enough for the Range Rover. I said, “First-degree murder. Is that what you wanted to know?”

“That must be very hard. I’m sorry.”

We began to descend. As we did, a white-stone bluff rose on our left. Soon we came to a hairpin turn, and Haley got her first view of the river down below. A few minutes later, I drove out onto a gravel bar, parked, and turned off the engine. We sat there in the truck, shaded by towering cottonwoods and surrounded on three sides by the shallow river as it gurgled and splashed and curved around the bar.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“This is the Nueces River,” I said. I pointed south. “Mexico is about eight miles that way.”

“It’s just…incredible. We should shoot a scene here.”

“No.”

She looked at me. “No?”

I shook my head.

“Why not?”

“People would want to know where it is.”

She smiled. “And you don’t want anyone to know where it is?”

“I do not.”

“So…this is some kind of secret swimming hole? For locals only?”

“Something like that.”

“But you already brought me here. Your secret’s out.”

“You’ll never find it again.”

“I have a pretty good memory, buster. Especially now that I know it’s a big deal. I’ll memorize everything on the drive back.”

“Guess I’ll have to blindfold you.”

She laughed. “Just you try.”

She took off her boots, rolled her jeans up to her knees, and went wading while I stood beside the Range Rover, watching. The river bottom was lined with stones and gravel, rounded by centuries of erosion. She had to go slowly, picking her way out into the water in her bare feet. I warned her to be careful of the current, which was stronger than it looked. Sure enough, she slipped and fell. I had a moment of panic and ran across the gravel bar to help her. But before I got to the river’s edge, she was already back on her feet, and laughing.

She looked over at me, still laughing. She then leaned down and got two hands into the water and sent a shower through the air in my direction. I looked down at my shirt. It was a hundred-dollar western-cut shirt with pearl buttons. I had bought it in San Antonio just to wear to work. It was soaking wet.

I looked up at her. She stood there with her hands on her hips, grinning as if daring me to do something about it. I waded into the river with my boots on and splashed her back. Then we were both stumbling around, hip deep in the river, splashing each other furiously and falling and floating in the current.

After that, I took the rear seat out of the Range Rover and set it on the gravel beside the river. She sat there in the sun with her shirttails tied together, stomach bared to the sun, and her jeans rolled up to her knees. I took off my boots and drained the water out of them; then I removed my shirt and draped it over a boulder to dry out. I built a little fire with mesquite, and once the wood had burned off pretty well, I set the foil-wrapped burritos in the coals. In a few minutes they were ready, and we ate them with our fingers and drank the ice-cold bottled water. We finished with the slices of pecan pie.

I stretched out beside her on the seat, my legs crossed on the gravel, my fingers clasped over my belly, and my head leaned back against the leather. The sun had risen above the treetops and was hot upon us. I went to sleep for a while, and when I awoke, she was staring at me.

She said, “I don’t impress you at all, do I?”

I looked at her, trying to decide what she meant. She didn’t seem like the type to fish for compliments, so I figured it was an honest question. I said, “If it makes you feel any better, I bought a new shirt to wear to work.”

She laughed.

I said, “I’m sorry. I’m sure I’d be impressed if I watched more movies.”

“You have heard of me, haven’t you?”

“Oh, sure.”

“But you don’t seem to be, you know…intimidated.”

“I don’t remember ever being intimidated by anyone.”

She stared at me a moment with a thoughtful expression. Then she smiled, and it was as if a second sun had dawned over the river.

7

In the spare room of Haley’s guesthouse, I turned away from my easel and walked back through the living area. Stepping outside, I stood by the front door, blinking in the Southern California sunshine. Teru Fujimoto was kneeling by a flowerbed about fifty yards away. His pipe was clenched between his teeth, sending little puffs of smoke skyward while he worked. He saw me and waved. I waved back and went over to him. He stood up to face me as I approached, brushing at the knees of his dark-green uniform trousers. When I got close, he stuck out his hand and we shook. His hand felt rough and hard. Not the kind of hand you would expect on a man with philosophy and law degrees from Stanford and Harvard.

“How are you?” I asked.

“Not so hot, actually. How about you?”

“ ‘Every day, in every way, I’m getting better and better.’ ”

“I’m sure Coué would be pleased to hear it.”

I was impressed as usual with his breadth of knowledge. Most people would have thought I was quoting a Pink Panther script. But then, Haley hadn’t hired Teru solely for his gardening skills. He had always been something of a spiritual advisor to her too.

I said, “Got a few minutes?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I thought you and me and Simon ought to have a talk.”

He tapped his pipe out on his palm and slipped it into a front pocket as we walked across the grounds toward the main house. It was a two-story rambling structure about the size of an apartment building, made of white stucco and brown wood trim below a roof of terra-cotta tiles that flowed down gently from the ridges. There was a splashing fountain in the front, as large as most swimming pools, and a gravel drive that circled the fountain. The air was filled with hummingbirds, pollen drifted golden in the sunshine, and the scent of jasmine was quite strong. It all reminded me of her, which was, of course, the problem.

We went around the side of the mansion to a door that faced onto a small parking area. I knew there was a mudroom just inside the door. It opened in one direction onto the kitchen and in the other onto a small wing where Simon’s office was, as well as his sitting room and bedroom. I knew Simon was most likely in that part of the house. I climbed the steps and pressed the button by the door.