frozen, as if trying to choose between her anger or her mother. After a long moment, she broke into a big smile and ran to her mother. Rebecca dropped to her knees and held her arms out; Boo dove into her arms, and they fell to the sand. Their heads of red hair became one. Scott left them alone and walked over to Pajamae and Louis.
'Boo's real happy to see her mama,' Pajamae said.
Louis looked up from his book. 'I expect she is.'
Pajamae stood motionless, watching Boo and her mother and wondering if she would lose her sister to that white woman.
Scott arrived and said, 'Honey, let's find some seashells.'
'Soon as I finish this chapter, Mr. Fenney,' Louis said.
'I meant Pajamae.'
'Oh. Say, I like this Cormac dude. Writes like real folks talk.' He snapped the book shut like a preacher who had just finished his sermon. 'Reckon I'll build us a fire ring. Mr. Herrin, he says we're gonna barbecue shrimp on the beach tonight.'
'Shrimp on the barbie and man beer on the beach,' Bobby said. 'Doesn't get any better than this.'
They were drinking bottled beer iced in a tin bucket stuck in the sand and eating char-broiled shrimp dipped in Louis's homemade Cajun-style barbecue sauce. Louis had constructed a fire ring from rocks that would have made a brick mason proud. Inside the ring, the fire spit flames up through a black grill that made the shrimp sizzle. They were sitting around the campfire like cowboys on a cattle drive. And there among his friends and his children and his wife-ex-wife, anyway-Scott Fenney felt whole again.
The air had cooled enough for the girls to need sweat shirts. Boo's head lay in Rebecca's lap and Pajamae's in Boo's lap. They were fighting sleep, afraid they might miss something grownup and interesting. Consuela held Maria in her arms; the baby was wrapped in a blanket like a papoose. The moon and fire provided the only light. The burning wood cracked and popped and spit sparks that floated up into the dark sky and filled the air with a sweet aroma. Rebecca's face glowed in the light of the fire. She had showered, and her red hair was now full and fluffy in the night breeze. She did not look like a murderer.
'You're in your eighth month?' she said to Karen.
Karen was eating cookie-dough ice cream out of the carton. Bobby was helping her.
'And enjoying every constipated moment of it,' she said.
'Louis's barbecue sauce will take care of that,' Bobby said.
'Guaranteed cure for all that ails a body,' Louis said.
Rebecca held her plate out to Louis again. She was eating as if she'd been a political prisoner on a starvation fast in jail; but the food had improved her spirits. She had spent the rest of the day walking the beach with Boo. When Boo had gone inside to clean up, Rebecca had stood alone on the beach, staring out to sea, as if the answer to her prayers lay out there, somewhere. Scott had gone to her and stood by her. She had seemed depressed, but that was to be expected. She was the prime suspect in a murder case. Rebecca now turned to Karen.
'Did you go to SMU?'
'Rice.'
'But you're pretty enough to have gotten into SMU.'
'I was smart enough to get into Rice.'
'Oh. So how'd you hook up with these guys?'
'I worked for Scott at Ford Stevens. Didn't care for that life, so I left to help them with Shawanda's case. Plus, I fell for a certain handsome lawyer.'
'But she married me,' Bobby said.
'Don't make me laugh, Bobby, I'll pee in my pants again.'
'Diaper.'
'You'll be a great father, Bobby,' Rebecca said. 'Seems like yesterday we were all at SMU… What happened to all that curly hair?'
'Too much testosterone. Makes you go bald.'
'Oh, that explains it,' Karen said. 'I've gained forty pounds and he still can't keep his hands off me.'
'I've only gained thirty,' Bobby said, digging his spoon into the ice cream carton.
They talked and laughed and ate shrimp and drank beer, as if they were on a family vacation. Scott wished they were. But they were there because the man who had taken his wife was dead.
'Those were good times back then,' Rebecca said.
'Last time we were down here, that spring break,' Bobby said, 'I almost got into a fight at the Balinese with some UT guys. Scotty saved me.'
Boo sat up. 'A. Scott got into a fight at the Village,' she said. 'Mother, it was so exciting!'
'A fight?' Rebecca said. 'At a shopping center?'
'He beat up a car with his nine-iron,' Boo said.
'Why?'
'Because I didn't have a three-wood,' Scott said.
'Because the bad man followed me and Pajamae there,' Boo said. 'So I called A. Scott and he came and broke out the windows on the man's car with his golf club, then the man drove off. It was great.'
'What bad man?'
'McCall's goon,' Scott said.
'When was this?'
'The day you left,' Boo said.
'Oh.'
There was an awkward moment of silence. Everyone stared at the sand. Scott stood. 'Okay, time for bed.'
'Can Mother stay here? She can sleep with us.'
'She's going home.' To Rebecca: 'Where is your home?'
She pointed west into the darkness. 'About two miles down the beach. But I can't go home.'
'Why not?'
'The police told me not to go back when they released me from jail, said it was still a crime scene, said I can't even get my clothes.'
'They've got to finish processing the house soon. Then you can go back.'
'I don't think so. A lawyer for Trey's sister sent me a letter in jail, said I wouldn't be allowed back in, that she was the administrator of his estate and the sole beneficiary. Said she owns the house now, that I have no legal right to enter.'
'I need to see that letter.'
'Scott, I'll stay at a hotel… if you'll loan me the money.'
Scott had put the beach house on his credit card. Four thousand dollars for two months. Now a hotel room for Rebecca. Another expense he couldn't afford.
'Miz Fenney,' Louis said, 'you can have my room. Me and Carlos, we'll bunk in.'
Carlos finished off his beer then said, 'You snore?'
Louis shrugged. 'How would I know?'
Boo jumped up and tugged on her mother until she stood. 'Come on, we'll have a sleepover. The three of us. You, me, and Pajamae.'
Rebecca looked to Scott. He looked out to sea. The horizon was dotted with the lights of a dozen oil tankers lined up at the entrance to the Ship Channel, transporting oil from the Middle East to refineries in Texas, no longer the center of the crude oil universe. Scott Fenney had once been the center of his wife's universe, or so he had thought; now he was again, but for the law instead of love. He turned back to her and nodded.
Rebecca Fenney would stay that night and every night until the verdict was read.
NINE
Scott was running the beach at first light.
