damaged. I wanted to take it to Cancun.'
Scott picked up a sea shell and flung it into the surf.
'Pete Puckett was in the house that Thursday. The day Trey was killed.'
'When?'
'While you were in Houston.'
'He broke in?'
'No.'
'But Trey was at the club all day, practicing.'
'No, he wasn't. He left the club at noon, came home.'
'Why?'
'To meet Billie Jean. She was there, too. Pete's prints were on the kitchen counter, right next to the knife drawer. But your prints were on the knife. I need to know why.'
'I cut stuff with those knives all the time.'
The time had come to tell her the whole truth. Scott turned to her and took her by the shoulders.
'Rebecca-your prints weren't aligned on the knife like you were cutting something, with the blade pointing up. The prints prove that you were holding that knife with the blade pointing down… as if to stab something.'
'Or someone.'
'Do you remember ever using that knife that way?'
'No. Never.'
'Your prints prove you did. Sometime. For something.'
She shook her head. He released her shoulders.
'And wouldn't Rosie have washed the knives after you used them?'
'Sure. Or put them in the dishwasher. She came that day.'
'Did you use that knife that day? Or that night?'
'I don't think so. I ate lunch in Houston, we had dinner out. Scott, we were drinking a lot… and the cocaine… I don't remember much from that night.'
He looked at her.
'I'd remember if I killed him.'
THIRTY-FIVE
Fireworks exploded in the night sky over the Gulf of Mexico.
Two nights later, they were sitting in folding chairs lined up on the seawall for the Fourth of July celebration. Boo and her mother sat side by side at one end.
'You're a complicated woman,' Boo said.
Mother smiled. 'Is that a compliment?'
'It means we don't understand you.'
'Boo, a woman's life is a complicated life.'
'That's something else I'll understand when I'm older?'
'Yes.'
Boo watched the fireworks for a while then said, 'Mother, if you don't go to prison, do you want to come back to us?'
'Do you want me back?'
'We're at that age-we need a mother.'
'Yes, you do.'
'We… we need a mother.'
Louis and Pajamae sat at the other end. 'You decide yet?' he said.
'Decide what?'
'If Mr. Fenney's gonna be your daddy.'
'I did something real bad, Louis.'
'What's that?'
'When I said prayers last night, I asked God to send Miz Fenney to that prison.'
'Why?'
'So Mr. Fenney doesn't marry her.'
' 'Cause you figure if he does, there won't be no place for you?'
'Unh-huh.'
'Well, you ain't figuring right, girl. You Mr. Fenney's daughter, so if he marries her again, you're part of a package deal, see? She gotta take it or leave it, the whole package. Ain't no picking and choosing.'
'You think?'
'I know.'
The night sky exploded in red and white sparkles.
'That was a nice one.'
'Real nice.'
Karen and Bobby sat in the middle. Bobby was trying out names on her.
'Sam?
'Ron?
'Cole?
'Clay?'
Karen groaned.
'Is it time?' Bobby asked.
'No. Junior just gave me a big kick to the ribs.'
'Let me feel.'
Bobby placed his palms on her belly.
Scott was happy for his old friend. He had finally found someone to share his life. Funny. After twenty-five years of Bobby Herrin envying Scott Fenney, Scott now envied Bobby.
Scott sat between Louis and Carlos, who was bouncing Maria on his lap and pointing at the fireworks. Consuela was knitting a little sweater for the baby. Louis leaned toward Scott.
'Mr. Fenney, I'm thinking about going back to school, getting my high school diploma, maybe go to college. I like learning things.'
'That's good thinking.'
Louis now pointed past Scott. 'We got company.'
Down the seawall, three Latino men were walking toward them: Benito Estrada and his thugs. Scott stood and walked toward the men. Louis and Carlos were on his heels. Benito waved like a kid come to play.
' Buenas noches, Scott.'
'What brings you out, Benito?'
Benito waved a hand to the sky. 'The fireworks. I never miss the fireworks. The Island, she is beautiful at night.'
'Why'd you bring bodyguards for the fireworks?'
'Them? Oh, they come with the job, like Obama and the Secret Service.' Benito glanced over at the others. 'Your daughters?'
'Yes.'
'Cute kids. I hope to have children one day.'
'Might want to change your line of work first. Be hard to tell your kids not to use drugs if you're selling them.'
'Five more years, Scott, then I am retiring.'
'But will the cartel let you retire?'
His expression turned serious. 'That is the question.'
