difficult to do that without making eye contact, and there?s too much unsaid between us to endure that for long. It?s easier to study her legs, which are long and toned and surprisingly tawny, given her pale skin. She must have spent some time in the lower latitudes recently.
?Antigua,? she says, reading my mind.
?Alone??
?No.? After letting me suffer for a few moments, she says, ?A corporate retreat.?
?I?'ve never really understood what happens at those.?
?Depends on the company. Some put you through a week of New Age sermons on the gospel of wealth. Others encourage you to kill large mammals and screw beautiful ethnic prostitutes.?
After the awful tension at the rectory, this makes me laugh. ?I spent a lot of my career dealing with men who?d rather screw large mammals and kill beautiful ethnic prostitutes.?
This brings a real laugh from Caitlin. In the closed car the sound rings bright and true. ?Or writing about them,? she says.
I nod but don'?t continue our old conversational rhythm, and the sparkle dies in her eyes. As I start to pull into the newspaper parking lot, she points to the side of the building, which I assume means I should park behind it. When I get to the back, I see six cars parked in a row beside a glass door.
As soon as we?re inside, she says, ?Are you sure you don'?t just want to talk here??
?Can you get us total privacy? I don'?t want everyone in the building knowing I'm here.?
?If you don'?t mind sitting on the floor of a supply room.?
?Fine. Perfect.?
A little way up the hall, she leads me into a room lined with metal shelves and boxes, then locks the door behind us. After a quick survey of the shelves, she pulls down two boxes of legal-size copy paper and makes a seat. I pull down two more, and soon we?re facing each other, separated by three feet of harshly lit space.
?You look bad,? she says bluntly. ?How long has it been since you slept??
?That doesn?'t matter right now.?
She considers this for a few seconds. ?You know, you acted like a total shit to me today.?
?You asked for it. You acted like you expected me to take you into my confidence as though we?re still together. We?re not together.?
She looks away. ?I just wanted you to have a civil conversation with me.?
?No. You wanted a story. The inside story. And I couldn'?t give you that. No one would have benefited from that.?
?Is that for you to decide??
?In this case it is.?
?You spoke in the past tense. Why are you here now??
?Because you?re in danger. The deeper you look into Tim Jessup?s death, the more likely it is you?ll be hurt.?
I see disbelief in her eyes, but not because she doubts the danger. ?You know I?'ve worked stories like that before.?
?This is different. I?'ve worked dangerous cases. But these people will kill without hesitation.?
?What people??
?We may get to that. But you need to know that you can?t trust your phones?not your cell or the landlines at home. I'm not sure about the newspaper phones.?
Now she doubts me. ?Who are you talking about? Who can tap landlines? Bad cops? The FBI again? Who??
?It?s complicated. You also have to realize that people like Julia Jessup tell other people you'?ve questioned them. They say that on open phone lines. And the wrong thing in the wrong ear will get you dead.?
?Where?s Annie?? Caitlin asks, ignoring my warnings.
I shake my head.
?Is she even in town? Your house never looked so empty.? Caitlin thinks for a moment. ?You sent her away, didn't you? Penn, what?s going on??
?Just wait a second. Do you remember the agreement we used to have about cases like this??
?Of course.?
?What was it??
She rolls her eyes. ?We tell each other all we can, but we don'?t use anything the other says has to stay secret.?
?And???
She sighs in exasperation. ?I don'?t publish anything until you clear it. And you don'?t put anything in your novels that I want to save for myself.?
?Okay. Can we go forward with that understanding??
She purses her lips as though trying to judge whether I might be trapping her in some way, but at length she relents. ?All right. Deal.?
?I need your help, Caitlin. That must be obvious, since I wouldn'?t be here otherwise.?
This seems to wound her. ?What kind of help? I'm here, okay??
?For how long??
?You mean how long will I be in Natchez? You know me. That'?s open-ended. What exactly do you need? You don'?t want to manipulate the newspaper, do you??
?No. I need physical cover.?
?Translate that.?
?I need a girlfriend.?
?A
?? Wry amusement touches her mouth. ?didn't you just get rid of one??
?I'm not kidding. The people I'm dealing with have very sophisticated surveillance equipment and enough time to watch me around the clock, if they want to. I need an excuse to disappear sometimes. Like into your house. Or to go on a drive. They already know who you are, and they know we have a past. It?s a credible cover.?
?I see. And what do I get out of this arrangement? Are you proposing a friends-with-benefits kind of deal??
The look in my eyes must be all the answer she needs, because she immediately holds up both hands in apology.
?What did you always get out of this arrangement?? I ask.
?Stories.?
?
stories.?
?Okay, okay. I'm in. I just wanted to be sure. So what?s the story? Crystal meth in the Deep South? I really hope not.?
?What do you know about dogfighting??
?
fighting??
?Yes.?
Her face goes blank. ?Nothing. Less than nothing.?
?Time to learn.?
