"That wasn't going anywhere. She realized it before I did and dumped my sorry butt."

"So what'd you do, marry on the rebound?"

"That would cover it, I guess. What about you? How's your friend Dietz?"

"Kinsey, would you like to join us?"

I glanced up to see Priscilla Holloway approaching.

Cheney turned his head, following my gaze. His eyes flicked from the parole officer to me. "I better let you go."

"Nice seeing you again," I said.

"I'll give you a call as soon as I'm free," Priscilla said to him as he turned to go.

I glanced back, watching him as he pushed out the glass doors and turned toward the parking lot.

"How do you know Cheney?" she asked.

"Through a case I worked. Nice guy."

"He's good. Did the drive go okay?"

"Piece of cake, but it was hot down there."

"And way too many bugs," she said. "You can hardly open your mouth without swallowing one."

Her office was small and the furniture was plain. A window overlooked the parking lot, the view cut into slices by a dusty Venetian blind. There was a Polaroid camera resting on the windowsill and two instant photos of Reba lay on top of a stack of thick files. I assumed Priscilla kept current photos in the file in case Reba took off without notice. There were file cabinets on her side of the desk and two metal chairs on ours. Reba sat in the one closest to the window. Priscilla took a seat in her swivel chair and looked at me. "Reba says you'll be squiring her around town."

"Just for a couple of days, until she's settled."

Priscilla leaned forward. "I've been over this with her, but I think it bears repeating so you know the score. No drugs, no alcohol, no firearms, no knife with a blade longer than two inches, except knives in her residence or in her place of employment. No crossbow of any kind." She paused to smile, directing the rest of her remarks to Reba as though for emphasis. "No consorting with known felons. Any change of residence has to be reported within seventy-two hours. No traveling more than fifty miles without authorization. You will not be out of Santa Teresa County for more than forty-eight hours and not out of California at all without my written consent. Cops pick you up and you don't have the magic piece of paper, you'll be back in the clink."

"I'm cool with that," Reba said.

"One thing I forgot to mention. If you're seeking employment, a special condition of your parole prohibits a position of trust: no handling of payroll, taxes, no access to checks -"

"What if the employer knows about my record?"

Holloway paused. "Under those circumstances, maybe, but talk to me first." She turned back to me. "Any questions?"

"Not me. I'm just along for the ride."

"I've given Reba my number if she should need me. If I'm not available, leave a message on my machine. I check four and five times a day."

"Right."

"In the meantime, I have two concerns. The first is public safety. The second is her successful reentry. Let's not screw up on either count, okay?"

"I'm with you," I said.

Priscilla stood up and leaned across her desk to shake first Reba's hand and then mine. "Good luck. Nice meeting you, Ms. Millhone."

"Make it Kinsey," I said.

"Let me know if there's any way I can be of help."

Once we were in the car again, I said, "I like Holloway. She seems nice."

"Me, too. She's says I'm the only female she handles. Every other parolee she has is a 288A or a 290."

"Which is what?"

"Registered sex offenders. 288A signifies a child molester. A couple of 'em are considered sexually violent predators. Nice company. You'd never guess just from looking at those guys," she said. She took out a folded pamphlet with "Department of Corrections" printed on the front. I could see her scanning the information as she turned the page. "At least I'm not classified as High Control. Those guys really have to jump through hoops. I see her once a week at first, but she says if I behave myself, she'll move me to once a month. I'll still have to attend AA meetings and I'll be subjected to weekly drug tests, but that's just peeing in a jar and it's really not so bad."

"What about employment? Will you be looking for a job?"

"Pop doesn't want me to work. He thinks it stresses me out. Besides, it's not a condition of parole and Holloway doesn't care as long as I keep my nose clean."