It wasn’t Christie, he thought again, and kept his head down, not wanting them to see the shadow of grief he knew showed on his face. You don’t want to burden folks with your own pain. It isn’t fair, his mother had once told him, and he hadn’t ever forgotten it.

“We got it all resolved quickly,” Evelyn said matter-of-factly, “and that’s what’s important now. You didn’t have to wait any longer than necessary to know the truth.”

He shot her a quick smile. She was exactly right. He’d been able to find out before he’d sunk into the abyss.

“Thank you both for taking me in on such short notice, for getting the Pallacks over here, and, well, for being here for me. I’m in your debt.”

Rather than politely declining the offer, Judge Sherlock nodded. “I like a sheriff owing me. Can’t hurt, who knows?”

Evelyn laughed. “He never misses a trick, Dix. You’ve always got to watch him.” Something passed between the two of them, something Dix had seen pass between his own parents, something he knew had passed between him and Christie—genuine affection. But there was another face there now—Ruth’s face— and he thought again of how very lucky he was. He knew when he got home he would do what he had to do to make it all legal so he and Ruth could get on with their lives. And the boys could settle once again into the normalcy of a family with both a father and a mother. He said to his hosts, “I was expecting the grapefruit to lemon my lips, but it’s sweet.”

Isabel came into the dining room. “Dix, there’s someone for you on the phone. You can take it out here, if you like, in the hallway.”

Dix raised an eyebrow. Who knew he was here other than Chappy, Savich, Sherlock, and Ruth, who would have called his cell? He followed Isabel out of the dining room and picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Mr. Noble? Dix? This is Charlotte Pallack.”

He nearly dropped the phone. He would have been less surprised if it had been the IRS. “Good morning, Mrs. Pallack.”

“Come now, Dix, do call me Charlotte.”

He said nothing, waited. What was all this about?

She said in a rush, “Will you have lunch with me today?”

After he absorbed that, he said carefully, “You and your husband?”

“No, no, only me. We didn’t get a chance to talk last evening— my husband always dives right into politics and I, well, I’m from the South, you’re now from the South, I wanted you to tell me how everything moves down there now since I’ve been gone for such a long time. Both my husband and I are very interested in politics back home.”

That was one of the thinnest excuses he’d ever heard in his life and he didn’t know what to say. Virginia politics? Fact was, he wanted to go home. Even if he caught the ten o’clock flight, Dix would still miss Rob’s baseball game, but at least he’d be home. “I have to get home, Mrs.—Charlotte. I have two teenage boys waiting for me, and a baseball game.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “It’s only one lunch, Dix. Like I said, I’d like to have a brief visit with someone from back home, share experiences, you know, stuff only someone who lives there would understand. And of course my husband dines on political scandal and intrigue. As a sheriff you surely know what’s going on in Richmond.”

She was digging the hole deeper. Why was she doing this? Had she really been coming on to him last night? If so, what in heaven’s name did she expect from him today? It sure wasn’t a small-town sheriff’s perspective on Virginia political malfeasance. Maybe it was something else, maybe there was something she could only tell him in private, without her husband around. He said, “All right. I’m sorry, but I don’t know any restaurants in San Francisco.”

“Do you like fish?”

At his yes, she said, “How about Port Louis on Lombard Street. It’s not very far from the Sherlocks’ house. They have some of the best seafood in San Francisco.”

“Okay. Give me the address and tell me how to get there.”

A few minutes later, Dix walked back into the dining room. He looked at the Sherlocks. “That was Charlotte Pallack. She wants to have lunch, talk about shared southern experience, Richmond political scandals, whatever.” He streaked his hand through his hair. “I’m driving myself nuts, driving you nuts too. I doubt seeing her is one of my best ideas—actually, it might very well be the stupidest thing I’ve agreed to in a very long time.” He frowned. “My gut is doing the salsa, but—what I’m saying is, I think I should meet her, see if maybe there’s something she wants to tell me that she couldn’t with her husband here.”