Carnal Innocence

an outsider. If you want to help these people, then use Burke Truesdale.”
    His smile was tight as he straightened his shoulders. “I appreciate your concern, Caroline, but the simple fact is you don’t know what’s involved here.”
    “No, I don’t. But I do know about politics and authority. No one could perform with dozens of different orchestras under dozens of different maestros and not understand the food chain. My point is, Matthew, you—as I have been most of my life—are the outsider. Burke knows these people. You don’t.”
    “Which is precisely part of the problem. He knows them, he sympathizes with them. He’s related to them or has old friendships to protect.”
    “You’re speaking about Tucker again.”
    “To be specific. The term is ‘good of boys,’ isn’t it? They toss back a few beers together, shoot some rabbits or other small creatures, and sit on their porches and talk about cotton and women.” He brushed a speck of lint from his trousers. “No, I don’t know these people, Caroline, but I know of them. The last thing I need to solve this case is to enlist Burke Truesdale to pave my way. I believe him to be an honest man. And a loyal one. It’s his loyalties that concern me.”
    “May I speak frankly, Matthew?”
    He spread his hands. “Please.”
    “You’re behaving like a pompous ass,” she said, and watched his face fall. “That might work well in D.C. or Baltimore, but it doesn’t cut it here in the delta. If someone else is killed—as you seem to believe—then look to yourself and wonder if it might have been prevented. If you might have prevented it by having a liaison to these people instead of standing back all smug and superior.”
    He rose stiffly. “I’m sorry, Caroline, that we’reunable to see eye to eye on this matter. However you might feel, I must still advise you to curtail your involvement with Tucker Longstreet until this case is resolved.”
    “I’ve discovered a terrible habit in myself of ignoring advice.”
    “Your choice.” He inclined his head. “I’ll have to ask you to come in to my temporary headquarters tomorrow. Around ten, if that’s convenient.”
    “Why?”
    “I have some questions. Official questions.” “Then I’ll give you answers. Official answers.” She didn’t bother to see him to the door.

c·h·a·p·t·e·r 17
    C aroline didn’t even have to weigh her loyalties. Before Burns’s dust had cleared, she was scooping up Useless and heading for her car. The keys were dangling in the ignition, right where she’d left them.
    Turning, she looked back at the house. She hadn’t locked the doors. Hadn’t even thought about it. Foolish, perhaps, considering the recent violence that had tainted Innocence. But to lock the doors without closing and latching the windows was even more foolish. And to do that meant trapping the heat inside.
    In less than a month, she’d picked up country habits.
    “I’m not going to be afraid in my own home,” she told Useless as she set him inside the car. He immediately propped his front paws on the dash, tongue lolling in anticipation of a ride.
    “My home,” she repeated, studying the house, the fresh paint, the polished windows, the scarred porch rocker. With a sense of satisfaction and purpose she climbed into the car. “Come on, Useless, it’s time we took an active part in the grapevine.”
    She backed down the drive, unaware of the figure that stood, shadowed by the line of trees, watching.
    The Statler Brothers were wailing away from a four-foot boom box on the porch at Sweetwater. Keeping them company were Lulu and Dwayne. Lulu still wore her eagle feather and her combat boots. To complete the outfit she wore a splotched painter’s smock over Levis and a pair of ruby earrings with stones as big as pullet eggs.
    She stood in front of a canvas, feet planted, body braced. More like a prizefighter going into round three, Caroline thought, than an artist. Dwayne was sprawled in the porch rocker, a tumbler full of Wild Turkey in his hand and the mild smile of an affable drunk on his face.
    “’Lo, Caroline.” He gestured with the glass in greeting. “Whatcha got there?”
    Caroline set Useless down and he immediately streaked off to sniff the bushes Buster had marked. “My dog. Good evening, Miss Lulu.”
    She grunted, dabbed a little paint on the canvas. “My grandmammy ran a pair of Yankee deserters off her plantation in 1863.”
    Caroline inclined her head. She’d