that read, JUST SAY YO .
I spotted a woman kneeling at a flower bed by the front steps. Her back was to me, so I approached to a distance from which I could speak to her without either startling her or invading her space. I cleared my throat, then said, “Excuse me?”
She turned her head, still kneeling. She looked like a teenager, although I have trouble judging the ages of young women. She wore dirty cotton gloves, and one hand held a trowel. She pointed the trowel at me and said, “Are you talking to me?”
“Yes. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Paul Cizek’s house.”
She sat back on her haunches and wiped her forehead with the back of her glove. She had blond hair held back with a rubber band, but wisps had gotten loose and she thrust out her lower lip and blew them away from her face. Then she frowned at me. “Who’re you?”
“I’m a friend of Paul’s.”
“He’s not home now.”
“I know.”
“Then—”
“Can you just tell me where he lives, Miss?”
She looked at me for a minute, then shook her head. “Sorry.” She turned back and resumed troweling.
I took a few steps closer to her. “I know he lives on this street,” I said. “I’m his lawyer.”
“He’s his own lawyer, far as I know,” she mumbled without turning around.
“No. I’m his lawyer. We lawyers hire other lawyers to do our personal legal work for us. We say any lawyer who tries to do it himself has a fool for a lawyer. Lots of people say anyone who hires a lawyer has hired a fool.”
I heard her chuckle, but she kept her back to me and didn’t respond.
“Paul’s boat was found adrift last night,” I said. “He wasn’t on it.”
She turned. Her eyes bored into mine. They were green, almost the identical color of Alex’s eyes. “What’d you say?” she said.
“Paul Cizek seems to be missing. The Coast Guard towed his boat in last night.”
She stood up and came toward me. She was tall and lanky in her dirt-smeared T-shirt and snug running shorts. “You got some kind of identification, Mister?”
I fished a card from my wallet and held it out to her. She shucked off her gloves, tucked them into her armpit, took my card, and squinted at it. Then she looked up at me. “I still don’t know what you want,” she said.
I shrugged. “I don’t honestly know myself. I’ve talked to the police, I’ve talked to the Coast Guard, and I’ve even talked to the guy at the boat launch. I’m just trying to figure out what happened to Paul. I thought I’d take a look at where he lived. I don’t know what I expect to find, but—”
“He lives here.”
“Here?”
“This is his place. I’m planting some flowers for him. It’s kind of a surprise.”
“Why?”
“He’s—we’re friends. I thought some petunias might cheer him up.”
“Have you seen him today?”
“No. Listen. He’s not missing.”
“He’s not?”
She smiled quickly. “Not Paul. There’s a mistake. It’s gotta be somebody else’s boat they found. He’d never—”
“It’s his boat,” I said. “I saw it.”
She stared at me. Then I saw the tears well up in her eyes. “Aw, shit,” she said. “That bastard.”
“Who?”
“Paul. That asshole. He did it, didn’t he?”
“Did what?”
“He fucking killed himself.” She made a fist and punched her thigh. “Son of a bitch!”
I reached out and touched her arm. “Can we talk?”
She narrowed her eyes. Tears streaked the dirt on her face. After a minute, she nodded. “Sure. We can talk. Come on.”
I followed her onto the narrow deck that stretched across the back of the house. She lifted a flowerpot, removed a key, unlocked the door, then replaced the key. “Why don’t you have a seat,” she said, gesturing at a pair of wooden deck chairs. “I’ll get us some iced tea. Okay?”
“That’d be fine,” I said.
I sat in one of the chairs and lit a cigarette. Beyond a rim of low sand dunes lay a broad expanse of tall marsh grass. The tide
I spotted a woman kneeling at a flower bed by the front steps. Her back was to me, so I approached to a distance from which I could speak to her without either startling her or invading her space. I cleared my throat, then said, “Excuse me?”
She turned her head, still kneeling. She looked like a teenager, although I have trouble judging the ages of young women. She wore dirty cotton gloves, and one hand held a trowel. She pointed the trowel at me and said, “Are you talking to me?”
“Yes. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Paul Cizek’s house.”
She sat back on her haunches and wiped her forehead with the back of her glove. She had blond hair held back with a rubber band, but wisps had gotten loose and she thrust out her lower lip and blew them away from her face. Then she frowned at me. “Who’re you?”
“I’m a friend of Paul’s.”
“He’s not home now.”
“I know.”
“Then—”
“Can you just tell me where he lives, Miss?”
She looked at me for a minute, then shook her head. “Sorry.” She turned back and resumed troweling.
I took a few steps closer to her. “I know he lives on this street,” I said. “I’m his lawyer.”
“He’s his own lawyer, far as I know,” she mumbled without turning around.
“No. I’m his lawyer. We lawyers hire other lawyers to do our personal legal work for us. We say any lawyer who tries to do it himself has a fool for a lawyer. Lots of people say anyone who hires a lawyer has hired a fool.”
I heard her chuckle, but she kept her back to me and didn’t respond.
“Paul’s boat was found adrift last night,” I said. “He wasn’t on it.”
She turned. Her eyes bored into mine. They were green, almost the identical color of Alex’s eyes. “What’d you say?” she said.
“Paul Cizek seems to be missing. The Coast Guard towed his boat in last night.”
She stood up and came toward me. She was tall and lanky in her dirt-smeared T-shirt and snug running shorts. “You got some kind of identification, Mister?”
I fished a card from my wallet and held it out to her. She shucked off her gloves, tucked them into her armpit, took my card, and squinted at it. Then she looked up at me. “I still don’t know what you want,” she said.
I shrugged. “I don’t honestly know myself. I’ve talked to the police, I’ve talked to the Coast Guard, and I’ve even talked to the guy at the boat launch. I’m just trying to figure out what happened to Paul. I thought I’d take a look at where he lived. I don’t know what I expect to find, but—”
“He lives here.”
“Here?”
“This is his place. I’m planting some flowers for him. It’s kind of a surprise.”
“Why?”
“He’s—we’re friends. I thought some petunias might cheer him up.”
“Have you seen him today?”
“No. Listen. He’s not missing.”
“He’s not?”
She smiled quickly. “Not Paul. There’s a mistake. It’s gotta be somebody else’s boat they found. He’d never—”
“It’s his boat,” I said. “I saw it.”
She stared at me. Then I saw the tears well up in her eyes. “Aw, shit,” she said. “That bastard.”
“Who?”
“Paul. That asshole. He did it, didn’t he?”
“Did what?”
“He fucking killed himself.” She made a fist and punched her thigh. “Son of a bitch!”
I reached out and touched her arm. “Can we talk?”
She narrowed her eyes. Tears streaked the dirt on her face. After a minute, she nodded. “Sure. We can talk. Come on.”
I followed her onto the narrow deck that stretched across the back of the house. She lifted a flowerpot, removed a key, unlocked the door, then replaced the key. “Why don’t you have a seat,” she said, gesturing at a pair of wooden deck chairs. “I’ll get us some iced tea. Okay?”
“That’d be fine,” I said.
I sat in one of the chairs and lit a cigarette. Beyond a rim of low sand dunes lay a broad expanse of tall marsh grass. The tide
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