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  Carl shook his head. He had been talking about the woman. “It’s not the same. I do that for the U.S. attorney because I said I would. I’m doing this for her because I want to. It’s different.”

  Dr. Gregory finally recognized that he had encouraged Carl on a detour and that Carl had immediately drawn him back to the girl. Alan Gregory waited for his patient to demonstrate his intended direction.

  “Listen, I want to clear something up. I tell you something, you don’t tell anybody else, right? Not Kriciak? Not Kriciak’s boss. Not anybody?”

  Dr. Gregory tried not to look taken aback. “Unless it involves child abuse or imminent danger to you or someone you’re threatening, no, I don’t tell anyone without your permission.”

  Carl held up a hand. “Just so we’re clear—I mean in case there’s any question—you don’t have my permission. Okay? No offense, of course. Now tell me about ‘imminent danger.’ Sounds like a hurricane warning. What exactly does that mean? Imminent danger?”

  “Let’s say you told me you were planning to go out and kill somebody. I’d have an obligation to warn that person beforehand or tell the police so that they could protect him … or her.”

  Carl raised an eyebrow and tucked in his wide chin. “Now why would I tell you something like that?”

  “I’m not saying you would, Carl. What you disclose to me is totally up to you. I just used it as an example of imminent danger.”

  “And this is the same kind of example you might have used with somebody else? Somebody whose background is a little different from my own?”

  Dr. Gregory thought about it, understood Carl’s defensiveness. But he said, “Yes, I often use the same example when this question comes up.”

  Carl pondered his response. “But if I told you something else—something not about somebody getting whacked, but something that the marshals would really, really like to know from me, you still wouldn’t tell them? I’m talking about something that’s already happened, not any of this imminent danger bullshit.”

  Carl didn’t curse much in therapy. His therapist noted the profanity before he responded. “Not without your permission, no. I wouldn’t divulge it.”

  “Now how about a whatchamacallit, a hypothetical? Let’s say one of your patients knows something about another one of your patients—let’s say they’re acquaintances, like.”

  Dr. Gregory sensed that his patient was looking for an acknowledgment. Warily he said, “I’m not fond of hypotheticals.”

  “I’m not fond of hemorrhoids, but so far I haven’t found that to be much of a protection.”

  He smiled. “Yes?”

  “Hypothetically? You couldn’t divulge what this one patient of yours said about this other patient of yours? I mean since they’re both patients, right?”

  Dr. Gregory felt a trap being sprung. He had no idea how to avoid tripping the wire. He said, “If I understand your question correctly, you’re right—I couldn’t divulge anything about either patient. But I might have some questions about the nature of the relationship. Between one patient and another, I mean. And I might question whether the relationship between the patients was in the best interest of the psychotherapy.”

  Carl said, “Yeah?”

  He nodded. “Is there something you want to tell me, Carl?”

  Carl shook his head. Stared. Finally, he said, “I ever tell you I got a dog?”

  2

  Landon didn’t want to go out again if she had to use the wheelchair. I couldn’t really fault her because I didn’t want to go out again if I had to push the darn thing back up the hill with her in it. So I decided that she’d recovered from what ailed her and asked her if she wanted me to start calling her Lourdes.

  She didn’t get it and didn’t seem to think I was particularly amusing, even after my explanation.

  But she did agree to come with me to meet Carl, this time at four-thirty at our newly arranged meeting place, Delilah’s Pretty Good Grocery, which was much closer to Chautauqua than was the Dushanbe Teahouse. In order to arrange the rendezvous, I’d called Carl’s home number twice around three-thirty, hanging up each time after one ring.

  I tried to lure Landon on the errand with hopes of seeing Anvil, but she was in one of those preadolescent spaces where hope wasn’t a sufficient motivation for her. Wasn’t even a planet in her universe. So I told her that if she cooperated during our visit, I’d buy her something too sweet for words.

  She told me that I was using hyperbole. She pronounced it “hyper-bowl.”

  I said, “Yes, I am exaggerating. But the word you’re using is hyperbole. It’s pronounced hy-per-bow-lee.”

  She shook her head at me and said, “Whatever.”

  IN MY BRIEF time in town I’d discovered that, much to my surprise, Boulder still had a few little places like Delilah’s dotting its hip landscape. Delilah’s was an aging grocery/sundry/convenience store in a cramped but wonderful old stone building that was on the corner of Ninth and Euclid smack in the middle of the thriving residential portion of the neighborhood that Boulderites call The Hill. Delilah’s was part gathering place, part community bulletin board, and part 7-Eleven, but without the plastic and the corporate panache. You could get a half-gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, leave a card up to sell a bicycle, find out where to get your navel pierced, and discover at what time at least eleven different yoga classes were meeting.

  Best of all in my mind, Delilah’s Pretty Good Grocery was, geographically at least, all downhill from our cottage in Chautauqua.

  I WAS MORE nervous during this excursion than I had been during the morning outing with the wheelchair. Earlier at the teahouse with Carl, I think I had myself convinced that the marshals would have been convinced that Landon and I had left town the night before. Now, I wasn’t so sure I was as clever as I thought I’d been. And Andrea’s apparent death in Florida had left me shaken and feeling even more vulnerable, if that was possible.

  I kept trying to picture Prowler and his minions and could only conjure images of an army of Carl Luppos.

  Landon and I walked down the hill and hung out inside the store waiting for Carl to arrive. My daughter was agonizing between an oatmeal cookie the size of a Frisbee or a good old-fashioned Butterfinger bar. I could tell she was hoping I would tell her she could have both. Her eyes told me that her father would have.

  She was probably right.

  Thanks, Robert.

  Hello, Mr. Whale.

  My heart leapt when Carl Luppo walked into the store. My heart didn’t skip in fear, but in an oddly defined gratitude. Even affection, I think. The man had become a kind of icon to me. He was protector, guide, mentor.

  I wasn’t beyond seeing the irony: I was running from a hit man into the arms of a hit man.

  He was wearing a baggy plaid shirt and a green-and-blue ball cap that read “AF.” I’m sure Carl didn’t know that by doing his clothes-shopping at Abercrombie on the Pearl Street Mall, he had ended up dressed way too hip for his age.

  Landon said, “Cool hat, Uncle Carl. Did you bring Anvil?”

  He touched the brim of his hat. “Thanks. He’s in the car. You can say hi to him a little later, okay?”

  Carl approached me and kissed me on my cheek. I was left almost breathless by his greeting. I wasn’t sure why.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  I handed Landon two dollars and told her to choose what she wanted from the endless snacks before us. As she spun away from me I added that Carl and I would be out on the porch of the store talking. Once outside we sat facing Euclid. Each of us focused our attention on every pedestrian who loitered on the sidewalk, every driver who slowed or parked in front of the store.

  I said, “I like your idea about approaching Dr. Gregory’s wife. I want to meet with her, see if she’s in a position to help me. Did you get her name when you went home?”

  He nodded as though he’d expected the question. “Lauren Crowder. She’s… Boulder County Assistant District Attorney Lauren Crowde
r.”

  “So she works at the Justice Center on Canyon?”

  “Wouldn’t know about that,” he said. “Kind of thing you’d know better than me. You’re not thinking of going to see her at her office, are you?”

  I had been. I said, “That wouldn’t be smart, would it?”

  “No.” He paused. “Where she works? My guess is that there are lots of cops. Lots of lawyers. Not too good if someone like you wants to stay anonymous. You want to know where they live?”

  “You know where they live?”

  He shrugged.

  I asked, “Would you take us there?”

  “Now?”

  “No, tonight, when they’re both home from work.”

  “Sure. I’m not doing anything. Be worth the effort just to see the look of surprise on Dr. Gregory’s face.” Carl smiled in a way that made his eyes seem heavy. He and I had never talked about the doctor we shared.

  Just then Landon walked out the door with nine cents in change, the cookie, and the candy bar.

  Carl asked me, “Is it okay for the kid to take Anvil for a little walk now? I’m sure he’d like that.”

  Of course I said yes. I followed them across the street to Carl’s car, which was parked by the wrought iron fence of the cemetery. Anvil was elated to see us coming. As soon as Carl opened the door, Landon scooped the dog up in her arms. Carl clipped a leash onto Anvil’s collar and lowered him to the sidewalk.

  Immediately my introverted daughter asked Carl, “He’s a boy, right? Why doesn’t he have any balls?”

  Carl looked at Landon with a critical eye. Then he said, “Oh, Anvil has balls, my little friend. He just doesn’t have any nuts.”

  LANDON AND I parted from Carl and Anvil after a leisurely walk through the old Columbia Cemetery. My daughter and I took back streets as we strolled up the hill to Chautauqua hand in hand, friends again. We talked about school and boys and bad men and lying.

  Later, back at the cottage, we made a dinner out of the contents of cans and boxes and ate on the porch while we played Yahtzee. I scanned the road constantly for cars and hoped that Landon didn’t notice.

  She beat me two out of three. And she probably noticed.

  After dinner, at seven o’clock, we found Carl’s car parked a block north of Baseline on Grant, exactly where he said it would be. He waved to us from the driver’s seat and we climbed in. Anvil went immediately for Landon’s lap.

  I said, “I hope Dr. Gregory and his wife are home.”

  Carl smiled as if he already knew.

  HE DIDN’T NEED a map to find the house, which was in a part of town I’d never visited. Carl drove away from the mountains and then back up into the hills that formed the eastern side of the Boulder Valley. The last turn took us onto a dirt-and-gravel lane, which curved back toward the Boulder Turnpike. Flanking the end of the lane were two houses, one up the hill, one down. The road dead-ended at a barnlike structure just beyond the houses.

  Carl said, “Believe it or not, they live in the little house.”

  The little house wasn’t that little unless it was being compared to its grander neighbor. Dr. Gregory and his wife lived in a stone-and-siding-covered single-story house that meandered unevenly from gable to gable, as though it had been constructed over time by many different owners. The steep gable over the entry was trimmed in a way that matched the gable over the separate garage, which appeared newly built.

  To Landon I said, “Honey? Why don’t you leash Anvil up and walk him around this clearing here between the houses, okay? Don’t go far.”

  “And watch out for foxes, babe,” Carl added. “I’ve seen some foxes wandering around here, and I’m afraid Anvil would make some pretty appetizing fox food.”

  “Foxes,” she said. “Sweet.”

  As Carl and I approached the door of Dr. Gregory’s house, the sun was just beginning to fracture as it sank between the sharp peaks of the distant Continental Divide. The sky above the mountains was devil blue and Confederate gray. The view was breathtaking.

  “Let me do this,” Carl said as he hit the button by the door.

  I didn’t hear the doorbell ring. All I heard was a terrific commotion and the resonance of a dog’s bark that seemed to vibrate all the way into the marrow of my bones.

  A woman’s voice, sharp but calm. “Quiet… Good … Sit… Stay.”

  The barking stopped.

  Eyes peeked out from a small fan-shaped window at the top of the door seconds before the door opened. The woman smiled pleasantly and said, “May I help you?” as her striking violet eyes danced from Carl to me and then back to Carl. Finally her attention came back to me and her eyes stopped, narrowing.

  Warily, I looked at the dog, which resembled a small bear. The dog was using every bit of its power to fight its instinctive desire to bark and to charge and to have either Carl or me for dinner.

  “Yeah,” Carl said. “Yes, yes. I think you can help us.”

  The woman standing in the doorway had short black hair and a lovely face. Her feet were bare and she wore red capri pants and a billowing cotton top. She was also very, very pregnant. Her eyes took on a quizzical twinkle and she said, “Do I know you?”

  She was talking about me. I spoke for the first time, trying to squeeze the anxiety from my voice. I said, “No, I don’t think so. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m new in town.”

  She nodded but her eyes said she disagreed with my assessment.

  Carl said, “We are sorry to bother you, but my friend needs your help, Miss Crowder. Your legal help.”

  The woman stepped back in a way that was almost reflexive, and the dog tensed. She spread her hand in front of the dog’s snout and it whimpered. The woman shifted her gaze once again to Carl before she returned it to me and smiled. She held out her hand and said, “Won’t you come in, Ms. Lord. I’m Lauren Crowder.”

  I felt my heart race in panic at the sound of my real name. Somehow I managed to reach out and shake her hand before she offered it to Carl.

  He took it awkwardly and said, “I’m Carl Luppo. It’s a pleasure.”

  She pulled the door the rest of the way open and said, “Give the dog a minute. She’ll get used to you. Her name is Emily.”

  Carl held out his hand for the dog to sniff and said, “Don’t worry about me. I love dogs.”

  Lauren said, “Unfortunately, the problem is that Emily doesn’t always love humans.”

  I stayed back a step.

  Lauren gazed past me and smiled once more. She said, “Is that your daughter out there, Ms. Lord?”

  “Kirsten. But please call me Peyton, if you don’t mind. And yes, that’s my daughter. That’s Landon.”

  “Bring her in with you. The little dog, too.”

  “The big dog won’t mind?” Carl asked.

  “No, Emily’s cool with little dogs.”

  “What is Emily?”

  “Emily’s a Bouvier. A Bouvier des Flandres. A Belgian sheep dog.”

  “Her bark is worse than her bite, right?” Carl joked.

  Lauren said, “I doubt that, actually. Although she’s never bitten me, I’m relatively certain that her bite is much more unpleasant than her bark.”

  THE HOUSE WAS simple but elegant. Even as day rushed toward dusk, long streams of light flooded into the space. The floors were polished hardwood. A newly refurbished kitchen opened to a dining room and living room that were each framed by huge windows facing the Front Range of the Rockies. The area that would typically comprise a dining room was filled by a huge pool table.

  Carl held Anvil while the big bear dog danced at his feet. Landon held my hand. Lauren invited us to sit.

  I was anxious waiting for Dr. Gregory to walk in and find Carl and me in his house.

  “You recognized me?” I said to Lauren as I took a seat beside my daughter on the sofa.

  “Twice now, actually, though you look a lot different now than you did the first time I saw you on the news. The other time I saw you, you were leaving my hus
band’s office. I recognized you then from your pictures. I was quite … I don’t know… captivated by all that you went through earlier in the year. You know, with your work, and your family. I’m so sorry about what happened to your husband.”

  “Thank you. I don’t really know how to ask this, but has Dr. Gregory … I don’t know …?”

  “No, he hasn’t said anything. My husband doesn’t talk about his patients with me,” Lauren said as she smiled at Landon. “Are you hungry or thirsty? Can I get you something? I bet I have a pop if it’s okay with your mom.”

  Landon said, “No, thank you.”

  Lauren raised her eyes to me and asked, “You would like my legal advice on something?” Her tone was generous and cordial, the kind of tone that a lady in the South would use to offer me more tea.

  I pulled Landon close to my side and said, “Is there someplace she can go while you and I talk? She has some books she brought with her. They’ll keep her busy. She won’t be a problem, I promise.”

  “There’s a room downstairs with a television, maybe she would like to go down there and—”

  Just then Dr. Gregory interrupted. The intrusion of his soft voice startled me. He said, “Why don’t I take her with me? I was going to go over to Adrienne’s house for a little while. Maybe Landon would like to meet Jonas. I’m sure Jonas would love to meet her and get to know the dog.” He lowered his gaze to Landon. “Jonas is younger than you, Landon, but that boy sure loves dogs.”

  Dr. Gregory was standing in an open doorway on the far side of the room, wearing a T-shirt over a pair of green sweatpants. He was barefoot and his hair was wet as though he’d come straight from the shower. He stepped forward into the room and said, “Lauren, you’ll be okay here with your guests?”

  She said, “Absolutely.”

  He looked at Carl and said, “Hello, I’m Alan Gregory.”

  Carl waved and said, “Hey. Carl Luppo. This here is Anvil.” I could tell Carl was fighting a smile.

  I steeled myself and said simply, “Hello.” I was trying to read Dr. Gregory’s eyes for surprise or disdain or fury or something. But I couldn’t read his eyes any more than I could bring myself to call my therapist Alan.