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told Howie to hang in there a little longer and reminded him not to talk to anyone. He was just about to be taken back into the lockup when he said, “You only said one wrong thing, Jake.”
    “What was that?”
    “I don’t want Brian back. I want him to forget about me. I’m no good for him.” He turned around and went with the sheriff.
    I didn’t say anything to Sylvia Plotzske before I left. There was no need to. We could both read the handwriting on the wall of the Hinton County Courthouse.
    Howie was going to do some serious time in prison.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    I HAD TO let Lindsay Patino know the reality of her brother’s situation.
    I also wanted to see her again.
    As soon as I got on the freeway I called the work number she had given me that day at the hospital. A young lady answered, “Agoura Academy.”
    I asked for Lindsay. The young lady said she was in class.
    “This is kind of an emergency,” I said, which was only about one-third true, even though it was an emergency of my own making—I had decided I needed to talk to her now.
    “Who’s calling?”
    “Tell her it’s her brother’s lawyer.”
    “Oh, I’ll get her right away.”
    A few minutes later Lindsay came on the line. Her tone was frosty. “Yes?”
    “Hi, we just finished the arraignment.”
    “And?”
    “I’d like to talk to you about it.”
    A pause. “When?”
    “How about in the next hour?”
    “I’m teaching.”
    “You have to eat lunch.”
    “It’s in a brown bag.”
    “It’s very important that I talk to you. I have a lot of things to explain.” I added, “And I thought, why not make it a pleasant -experience?”
    “All right. I’ll meet you in front of the school at 11:45 A.M.” She gave me directions and hung up.
    For the next forty-five minutes, as I drove south, I was in a very good mood. I found that curious. I hadn’t been in a good mood in a year.
    The Agoura Academy, a private K-12 school according to the sign, was on a nice piece of property about half a mile south of the freeway. Architecturally it looked Ivy League. Lindsay was standing in front of the entrance of the main building, talking to another woman. When she saw my car, she gave the other woman a pat on the shoulder and walked over.
    “Hop in,” I said.
    She did.
    “Is there a place around here you like?” I asked.
    “There’s an Italian place about a mile from here.”
    “Italian it is.”
    Three minutes later we pulled into a mall parking lot near Amato’s Italian Kitchen. Lindsay didn’t speak a word until we were seated at a table with a black-and-white checkerboard tablecloth.
    As soon as we sat down, Lindsay said, “I’m sorry I got so upset with you in your office.”
    “It’s all right.”
    “It isn’t. I was very upset, but that’s no excuse. I’ve got a bit of a temper.”
    “I’ve been known to lash out myself.”
    “But that doesn’t mean I’m any less concerned about how you handle Howie’s case.”
    “Understood.”
    A waiter arrived, and I ordered a beer. Lindsay ordered a Coke. As she did, I swiped a long look at her. She was ravishing, and while it’s not the most romantic of memories, I think I fell in love with her the moment she said, “With a slice of lemon, please.”
    “So you’re little Lindsay,” I said.
    That finally got a smile out of her. “You remember?”
    “Sure. You had buckteeth and freckles.”
    “Major buckteeth.”
    “You used to follow us around, Howie and me. You had this squeaky little voice.”
    “Was I obnoxious?”
    “Yes.” I was relieved when she blushed and smiled. “But it’s obviously worn off. And no more buckteeth.”
    “Orthodontia,” she said.
    “Now you’re a teacher?”
    “Fourth grade.”
    “How long?”
    “This is my third year.”
    “Why not public school?”
    “Because public schools in California restrict teachers too much.”
    “How did you come to this career choice?” I asked.
    “I felt called to it.”
    “Well, why not? It’s an