3

It was two o’clock in the morning and Pace was lying in Marnie’s bed listening to Etta Jones sing “Don’t Go to Strangers” on the radio. “When you need more than company,” she suggested, “don’t go to strangers, come on to me.” Pace had always loved this song and Etta’s tangy delivery, the way she let it curl gently into the night air. He also dug Skeeter Best’s dignified guitar solo, not subtle but unobtrusive, just right, which was the way Pace felt this very moment. It was the first time he’d been able to relax since the insane series of events occasioned by his dealings with the Pasternak sisters. A remarkably cool breeze from the river snaked in through the slightly open bedroom window, causing Pace to pull a sheet up over his chest. The thought hit him that he had not felt really peaceful since leaving N.O., and he had to come back to get it. Etta Jones’ final soft figure segued into Willis “Gator Tail” Jackson on tenor playing “This’ll Get To Ya” with Brother Jack McDuff filling on organ. Marnie was downstairs in the kitchen making omelettes for them. They had not eaten dinner, having fallen deeply asleep after making love. Pace savored the moment. Craziness was never far from home, wherever that might be, but you didn’t have to sign up for it. He closed his eyes and shivered a little from the breeze. When he reopened them, Marnie, completely naked except for a leopard print scarf tied around her neck, walked through the doorway holding two plates.

“Guess what, darlin’?” she said. “Day after tomorrow I’m puttin’ you to work in the bakery.”