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but Zelda’s,” I said. “Everyone who comes here has the choice to leave whenever she wants. Just—pray for her and I’ll see if I can find her. But don’t either of you go looking, are we clear?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.
    “And tell Sherry that too, would you?”
    “Sherry done gone to work at her daddy’s,” Mercedes said. “You go on now. We be fine.”
    I fished in my pocket and pulled out two crumpled-up twenty-dollar bills. “Put this in the jar and I’ll bring you more later.”
    Where I was going to get more, and how I was going to locate Zelda and talk her back into Sacrament House, I had no idea. Nor did I recognize the sinking sensation that settled over me even after I was on the Harley and headed for Old Moultrie Street. It might have been a sense of failure, but who knew? I’d never cared about a job enough to give a rip whether I failed at it or not.
    I leaned into the parking lot and came headlight-to-face with a startled elderly man in a business suit who was heading toward the building. He held up his briefcase like a shield and jumped out of my way, and, I was sure, staggered inside to have his coronary.
    Enough, Allison. Get your mind lined up with a solution or stick it all somewhere for the moment before you mow somebody down.
    Or blow this meeting.
    I pulled up to the curb and hauled in a deep breath. That wasn’t an option. Not this time.

    Chief was already seated at the conference table in Vickie Rodriguez’s office when a harried administrative aide showed me in. I could tell from the way the paperwork was lined up on the tabletop in precise piles that the aide was suffering from Boss Intimidation. When I got my first glimpse at the back of Vickie Rodriguez at the coffeepot, I saw why.
    Either the woman was a former ballerina or she was wearing a steel back brace. I’d never seen a spine that straight. Atop it was a longish head on which dark straight hair had been disciplined into a French braid that dared not allow a strand to come loose. I glanced at Chief, who motioned for me to take off my bandanna. A stop at the ladies’ room would’ve been a nice touch, his eyes said.
    But it was too late now. The Rodriguez woman turned, stainless steel mug in hand, and looked at me and the wall clock in almost the same instant.
    “Am I late?” I said. “I had to take Desmond to school and—”
    “You’re not any later than I am!” a voice sang out behind me.
    I could have hugged Liz Doyle at that moment. She, of course, flung an arm around me and murmured, “Don’t let her get to you,” before she dumped her purse, tote bag, and the stack of papers that apparently fit into neither, onto the table, sending one of Vickie’s neat stacks over the side.
    “Oh! Sorry!” she said.
    Liz’s eyes, made greener by the jade jacket now pushed to a rakish angle, blinked at überspeed. I could never decide whether that was from stress or just a bad pair of contact lenses. She was clearly not the picture of efficiency, but somehow she managed to run the FIP’s foster-care program, for which I loved her. She was responsible for getting Desmond into my home and getting this particular ball rolling as well.
    Unless Stick Woman stuck her foot out and stopped it. I couldn’t get rid of the image of an uptight soccer goalie as Vickie Rodriguez somehow made her way around Liz and offered me her hand.
    “Miss Chamberlain?” she said.
    “Yes—ma’am,” I said.
    Her hand was cool. Mine was invitingly clammy, I was sure.
    “You can call her Allison. She’s good people.” Liz beamed at me and, of course, blinked. “She and I go all the way back to high school.”
    “Is that right?” Vickie said. I couldn’t detect a trace of interest.
    “She kept the bullies from making my life miserable,” Liz said. “I’ll never forget that.”
    Obviously Vickie already had because without comment she motioned me to a chair and slipped into hers while simultaneously pulling on a