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safe.’ How about you tell me just how the hell this is supposed to help me.”
    But the needle was already sinking into his arm, the silver tip piercing his vein as easily as it would a string of warm licorice.
    “Almost done,” she said and depressed the plunger. “This will give me time to think.” The milky fluid flushed into his open vein.
    He yanked his arm away and the hypo nodded in his flesh like a road sign swaying in a strong wind. He cursed her for as long as he could but soon the liquid reached his brain and the words lost their momentum, congealed in his mouth, and his head felt heavy even after he let it rest on the grimy cement.

Chapter Four
    July, 1948
    The night of the first death, Myles Carver was trying to bed his brother’s wife. He stared at her through the French doors, the partygoers buzzing around him like gnats, his own date Maria tugging at the lapel of his best black jacket like a goddamned kid.
    “Myles,” she said. He smelled the sweet tang of wine on her breath, studied the large breasts peeking out of her dress, but those things did nothing for him.
    Annabel did.
    She was out there on the veranda, leaning forward so her rump stuck out, taunting him, the pale skin of her shoulders luminous in the night air.
    He moved away from Maria, thought he’d escaped her when she gripped his arm. Then she was jabbering away at him and he realized she was drunk. Despite the band playing next to them atop the ballroom stage, her shrill, slurry voice bit through the noise and turned heads.
    “Why can’t you respect your brother? Why can’t you leave her alone?”
    Jesus. Airing their dirty laundry out here in front of everyone.
    “Look at me, Myles.” Both hands on his lapels now. “She doesn’t want you. If she did she wouldn’t have married David.” Maria threw a sidelong glance at the men and women gawking at them. “That’s right, I said she doesn’t want you.” Getting into it now that she had an audience. “So why don’t you leave like your little brother. Robert knew she’d never have him so he left for Memphis. Why don’t you run away too?”
    She needed a good smack in the mouth. Painted little whore with a little boy at home watched by his grandma tonight because his mother would rather have a man between her legs than a son on her lap.
    He thought of saying all that, thought of saying what everybody already knew about her, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “You’ve no room to talk,” and walked away.
    As he shut the French doors behind him he heard her say, “You’re a coward.” But she said nothing more because she was afraid of Annabel. Little Maria with her big mouth shut up quick whenever Annabel was around. Lovely Annabel.
    Myles stood watching her.
    He knew if he didn’t say something soon he’d lose his nerve, so standing beside her he said, “Smoke?”  
    Elbows on the cement wall bordering the veranda, she stared quietly at the forest, making no sign she’d heard him or was even aware of his presence.
    Playing it cool, Myles tapped one out for himself, lit it. He leaned there beside her showing her he was comfortable with the silence too. He stole glances at her, though, because he couldn’t help it. Thin, sculptured nose below large blue eyes with lashes so long she needn’t cake them with that black shit Maria smeared on hers. Annabel had her blond hair pulled back tonight. Myles realized his hands were shaking. He had to say something.
    “Where’s David?” he asked.
    “I’m not sure,” she said. As it usually was, her delivery was toneless, maddening.
    “It’d be nice if he came to his own party.” When she said nothing, he added, “And paid some attention to his wife.”
    Had there been the slightest hint of a smile? Without looking at him she said, “He does.”
    “I don’t mean in the bedroom, I mean when there are fifty people at his house drinking his liquor and having sex in his rooms.”
    “They’re your rooms, too,