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I wonder if the words 'Mary had a little lamb' might mean anything to either of you.”
    Laura put on a pensive face. “Aside from the obvious connection between your writing style and the intellectual challenges of a nursery rhyme...”
    Carol looked at him curiously. “Why?”
    Guy turned to her and for a moment she thought he was going to answer. Then he tossed back another swallow of scotch and replied, “No reason. Just trying to see if you were paying attention.”
    But now even Laura looked interested. “Is something going on?”
    Guy hesitated. “Interest rates are rising. Three thousand college students are set to descend on the Gulf Coast next weekend. Arlene Campbell is having a hysterectomy.”
    Laura tilted her head toward Carol confidentially. “I can't imagine why you ever left him. He's better than a radio.”
    Carol said to Guy, “Sometimes Laura has difficulty expressing herself. I think what she wants to know—what we both want to know—is what you're doing here, Guy. Did you just stop by to annoy Laura, or is there something in particular we can do for you?”
    “Yes to both. I realized it had been far too long since I had annoyed Laura, and I thought since I was in the neighborhood, I could walk you home.”
    “I drove.”
    “All the more reason. A walk on the beach will do you good.”
    Laura said, “I'm not sure I see the logic in that.” But her gaze was alert and interested as she watched Guy. Carol knew then she wasn't imagining it. Something was wrong.
    She forced herself to take a final bite of the tasteless swordfish, crumpled her napkin beside her plate and said, “Let's go.”
    “I haven't finished my drink,” he protested, but took a final swallow and reached for his wallet.
    “Whatever happened to leaving with the girl that brought you?” Laura objected, but not very energetically. The curiosity in her eyes only fueled Carol's own.
    Guy said, “I think that only applies to barn dances and weddings.” He placed two bills on the table and touched Carol's elbow, absently and protectively, as she rose.
    Laura said to Carol, “If you're not in by nine in the morning, I will be calling the police.”
    And Guy replied, “Be sure to get my description right.”
    They walked down the fog-shrouded boardwalk that crossed the dunes between the parking lot and the building, and Carol hugged her arms briefly against the cold and damp. The wind, blowing over the water at fifteen or twenty miles per hour, could turn a March evening on the Gulf into one in New England.
    “You were kidding about that walk on the beach, weren't you?” Carol said.
    Guy, in his shirtsleeves, pretended to ignore the cold. “You used to love to walk in the wind.”
    “This seems to be your night for things that used to be, Guy.” They reached the end of the boardwalk and Carol turned toward her car.
    Michael's was upscale enough to have a parking lot that was both paved and lighted, and she did not need an escort. St. T was not the kind of place where women worried about anything except breaking a heel when they walked alone across parking lots at night.
    Nonetheless, Guy escorted Carol to her car. Carol kept glancing at him, growing more and more curious about what was on his mind, but he walked with his head down, hands in his pockets, and his face in shadows, and he gave no hint as to what he was thinking.
    When they reached her car Carol turned to him. “Just tell me. Did Laura call you?”
    His frown was puzzled and distracted. “Laura wouldn't call me a son of a bitch if it took more than a minute of her time. Why?”
    Carol was growing exasperated. “Then I really don't understand what all this is about, Guy. You track me down while I'm having dinner, spend twenty minutes exchanging insults with Laura, and all this just to walk me to my car? Is there a point to this at all?”
    “Actually, I wanted to talk to you.” His voice sounded tense, though he tried to make his tone casual.
    “I