I spotted Ranson.

“Hello, Joanne,” I said as we got to her. “I’d like you to meet my escort for the evening, Franklin Fitzsimmons.”

“Hello, Michele,” she answered. “And I’d like you to meet mine, Jackson Ford. Jackson’s with the FBI.”

“You’re an accountant, aren’t you, Mr. Fitzsimmons?” Jackson asked.

“Yes, I am,” Frankie replied.

“Would you excuse us, ladies? I’ve got some people who are very interested in meeting Mr. Fitzsimmons.”

Frankie looked scared for a moment. I had kept him safe and he didn’t want to leave me.

“It’s all right,” Ranson said. “Jackson just flew in from Washington this morning.” That meant he wasn’t part of the good ol’ boy network here. Probably a good ol’ boy network elsewhere, but that shouldn’t affect Frankie’s safety, and that was what was important.

Frankie nodded his okay at me, then shyly kissed me on the cheek. He and Jackson Ford left.

“Have a ball, Frankie,” I called after him. “He’s a brave man,” I told Ranson, hoping someone would tell him someday.

“Yes, he is,” she agreed. “You’ve done a good job, Micky. We appreciate it.”

“Always glad to aid the forces of law and order, ma’am,” I said. Where was my sunset to ride off into?

Ranson snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to me.

“Cheers,” she said. We drank a toast. “You look good, Micky.”

“Thanks. Cousin Torbin’s leftovers. He’s got a better dress collection than I do,” I said. “You too, Joanne. You look very good.” She did. She wore a flowing pearl gray gown that softened her angles and relentless eyes.

“Thanks. It was a great-aunt’s,” she replied.

We were silent for a moment, looking at each other. She did look very good.

“Joanne. There you are,” a man said as he joined us. “This is Micky Knight?” he asked.

I recognized him as the smiling policeman I had seen in the newspaper with…Korby, that was his name.

“Yes,” Ranson answered. “Michele Knight, this is Captain Renaud,” she continued. I suspected she didn’t really like him, but her voice was too neutral for me to be sure.

“Good work you did there,” he said as he shook my hand. “Us cops can always use a helping hand.” He looked me up and down, letting me know exactly how much he liked my butting into police territory.

I stifled my immediate reaction for Ranson’s sake. I didn’t need to come off as a ball-breaking man hater to her boss. I gave his words a tepid smile, and opined, “I’m sure you appreciate helping hands.”

“Sergeant.” Another cop type showed up. “Captain.”

“Lieutenant,” Ranson responded, nodding to him.

“Oh, Raul, hello. This is the girl that got that accountant to come forward,” Captain Renaud said expansively. “I’m sorry, what’s your name, honey?” he asked me.

“Michele Knight, this is Lieutenant Lafitte,” Ranson supplied the introduction.

Lafitte, making sure Captain Renaud couldn’t see, winked at me. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, giving my hand a firm shake. At least Ranson had one decent male over her. Figuratively speaking, of course.

Captain Renaud dismissed me by saying to them, “I think we’d better go say hi to the D.A. and his boys.”

“I guess you’re right,” Lafitte replied. He stepped between her and Captain Renaud, preventing him from taking her arm.

Ranson nodded at me and turned away. Lafitte gave me a quick smile and a shrug. Renaud, sensing he’d been outmaneuvered, quickly moved around to Ranson’s other side and took her arm. Lafitte put his hand on the small of her back to guide her. She looked small and confined between the two of them. Lafitte, still guiding her with his hand, leaned into her and said something that I didn’t catch. She gave his comment a slight smile. His attitude, his expression, made me realize that he was attracted to her. First I was angry, jealous perhaps, that he could look at her, touch her, and command her attention in a way that was forbidden to me. That passed as I remembered that, all things considered, I had a better chance with Ranson than he did. Not that I had much chance, but it is better to be two hundredth in line than four hundredth.

Then I heard her say, “Damn high heels,” as she stumbled. Just enough to get away from their helping hands. Ranson could take care of herself. I also noticed the edge of a scar almost hidden by her dress. It had been a number of years ago and I hadn’t paid attention to the names, but there had been a female cop, a rookie maybe, who had single-handedly captured a killer and been wounded in the battle. She had brought her man in, then collapsed and was rushed to the hospital. I wondered if it was Ranson.

I wandered out to the edge of the light, in the direction of the barn. I’ve always gotten along better with horses than with people. I decided to say hi to Ignatious Holloway’s purebreds. The barn had a few night lights on inside. I was just starting to make friends with one beautiful thoroughbred when I heard a voice that I didn’t want to hear. Karen and another woman were coming in this direction. I hastily hid my heels, then scrambled up the ladder into the hayloft.

Karen and friend entered the barn. I recognized the woman she was with. Cheryl Somebody whom I’d seen in too many bars. Lesbo trash Danny had called her, adding that she should be straight, that dykes had a bad enough name as it was. She had money, enough to buy fancy clothes and a nose job and to keep up with Karen. I didn’t want to see either of them. I hoped they got horse shit on their $400 shoes.

“Let’s do it in the hayloft,” Cheryl giggled.

“Let’s,” Karen said and they started climbing the ladder.

I ducked behind some hay bales and hoped I was well hidden in the dim light. They topped the ladder. Karen was carrying an electric lantern and Cheryl had a plastic bag containing several protruding objects. She pulled out one and displayed it proudly.

“I got the biggest one I could find,” she said. It was a long, gleaming black and green dildo. Designer, no doubt.

It was bad enough having had sex with Karen Holloway. Now I got to watch, too. Great. The only way out was either to jump fifteen feet (in an evening gown, no less) or walk past them and their bright light to the ladder. Well, I had certainly gotten the ringside seat in this monkey house.

Karen and Cheryl were ooh-ing and ah-ing and slobbering over each other. I was thinking about gagging. Then Cheryl put a plastic bag next to the bale I was hidden behind. She put the dildo on it and squirted it with lubricant. Karen started taking off Cheryl’s clothes, being pretty noisy about it. I took this opportunity to see if there was anything interesting behind me. A lot more hay, and behind the hay, some saddles and bridles that needed repair and a miscellaneous pile of horse brushes and rubdown rags. Beyond those a number of cardboard boxes. No machine gun to blast my way out.

“I get such a thrill doing this right under Granddad’s nose,” I heard Karen say. “He had a lot of nerve kicking me out of his will for being queer. I am getting married, after all.”

“Oh, yes, oh, harder, harder,” was Cheryl’s reply.