Sunset Limited by James Lee Burke

myself, only green flies buzzing in the shade, and the earth was hardpan and probably poisoned by herbicides that had been spilled on the ground.) Wild rain trees, bursting with bloodred flowers, stood in the field, and the blackberries on the bushes were fat and moist with their own juices when I touched them. I wondered at the degree of innocence that allowed us to think of Golgotha as an incident trapped inside history. I wiped the sweat off my face with a handkerchief and unbuttoned my shirt and stepped out of the shade into the wind, but it brought no relief from the heat.
    I drove back up the bayou to the Terrebonne home and turned into the brick drive and parked by the carriage house. Lila was ebullient, her milky green eyes free of any remorse or memory of pulling a gun in a bar and being handcuffed to a bed in Iberia General Hospital. But like all people who are driven by a self-centered fear, she talked constantly, controlling the environment around her with words, filling in any silent space that might allow someone to ask the wrong question.
    Her father, Archer Terrebonne, was another matter. He had the same eyes as his daughter, and the same white-gold hair, but there was no lack of confidence in either his laconic speech or the way he folded his arms across his narrow chest while he held a glass of shaved ice and bourbon and sliced oranges. In fact, his money gave him the kind of confidence that overrode any unpleasant reflection he might see in a mirror or the eyes of others. When you dealt with Archer Terrebonne, you simply accepted the fact that his gaze was too direct and personal, his skin too pale for the season, his mouth too red, his presence too close, as though there were a chemical defect in his physiology that he wore as an ornament and imposed upon others.
    We stood under an awning on the back terrace. The sunlight was blinding on the surface of the swimming pool. In the distance a black groundskeeper was using an air blower to scud leaves off the tennis courts.
    “You won’t come inside?” Archer said. He glanced at his watch, then looked at a bird in a tree. The ring finger of his left hand was missing, sawed off neatly at the palm, so that the empty space looked like a missing key on a piano.
    “Thanks, anyway. I just wanted to see that Lila was all right.”
    “Really? Well, that was good of you.”
    I noticed his use of the past tense, as though my visit had already ended.
    “There’re no charges, but messing with guns in barrooms usually has another conclusion,” I said.
    “We’ve already covered this territory with other people, sir,” he said.
    “I don’t think quite enough,” I said.
    “Is that right?” he replied.
    Our eyes locked on each other’s.
    “Dave’s just being an old friend, Daddy,” Lila said.
    “I’m sure he is. Let me walk you to your cruiser, Mr. Robicheaux.”
    ” Daddy , I mean it, Dave’s always worrying about his AA friends,” she said.
    “You’re not in that organization. So he doesn’t need to worry, does he?”
    I felt his hand cup me lightly on the arm. But I said goodbye to Lila and didn’t resist. I walked with him around the shady side of the house, past a garden planted with mint and heart-shaped caladiums.
    “Is there something you want to tell me, sir?” he asked. He took a swallow from his bourbon glass and I could feel the coldness of the ice on his breath.
    “A female detective saved your daughter from a resisting arrest charge,” I said.
    “Yes?”
    “She thinks Lila has been sexually molested or violated in some way.”
    His right eye twitched at the corner, as though an insect had momentarily flown into his vision.
    “I’m sure y’all have many theories about human behavior that most of us wouldn’t understand. We appreciate your good intentions. However, I see no need for you to come back,” he said.
    “Don’t count on it, sir.”
    He wagged his finger back and forth, then walked casually toward the rear of the