She stepped over the handle of the Garden Weasel and around her aunt, pulling her hand free of the older woman's grasp and heading back down the brick path toward the house. Caroline heaved a sigh and shook her head, torn between disgust and admiration. Laurel had inherited the Chandler determination, also known in moments such as this as the Chandler pigheadedness. If only Jeff had lived to see it. But then, Caroline admitted bitterly, if her brother had lived, they may well not have been in this mess. If Laurel 's father hadn't been killed, then the terrible course of events that had followed his death would never have been set in motion, and Laurel and Savannah would in all likelihood have become very different from the women they were today.

" Laurel," she said firmly, the heels of her beige pumps clicking purposefully against the worn brick of the path as she hurried to catch up. "It's more important that you eat something."

"Not to me."

"Oh, for-" Caroline bit off the remark, struggling to rein in her temper. She had more than a little of the Chandler determination herself. She had to fight herself to keep from wielding it like a club.

Laurel stepped up on the veranda, scooping a towel off the white wrought-iron table to wipe her hands. Mama Pearl huffed and puffed beside the French doors, wringing her plump hands, her light eyes bright with worry.

"Miz Caroline right," she said. "You needs to eat, chile. Come in, sit down, you. We got gumbo for supper."

"I'm not hungry. Thanks anyway, Mama Pearl." She settled her glasses in place and combed her dark hair back with her fingers, then sent the old woman a winning smile as adrenaline rushed through her. The anticipated thrill of battle. "I've got to go find the hound dog that owns that hound dog and get us some justice."

"Dat Jack Boudreaux's dog, him," Mama Pearl said, her fleshy face creasing into folds of disapproval. "He's mebbe anyplace, but he's most likely down to Frenchie's Landing, and you don' need dat kinda trouble, I'm tellin' you, chère."