She knew because she had once snuck in there as a girl. A headstrong child, she had taken exception to being denied the chance to go in with her grandfather and had stowed away inside his bass boat under a canvas tarp. Her vocabulary had gained a number of choice words that day that their housekeeper had later attempted to wash out of her mouth with soap.

“I need to find my grandfather, Mr. Gauthier,” she said. “Apparently he’s gone out to his fish camp. I need someone to take me to him.”

Lawrence looked at her, narrowing his eyes. Finally he shook a gnarled finger at her. “Hey, you dat Sheridan girl what left to be a doctor, no?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, yeah! Mais yeah!” He chuckled, tickled with his powers of recollection. “You lookin’ for Big Giff”

“Yes, but I need someone to take me. I need a guide.”

He shook his head, still smiling at her as if she were a dear but infinitely dimwitted child. “Non, cherie, all what fishin’ guides we got ‘round here is gone busy now till Monday. Lotta sports coming down to fish these days. ‘Sides, ain’t nobody crazy ‘nough go out to Giffs. Go out there, get their head shot off, them!”

He sucked on his little cigarette, holding it between thumb and forefinger in an unconsciously European fashion. Half of it was gone before he exhaled. He reached out with his free hand and patted Serena’s cheek. “Ah, ma jolie fille, ain’t nobody crazy ‘nough to go out to Big Giffs.”

As he said it, a loud bang sounded in the shop behind him, followed by a virulent French oath. Lawrence went still with his hand halfway to a tin ashtray on the counter, an unholy light coming into his eyes, a little smile tugging at a corner of his mouth. “Well, mebbe there’s somebody. Jes’ how bad you wanna go, chere?”