I drove back into New Orleans and eventually I wheeled into the Blue Skies Motel, pulled up and parked by room 113. Before I approached the room, I fitted a dog harness with a backpack on Lulu. It was empty but it made Lu know there might be work to be done. I cranked down all the windows for her, then told her to sit-stay in the car. Soon I was knocking on 113. The door swung open and a very tall, beautiful black woman in baggy shorts and a tiny T-shirt that showed off her pierced belly button looked at me. I cleared my throat, and put a sneaker in the door. The woman said. “Thought you was clean towels.” “What the hail’s goin’ on out there,” called a man’s voice and Cade Pritchard emerged from the bathroom, towel around his waist, another drying his hair. I called over the lady’s shoulder, “Mr. Pritchard?” He stopped toweling. “Who’re yew?” “Bryn Wiley, pleased to meet you.” I entered the room and stuck out a hand. He viewed me with apprehension. He didn’t take the offered hand.
