"Like this?"

They all turned. Wash held up a Charleston street scene in watercolor.

She smiled. "Like that, yes. But the one in your hands is nothing special, I'm afraid."

"The Fraser is?" Logan asked.

"Oh yes," she said, her eyes troubled. "And no, I don't think it's here."

"So that's it." Mr. Davidson wiped his hands on his pant leg.

"I'll give the police a call."

He left the room with a sense of determination, a man never happy without a specific task to perform.

Logan watched him go with a twinge of admiration, then turned to his wife. "Could you tell me something more about the missing painting?"

"I can do better than that," she said. "I'll show you."

Logan and Wash exchanged a baffled look. They went back into the dining room, then through an alcove into a large family room at the back of the house. Robin Hood hadn't made it this far. The room seemed eerily pristine. Through the windows, Logan noticed a lap pool sparkling in the sun, hedged in with slate. Beyond that, a stone fountain-the source of the splashing he'd heard through the bushes earlier.

Mrs. Davidson retrieved an oversized book from the coffee table, handing it to Logan. "The page is marked."

He opened the volume to the indicated section. To his eyes, the little landscape reproduced on the glossy page was no big deal.

The same kind of thing graced the postcard rack of many a tourist trap. But he was no connoisseur of art. He nodded at the picture in what he hoped looked like critical appreciation.

"Could I borrow this?" he asked.

"Not that copy," she replied, winging it lightly out of his grasp. "It's inscribed. But you can get one at the Historic Foundation bookstore." She returned the book to its place of honor. "Come to think of it, they have a number of titles that might prove beneficial. For your general information."

His phone vibrated. It was a text from Lacey.

Bail hearing in thirty.

He handed Mrs. Davidson one of his cards. "Thank you so much for your time. And one last thing . . . Is Toro all right?"

She smiled. "He's fine. He was in his crate when all this happened. Rylee must have put him in it last night when she walked him."

He hesitated, surprised she spoke about Rylee with affection. Maybe she didn't believe Rylee did this any more than he did.

He'd planned to feel her out at the end of the interview, but he didn't want to be rushed. And right now, he needed to get to the bail hearing.

Later, though. He'd definitely follow up later.

After the long hours of isolation, the packed courtroom was at first a pleasant change. The hum of conversation, the quiet roar of the twittering crowd. It was a relief not to be alone.

Then she registered all the cameras and grew conscious again of her manacles, her cutoffs. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She kept her eyes on the ground.

She passed down the aisle, a bailiff guiding her by the arm. The photographers in attendance called her name. "Rylee, this way. . . .

Look over here, Rylee. . . . Give us a smile, Rylee. . . . Rylee, did you do it . . . ? How do you feel?"

She was pelted by words the way a bride is with rice, only she was heading to the seat of judgment, not to a happily ever after.

"Rylee."

One voice among the many registered. She turned to her left, and there was Logan, half standing in a chair on the aisle, his hand extended. The bailiff moved between them, leading her toward the defense table. She couldn't reach out to him except with her eyes.

When the cuffs were removed and she was seated, she turned in her chair to look at him. He smiled uncertainly, his balled fist telling her to stay strong. He mouthed words that she couldn't make out but that comforted her anyway.

"All rise," the bailiff said.

Everyone stood. She faced the black-robed judge, the man who would decide her immediate fate.

Five minutes had barely passed when the surreal charges- grand larceny and criminal trespass-ended with a very concrete number indeed. Setting bail at fifty thousand dollars, the judge gaveled the hearing to a conclusion, setting off a chain reaction of flash photography in the gallery.

She remained still in the sea of reaction, stunned by the number.

Karl leaned close, his eyes holding none of the warmth she'd been accustomed to receiving from him. "A bail bondsman will require ten percent. Do you have five thousand dollars, Rylee?"

She stared so hard her eyes burned. She had it, but that money was for Nonie's bills. Money she couldn't afford to squander. She bit her cheeks to hold the tears at bay. She'd have to stay in jail until her trial. She had no other choice.

"I don't," she whispered.

The bailiffs moved to escort her out. She stood, trying to hold herself together long enough to exit the room. Just before she passed through the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder. Logan stood in the front row, gripping the railing. Their eyes met.

Don't worry, he mouthed.

The bailiff nudged her across the threshold. The door slammed firmly behind her.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

Five grand. The figure took Logan aback. No way would Rylee have money like that at her fingertips. At his salary, given his spending habits, he didn't, either.

But his father did. All he'd have to do was work up the nerve to ask.

He wove his way through the departing crowd, turning his phone on once he reached the courthouse steps.

After a half-dozen rings, his mom finally picked up. "Hi, sweetheart. I have some brisket marinating. You wanna come over for dinner?"

He glanced at his watch. "Dinner? Actually, brisket sounds really good, but I have plans tonight. Can I take a rain check?"

"Of course. You are still coming to church, though, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. "Eighth row from the front. I'll be there. But, hey, is Dad around?"

"He's right here grabbing for the phone. Hang on."

"Son? I was just watching the local news. They're saying they caught the Robin Hood burglar and it's a woman."

"They've charged a woman, yes. But she didn't do it." He unlocked his car and slipped into the seat.

"How do you know?"

He took a deep breath. "I was with her."

"The Robin Hood burglar!"

"Like I told you, she didn't do it."

He heard a door open and close. He pictured his dad moving to his outside sanctuary on the deck. The place he went when he didn't want to be overheard.

"You'd better start from the beginning," he said.

Driving out to his folks' place on James Island, Logan told the whole story, from his scamper up the Confederate Memorial to the scene outside the Davidson house this morning and the court hearing. He didn't gloss over the fact that he'd spent the night outside Rylee's apartment, but he didn't go into details, either. By the time he finished, he was on the island and only a few minutes from the house.

"You slept with this girl in your car?"

"You're missing the big picture," Logan said. "And anyway, we were just sleeping."

"What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how that's gonna look to people?"

"I know how it looks, but you believe me, don't you?"

A pause. "Of course I do. But it's not me you're going to have to convince." He could imagine his dad on the deck, peering through the glass doors into the kitchen, where his mom was busy preparing dinner. Always a mind reader, Dad added, "I don't just mean your mother, either. Are you gonna go in front of a judge and say, 'Your Honor, she was with me, but don't worry-nothing happened'?"

"At the time, I wasn't expecting to be her alibi."

"No," Dad said. "It's funny how private things have a way of not staying private."

Logan pulled into the driveway and killed the ignition. He cut around the side of the house, letting himself through the gate. He found his dad sitting in one of the teak outdoor chairs, the portable phone still in his hand.

"Have a seat," he said.

Settling in, Logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. "Here's the thing, Dad. About this girl. She's . . . special. Forget about the burglaries, the police, the story, whatever. There's something about her. . . ."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Just that . . ." He struggled for the right words. "I like her, Dad. Only it's a lot more than liking. She's beautiful, yes, but she's more than that. There's a depth to her. The way she cares about people-"

Dad's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying you think she might be the one?"

"I don't know what I'm saying. But yeah, I think there's a chance she is."

"Even if she's mixed up in this Robin Hood case? Because you don't know with one hundred percent certainty that she didn't do it. If what you said is true, she could have left you in the car and had plenty of time to break into that house."

He shook his head. "I do know. I just can't prove it."

It was a lot for Dad to take on board all at once. He pinched the bridge of his nose in thought. "Do you think . . . Son, is there any way this girl could be manipulating you? Using you to hide her involvement, I mean? The way she made a point of bringing you to the house last night, maybe she wanted you to be her alibi."

"If you knew her, you wouldn't be saying that."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"The thing is . . ." Rubbing his hands on his jeans, Logan took a deep breath. "I need some money, Dad."

His eyebrows shot up. "Money?"

"Yeah. About five thousand dollars."

"That's a mighty big chunk a change." Dad templed his fingers over his belly, fixing Logan with a skeptical gaze. "Can I ask what it's for?"

"Bail."

The splash of the water feature over Logan's shoulder underscored the awkward silence between the father and son.

"Why you?" Dad asked finally. "I know you like her, but paying her bail? In my day we never did that kind of thing after only one date." He frowned. "Seriously, why isn't her family bailing her out?"

"She's an orphan. Her only relation is her grandmother, who's not all there mentally. She lives at Bishop Gadsden. Neither of them have money."

"That's a pretty pricey place."

He looked down at his shoes. "That's where all her money goes, I think. She lives out on Fleming Street, Dad."

His father studied him. "And your editor? How's she gonna feel about you getting involved in the story like this? I thought there were rules about that sort of thing."

Standing, Logan walked to the edge of the deck. "Please, Dad.

I'll pay you back."

After a long moment, his dad stood. "Let me get online and move some money around, then I'll write you a check."

Logan slid his eyes shut. "Thank you." .

Logan parked on Chalmers Street, then rounded the corner on foot, heading for the People's Building, the city's original skyscraper dating from the early 1900s. The first building in town with an elevator. All office space and high-priced condos now.

He'd browsed in the ground floor of Martin Gallery before but never ascended higher to the mezzanine level, where the offices of Sebastian, Lynch, & Orton llp were located.

In the lobby, he looked at the check again. Since he couldn't be sure of finding a bank open, he'd asked his dad to make it out directly to the firm. He took the stairs, hoping Karl would be there.