28.
THAT SAME DAY, THE FIFTH of November, 2017, River Oaks, Houston, the sun was about to slip below the horizon, but cool air remained from the passage of the recent front. It was the last place on earth Lyn wanted to be, standing in the entry foyer of the Baines mansion, a ridiculously elegant space, with its adjacent long, winding, semicircled marble staircases bordered by tapestries and lighted by an enormous chandelier. A formal living room was to the left, where politicians and lawyers rubbed elbows, clinked together their stemware, watched bubbles in champagne flutes, and slapped backs. Lyn had been there several times, and she could slap backs with the best of them, slide her pumps over the oriental carpets next to their wingtips, and listen, with a neutral smile, to jokes about t
