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Coyne was looking his way. She nodded into the yard and Shaw accelerated over the bridge, parked and swung down the kickstand. He got off the bike. Coyne clicked the trencher to neutral, climbed off and walked to him.

Her pretty, weather-tanned face studied him carefully. There was a hint of suspicion. “Can I help you?”

He offered one of Dorion’s cards and gave his name. “I’m working with Mayor Tolifson and a disaster response company.” He nodded to the trenches. “You heard about the levee, I see. The mayor’s issued an evacuation order.”

“I know. And that there are criminal penalties for not complying.” She had a pleasant alto voice. “I’m staying. You going to arrest me?”

“I’m not a law officer.”

“A threat like the levee? Either you run or you fight it.” A nod at the Ditch Witch. “That tell you my decision? I need a rest stop.” She shouted words in Spanish to a worker nearby. He hurried to the machine and continued trenching.

Halfway to the house, she looked over her shoulder at Colter. “You coming?”

Inside, the residence was surprising. Not the least rustic. It was filled with lace throws, overstuffed velvet furniture with carved feet on the legs, tasseled lampshades and Pre-Raphaelite paintings and old photos in ornate frames. Oriental rugs, stained glass. The smell of rose petals and cloves mixed with that of fertilizer.

Seeing his reaction, Coyne offered, “Mining town bordello chic, don’t you think?”

He couldn’t help but laugh.

She tugged off the rain slicker and hung it on a peg by the door. She left her jacket on.

Coyne looked him over. “Shaw Incident Services. Fairfax, Virginia. You’re a long way from home.”

She’d glanced only quickly at the card but managed to retain the information.

“It’s my sister’s company. I’m just helping out.”

“You live around here?”

“Family does.”

“Not you?”

“I travel a lot.”

“Be right back.” She vanished into a hallway. A few minutes later she returned. “I heard three to four feet of the levee came down. How’s the rest of it holding?”

Did the delivery of the question implicate or absolve her?

Hard to say.

“Not great. Situational erosion’s whittling it down.”

She frowned.

He explained, “Term of art. It means acute, unexpected erosion. In this case, it’s because of a sudden snowmelt about fifty miles from here.”

“ ‘Situational.’ Hm. Too long for Wordle. You know when the river will crest?”

“Probably not for a day or two.”

“Shit. Is the cavalry here?”

“In a way, yes. Army engineers. But the county and state have their hands full with Fort Pleasant.”

“I need a beer. You?”

“Not with two wheels on mud and asphalt.”