Excerpt from November Road by Lou Berney, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

If the cops hooked Carlos's sharpshooter and connected him to the Eldorado, they'd be able to connect the Eldorado to Guidry. Guidry had picked up the car from a supermarket parking lot in the colored part of Dallas. Door left unlocked for him, keys under the visor. Guidry's prints weren't on the car—he wasn't stupid, he'd worn his driving gloves—but someone might remember him. A sky-blue Cadillac Eldorado, a white man in the colored part of town. Someone would remember him.

Because this wasn't just another ho-hum murder, some shoe-leather wiseguy popped in a back alley, the detectives and the prosecutor already snug in Carlos's pocket. This was the president of the United States. Bobby Kennedy and the FBI wouldn't stop until they'd turned over every goddamn rock.

A sticky drizzle blew away, and the sun poked through the clouds. Seraphine stood next to the statue of Old Hickory. The horse rearing, Andrew Jackson tipping his hat. The shadow from the statue split Seraphine in half. She smiled up at Guidry, one eye bright and liquid and playful, the other a dark green stone.

He wanted to grab her and shove her up against the base of the statue and demand to know why she'd stuck him right in the middle of this, the crime of the century. Instead, wisely, he smiled back. With Seraphine you had to proceed with caution, or else you didn't proceed for long.

"Hello, little boy," she said. "The forest is dark and the wolves howl. Hold my hand and I'll help you find your way home."

"I'll take my chances with the wolves, thanks," Guidry said.

She pouted. Is that what you think of me? And then she laughed. Of course it was what he thought of her. Guidry would be a fool if he didn't.

"I adore autumn," she said. "Don't you? The air so crisp. The scent of melancholy. Autumn tells us the truth about the world."

You wouldn't call Seraphine pretty. Regal. With a high, broad forehead and a dramatic arch to her nose, dark hair marcelled and parted on the side. Skin just a shade darker than Guidry's own. Anywhere but New Orleans, she might have passed for white.

She dressed as primly as a schoolteacher. Today she wore a mohair sweater set and a slim-fitting skirt, pristine white gloves. Her own private joke, maybe. She always seemed to be smiling at one.

"Cut the bullshit," Guidry said. With the right smile, he could say things like that to her. To Carlos, even.

She smiled and smoked. One of the skeletal carriage horses on Decatur Street whinnied, shrill and disconsolate, almost a scream. A sound you wanted to forget the minute you heard it.

"So you've seen the news about the president," she said.

"Imagine my alarm," he said.

"Don't worry, mon cher. Come, I'll buy you a drink."

"Just one?"

"Come."

They walked over to Chartres. The Napoleon House didn't open for another hour. The bartender let them in, poured their drinks, disappeared.

"Goddamn it, Seraphine," Guidry said.

"I understand your concern," she said. "I hope you're planning to visit me in prison."

"Don't worry."

"Say it again and maybe I'll start to believe you."

She flicked the ash from her cigarette with a languid sweep of a gloved hand.

"My father used to work here," she said. "Did you know? Mopping the floors, cleaning the toilets. When I was a little girl, he brought me with him occasionally. Do you see those?"

The walls of the Napoleon House hadn't been replastered in a century, and every one of the antique oil portraits hung just a little bit crooked. Mean, haughty faces, glaring down from the shadows.

"When I was a little girl," she said, "I was convinced that the people in the paintings were watching me. Waiting until I blinked so that they could pounce."

Excerpted from November Road by Lou Berney. Copyright © 2018 by Lou Berney. Excerpted by permission of William Morrow. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.