Hour Game Part 8

Sally laughed. "I'm from Arizona. I could care less about the Civil War."

"I see Savannah's home. She used to ride in compet.i.tion, didn't she?" asked King.

A slight look of annoyance crossed Sally's face. "She used to." King waited expectantly to see if Sally would put a defining exclamation point on that comment.

"She's a great rider. Not so handy with mucking, grooming and dealing with people who didn't grow up with silver spoons in their mouths." Sally suddenly looked scared as though she'd spoken out of turn.

"Not to worry, Sally," said King supportively. "I know just what you mean." He paused and added, "Does Mrs. Battle ride?"

"I've been here five years, and she hasn't saddled up once in that time." Sally leaned on her muck rake. "I saw you drive in earlier. You just visiting?"

King told her why they were there, and Sally's brow clouded as she anxiously glanced in the direction of the main house.

"I don't know anything about that," she said.

"So you were in your house with Mason and the rest the whole time, I suppose."

"Right," she said. "I go to sleep early. Have to get up at the crack of dawn."

"I'm sure. Well, if anything occurs to you, let me know." He handed her one of his business cards. She didn't even look at it.

"I don't know anything, Sean, I really don't."

"Okay. You ever see Junior Deaver around here?"

Sally hesitated and then said, "Couple times. When he was working here."

"You ever speak to him?"

"Maybe once," she said evasively.

"Well, you have a good day, Sally."

They drove off. King looked in the rearview mirror at a very nervous Sally.

"She's not telling us something," said Mich.e.l.le.

"That's right," answered King.

"Where to now?"

King pointed to a large house on the other side of the board-on-board fencing. "Two more Battles to go, and then we can call it a day," he said.

CHAPTER 18.

"SO THIS IS A CARRIAGE HOUSE,"said Mich.e.l.le as she climbed out of King's car and stared at the approximately five-thousand-square-foot red brick structure. "I always imagined them to be bigger," she added sarcastically.

"I guess it depends on the size of your carriage." King glanced at the late-model silver Volvo station wagon parked in the motor court. "That's Eddie's car."

"Let me guess, you're clairvoyant?"

"No, but I see a Confederate soldier's uniform and a painting easel in the back."

Eddie Battle answered the door and ushered them in. He was a big man, at least six-two and packing over 220 very muscular pounds. He had unruly thick dark hair and striking blue eyes, and his features were strong and weathered by the elements. The hair came from his father; his mouth and eyes came straight from his mother, Mich.e.l.le observed. However, there was nothing of her sternness and cold reserve about him; indeed, his boyish manner was ingratiating. He reminded her of a handsome, albeit older, California surfer dude.

He shook their hands and sat them down in the living room. His heavily muscled and thickly veined forearms were spotted with paint, and he was wearing what appeared to be cavalry boots with his faded jeans tucked inside them. His white work s.h.i.+rt had several holes in it and numerous paint stains; he was also unshaven. He seemed the ant.i.thesis of a rich man's son.

He chuckled when he noted Mich.e.l.le staring at his footwear. "I was killed last week during an ill-advised charge against a fortified Union position in Maryland. I wanted to die with my boots on, and I can't seem to muster the energy to take them off. Poor Dorothea is growing very annoyed with me, I'm afraid."

Mich.e.l.le smiled and King said, "You're probably wondering why we're here."

"Nope. My mother called a few minutes ago. She filled me in. I'm afraid I can't tell you much. We were gone when the burglary happened. Dorothea was at a Realtor's convention in Richmond. And I fought in a fierce two-day reenactment in Appomattox and then drove straight over to Tennessee to catch the early morning light over the Smoky Mountains. I was painting a landscape," he explained.

"Sounds pretty exhausting," said Mich.e.l.le.

"Not really. I get to ride around on horses and play pretend soldier and cover myself in paint. I'm a little boy who never had to grow up. I think it pains my parents to see what's become of me, but I'm a good artist, though I'll never be a great one. And on weekends I play soldier. I'm privileged and lucky and I know that. And because of that, I try to be modest and self-deprecating. Actually, I have a lot to be modest and self-deprecating about." He smiled again and showed teeth so perfect in shape and color that Mich.e.l.le concluded they were all capped.

"You're certainly frank about yourself," she said.

"Look, I'm the son of fabulously wealthy parents, and I've never really had to work for a living. I don't put on airs, and what I do I do as well as I can. However, I know that's not why you're here. So go ahead with your questions."

"Had you ever seen Junior Deaver around here?" asked King.

"Sure, he did a lot of work for my parents. Junior's also done work for me and Dorothea, and we never had a bit of trouble with him. That's why I can't understand the burglary. He was making good money off the family, but maybe not good enough. I understand there's a lot of evidence tying Junior to the crime."

"Maybe too much," answered King.

Eddie looked at him thoughtfully. "I see what you mean. I guess I haven't given the matter a lot of attention. We've been pretty preoccupied with family issues lately."

"Right. We were sorry to hear about your father."

"It's funny. I always thought he'd outlive all of us. Mind you, he still might. The man's used to getting his way."

There was a pause before King said, "This question might seem a little awkward, but I have to ask it."

"Well, I guess the whole situation is a little awkward, so fire away."

"Apparently, your father had a secret drawer in his closet that things were taken from. Your mother didn't know about the drawer and thus didn't know what might have been in it. Did you know about any of that?"

"No. As far as I knew, my parents didn't have any secrets from each other."

"Yet they kept separate bedrooms?" said Mich.e.l.le abruptly.

Eddie's sunny smile faded. "That's their business. It didn't mean they didn't sleep together or didn't love each other. Dad smoked cigars and liked his room a certain way. Mom can't breathe around cigars and she likes her things a certain way. It's a big house, and they can do anything they d.a.m.n well please in it."

King looked apologetic. "I told you it was awkward."

Eddie looked ready to bark at them again but then seemingly mastered this impulse. "I didn't know about any secret drawer Dad had. But I'm not his confidant."

"Does he have a confidant like that? Maybe Savannah?"

"Savannah? No, I'd cross off my little sister as a potential inside information source."

"I guess she'd been away at college," prompted Mich.e.l.le.

"She's been away all right and it started long before college."

"I take it you two aren't that close," said Mich.e.l.le.

Eddie shrugged. "It's no one's fault, really. I'm nearly twice her age and we have nothing in common.I was in college when she was born." was in college when she was born."

"Your mother mentioned to us what happened to you back then," said King.

Eddie spoke slowly. "I don't remember much about it, to tell the truth. I'd never even seen the person who kidnapped me until they showed me his body." He blew out a long breath. "I was really, really lucky. My mother and father were so happy when I got back they conceived Savannah. At least that's the official family anecdote."

"Your mother said Chip Bailey became a good friend."

"He saved my life. How do you ever repay that?"

King glanced at Mich.e.l.le. "I know what you mean."

They heard a car driving up, and it screeched to a stop near the front door.

"That would be Dorothea. She doesn't like to waste time getting places," said Eddie.

Mich.e.l.le glanced out the window and saw the big black Beemer. The woman who got out of the car was dressed in a tight, short black skirt with black shoes and black stockings, and her wavy hair color matched that ensemble. She took off her sungla.s.ses, glanced sharply at King's car and then headed to the door.

Dorothea strode into the room in a pale-if jet-black-imitation of Remmy Battle, it seemed to Mich.e.l.le. And then she wondered if the younger woman had consciously patterned herself after her mother-in-law in that regard. Fas.h.i.+onably thin with curvy hips, a round firm bottom and slender, s.e.xy legs, the woman possessed a disproportionately large bosom that had doubtless seen professional work. Her mouth was a little too wide for her face and the lipstick a little too red for her pale complexion. The eyes were a dull green but shrewd-looking.

Greetings and introductions were made all around, and then Dorothea drew out a cigarette and lit it while Eddie explained why King and Mich.e.l.le were there.

She said, "I'm afraid I can't help you, Sean." Dorothea kept her focus on him and seemed to make a point of ignoring Mich.e.l.le. "I was out of town when it happened."

"Right. Either everyone was gone or no one who was here seemed to notice anything," said Mich.e.l.le, baiting the woman on purpose.

The dull green eyes s.h.i.+fted slowly toward her. "I'm sorry if the family and its hired help didn't work their collective schedules around Junior Deaver's felonious pursuits," she said in an icy and condescending tone. If she closed her eyes, Mich.e.l.le would have sworn it was Remmy Battle speaking. Before Mich.e.l.le could return fire, Dorothea looked back at King. "I think you're hunting the wrong fox here."

"Just trying to make sure an innocent man isn't sent to prison."

"Again, I think you're wasting your time," she shot back.

King rose. "Well, I certainly won't waste any more of yours," he said pleasantly.

As they left, Mich.e.l.le and King heard raised voices behind them.

Mich.e.l.le looked at her partner. "I bet Battle holiday get-togethers are just a hoot."

"I hope I never find out for sure."

"So now we call it a day?" asked Mich.e.l.le.

"No, I lied. Next up is Lulu Oxley," replied King.

CHAPTER 19.

KING AND MICh.e.l.lE PULLED UPin front of a double-wide trailer set on a permanent cinder-block foundation at the end of a gravel drive. Electrical and phone lines running to the trailer were the only signs of a connection to the outside world. Scraggly pines and stunted wild mountain laurel formed a weary backdrop to the very modest home of Junior Deaver and Lulu Oxley. An ancient, rusted Ford LTD with a cracked vinyl top, an ashtray full of b.u.t.ts and an empty quart of Beefeater on the front seat and sporting dirty West Virginia plates sat in front of the trailer like a cheap sentinel.

As they climbed out of the Lexus, however, Mich.e.l.le noted that flower boxes lined the windows of the trailer and more pots covered with brilliant spring blooms sat on the wooden steps leading up to the front door. The trailer itself looked old, but the exterior was clean and in good repair.

King glanced at the sky.

"What are you looking for?"

"Tornadoes. The only time I got caught in one I was in a trailer in Kansas. There wasn't a single blade of gra.s.s disturbed in the whole area, but that twister picked that trailer up and deposited it somewhere in Missouri. Luckily, I got out before the ride started. The guy I had gone to question about a counterfeiting ring chose to stick it out. They found him in a cornfield ten miles away."

King didn't head to the front door; instead, he went around to the side of the trailer. Directly behind the double-wide about forty feet back and enclosed on three sides by leafy trees was a large wooden shed. It had no door, and inside they could see walls lined with tools and a large air generator on the floor. As they approached the structure, an unkempt dog, ribs showing, lumbered out of the shed, saw them and commenced barking and baring its yellowed teeth. Luckily, the animal appeared to be chained to a deeply set stake.

"Okay, enough snooping around," King declared.

As he and Mich.e.l.le mounted the steps to the trailer, a heavyset woman appeared behind the screened front door.

The woman's hair was big and black with silver streaks. Her dress resembled a purple sandwich board glued over her immense, square-cut frame, and her face was composed of doughy cheeks, three chins, small lips and closely set eyes. The skin was pale and virtually unwrinkled. Except for the hair color, it would have been difficult to guess her exact age.

"Ms. Oxley?" said King with his hand out in greeting. She didn't take it.

"Who the h.e.l.l wants to know?"

"I'm Sean King and this is Mich.e.l.le Maxwell. We've been hired by Harry Carrick to handle an investigation on behalf of your husband."

"That'd be quite a feat considering my husband's been dead for years," was her surprising reply. "You must be wanting my daughter, Lulu. I'm Priscilla."

"I'm sorry, Priscilla," said King, glancing at Mich.e.l.le.

"She's gone to get him. Get Junior, I mean." She took a sip of something in a Disney World coffee mug she was holding.

"I thought he was in jail," said Mich.e.l.le.