“A motor.”
“Where? In the woods?”
“In the sky. I think it was a helicopter.”
Hickey said nothing for a few moments. Then, “It’s probably the Forest Service. You just heard it once?”
“No. Back and forth, like a buzzard circling.”
“Is that right. Well… you remember the backup plan we talked about?”
Huey reached down and picked a roly-poly from the dirt below the bottom step, delighting in the way its gray segmented body curled up in the palm of his hand. “I remember.”
“It’s time to start thinking about that.”
He felt a twinge of fear. “Right this red-hot minute?”
“Not quite. But you be ready. I’ll call you.”
“Okay.”
“How’s the kid?”
“She’s nice. Real nice.”
“That’s not what I mean. Is she still asleep?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Maybe you better wake her up.”
“Okay.” Huey heard the gurgling sound of the commode from inside. “She already woke up.”
“Okay. I’ll call you soon. Stay ready. And keep listening for that helicopter.”
“I will. Are there bad people up in the sky?”
“Nobody to worry about. You just get ready.”
“Okay.” Huey hit END, then set the roly-poly carefully on the ground and stood to the accompaniment of creaking steps and knee cartilage. When he turned, he saw Abby standing in the cabin door. Her face was pale, her eyes crusted with sleep.
“I don’t feel good,” she said.
Huey’s face felt hot. “What’s the matter?”
“My head hurts. And my tootie feels funny.”
Confusion and fear blurred his vision. “Your what?”
“Where I tee-tee. It feels funny. Something’s not right.”
“What should we do?”
“I need my mom. I think I need my shot.”
Huey cringed at the memory of last night’s terrifying injection scene. “Soon,” he promised. “It won’t be long now.”
SIXTEEN
Karen stood in the kitchen with the cordless phone in her hand, listening to “hold” music that sounded like George Winston on sleeping pills. She was dressed in a navy Liz Claiborne skirt suit with a cream blouse, and her face was made up to cover the bruises she’d sustained during the night. At Hickey’s insistence, she had even curled her hair. She had the feeling he was molding her to fit some ridiculous idea he had of the suburban yuppie wife. But no makeup was going to hide the hunted look in her eyes.
“Still on hold?” Hickey asked. He was sitting at the kitchen table, his sutured leg propped on its tile surface.
“Gray’s getting something from his car.”
Gray Davidson was one of the founding partners of Klein Davidson, an independent brokerage firm that handled most of the money in the wealthy suburbs north of Jackson. Karen and Will went to parties at Davidson’s home two or three times a year.
“You’re not going to listen in?” she asked.
Hickey shook his head. “Just stick to the script.”
“Karen?” said a male voice. “It’s Gray. Sorry you had to wait.”
“That’s all right. I know it’s early. Did you get a call from Will a few minutes ago?”
“Did I ever. Two hundred grand for a sculpture. That’s kind of steep, even for Will.”
“It’s a very important piece. But I should have gone to that convention with him. I’d have kept him at the outlet mall, instead of on his little art hunts.”
When Davidson spoke again, his voice changed subtly. “Do you feel all right with this, Karen?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it seems odd, is all. I don’t like that this guy selling the sculpture is in such a hurry for his money. Will says it’s a competitive bidding situation. A New York art dealer discovered the piece three days ago in a workshop at an estate sale. He doesn’t think Walter Anderson is any great shakes, so he took Will’s bid, but he claims he’s flying back to New York today and he wants cash.”
“That sounds like an art dealer.”
“But why can’t we just wire the money to his account? Why does he want cash?”
“Art dealers are crazy, Gray. They carry sacks of cash all over the place. Didn’t you know that?”
“All I know is that most of them are gay and all of them are crooked. There’s something else. Three weeks ago, Will got nervous about the market. He sold some stock and transferred the money to various banks. He put a hundred and fifty thousand into Magnolia Federal. He could go to any branch in the state and withdraw most of the two hundred thousand he needs. Including Biloxi.”
Karen faltered for a moment, confused. Will hadn’t mentioned anything about this. “Did you tell him that?”
“Yes. He said he put the money into CDs, so there would be penalties for an early cashout. He’s got two hundred thousand liquid here in his tax-free instruments trust account. No penalty for spending that.”
“I’m sure that’s it.”
“I guess so.” Davidson waited for her to say something more. When she didn’t, he said, “I guess I just hate seeing that much money leave my computer in a single morning.”
She forced herself to laugh. “Now, that I believe. I’ll be down to sign for it in half an hour.”
“Look forward to seeing you. You bringing Abby?”
She closed her eyes. Davidson was a world-class schmoozer; he knew the names of every child of every client, and it showed in his company’s annual profits.
“Abby’s with Will’s mother today, in the Delta.”
“I know she loves that. Sorry I’ll miss her. Come on down.”
“Bye.” Karen hung up.
Hickey’s chair creaked as he slid his leg off the table. “What was that part in the middle?”
“What?”
“When you said, ‘What do you mean?’”
“He asked if I was all right with Will spending that much money.”
“But then you said, ‘Did you tell him that?’”
For some reason, Karen didn’t want to mention the money in Magnolia Federal. “He said it was odd, the seller wanting cash.”
“Then you said, ‘I’m sure that’s it.’ What was that?”
When she hesitated, Hickey stepped forward and took hold of her arm. “What was it?”
“He said the guy was probably only going to report half the sale price to the IRS. That’s why he wanted cash.”
Hickey stared coldly at her as he analyzed her explanation. The levity he’d displayed before was gone. She suddenly wished she had Will’s pistol, but Hickey was wearing it in the small of his back.
“Get your purse,” he said.
She took her purse from the counter, then opened the refrigerator.
