“We’re on,” Joe said.
“Let’s get this son of a bitch,” Pi said, her eyes dancing.
Joe sat down, filled with sudden doubt. It had taken him over an hour to convince Tassell to try this, and the sheriff had reluctantly agreed, but only after talking with the county attorney. Tassell was concerned that Pi and Birdy’s animal rights agenda was so vehement that they would do or say anything to implicate their target. Every word that was said, every inference, would be recorded on audioand videotape to be scrutinized by lawyers and judges in what could be a hostile court. Looking at the glee in Pi’s face, Joe wasn’t so sure the sheriff wasn’t right.
Joe sat at the counter across from Pi and Birdy while Pi arranged the speaker phone in front of them. His assignment was to coach them through the phone call if necessary, and to warn them if they got into dangerous territory. Joe handed her the business card he had received a couple of weeks before, the one that read: “Welcome to town. I worked with Will. I’ll be in touch.”
As she punched the buttons, Joe turned to Tassell, his deputy, the Radio Shack owner, and Trey, and placed his finger to his lips. They all nodded back.
After three rings, a receptionist answered, “Beargrass Village.”
“May I speak to Don Ennis, please?” Pi said.
“Who may I ask is calling?”
“Pi Stevenson and Birdy Richards,” she said, looking up at Joe and smiling. “It’s extremely important.”
“Hold, please.” There was a click and the silence was filled with soft classical music.
Joe turned and raised his eyebrows at the Radio Shack owner and the deputy, who both wore headphones. Both men turned thumbs up. The recording equipment was working.
“Come on the line, you bastard,” Pi said, curling her lip.
Joe shushed her.
“He’s an asshole,” she said. “What if he doesn’t take our call?”
Joe shrugged and gestured toward the phone. He didn’t want to get into a discussion with her that could be overheard if the receptionist suddenly came back on the line.
“He’s probably sitting in his lounge chair eating raw flesh,” Pi said, and Birdy giggled.
Joe looked at them both with exasperation.
But when the receptionist picked up, Pi was all business.
“Mr. Ennis suffered a traumatic event today and he’s resting,” the receptionist said. “May I please take your name, number, and a message so he can call you back?”
Joe saw a spark in Pi’s eyes as she said, “I suggest you wake him up. This call concerns the traumatic event. Again, it’s extremely important that we talk to him.”
Uhoh, Joe thought, trying to catch her eye. Don’t go any further with it.
The receptionist hesitated. Joe could almost see her trying to figure out what to do.
“This is something Mr. Ennis will want to hear himself,”
Pi said. When she finally looked up, Joe motioned to her to back off. She smiled and dismissed Joe with a “don’t worry” look.
“Please hold,” the receptionist said, and the music came back.
Tassell had crossed the room and was hovering behind Joe.
“I know,” Joe whispered to him. His stomach was knotting up, and Pi said frivolously, “I think we’ve got the hook in the bastard’s mouth. Now he’ll know what fish feel like.”
“Pi—” Joe started to say, when the music stopped suddenly.
“This is Don Ennis.” His voice was a harsh, nononsense baritone. “This is not a good time to call. What’s so goddamned important?”
Pi mimed the act of reeling in a fish while she spoke: “Mr. Ennis, this is Pi Stevenson—”
“Is there somebody there with you?” Ennis interrupted.
“I thought I heard another voice.”
Joe thought, Shit.
“Yes, there is,” Pi said smoothly, and Joe felt his scalp crawl. “I’m here with Birdy Richards. He’s the owner of Wildwater Photography, and I work for him.”
Joe let out a long, silent sigh.
“I thought you were that animalrights kook.”
“One and the same, Mr. Ennis, but that’s not why I called.”
“What is it, then? I told you this was a bad time.”
“Well, we thought you would want to know,” she said.
“Know what?”
Birdy leaned forward toward the phone. “Mr. Ennis, this is Birdy Richards. Do you know what we do here at
