“You don’t like the guy, do you?” Ryan asked.
“I never said I didn’t like him.”
No reply.
“Is it that obvious?” I asked after a few moments.
“I’m learning to read you.”
“It isn’t that I don’t like him,” I said defensively. What then? “It’s that I don’t like not knowing if I don’t like him.”
Ryan opted not to touch that.
“He makes me uneasy,” I added.
As we arrived at the annex, Ryan made another unsettling observation.
“Maybe your uneasiness isn’t totally off base, Mom.”
I shot Ryan a look that was wasted in the dark.
“You told me Boyd made his big score during that cigar store picnic.”
“Katy was thrilled.”
“That’s where you first met Cousins.”
“Yes.”
“He saw Boyd’s find.”
“Yes.”
“That means at least one more person was at least partially privy to the situation at the Foote farm. No pun intended.”
Again my heart went into free fall.
“Palmer Cousins.”
21
THE EASTERN HORIZON STARTS OOZING GRAY AROUND FIVE-THIRTY in August in Piedmont North Carolina. By six the sun is heading uphill.
I awoke at first ooze, watched dawn define the objects on my dresser, nightstand, chair, and walls.
Ryan was sprawled on his stomach beside me. Birdie lay curled in the crook of my knees.
I lasted in bed until half past six.
Birdie blinked when I slipped from under the covers. He stood and arched as I collected my panties from the lampshade. I heard paws thump carpet as I tiptoed from the room.
The refrigerator hummed to me while I made coffee. Outside, birds exchanged the morning’s avian gossip.
Moving as quietly as possible, I poured and drank a glass of orange juice, then collected Boyd’s leash and went to the study.
The chow was stretched full length on the sofa, left foreleg upright against the seat back, right extended across his head.
Boyd the Protector.
“Boyd,” I whispered.
The dog went from flat on his side to four on the floor without seeming to move through any intermediary stage.
“Here, boy.”
No eye contact.
“Boyd.”
The chow rolled his eyes up at me but didn’t budge.
“Walk?”
Boyd held steady, a picture of skepticism.
I dangled the leash.
No go.
“I’m not upset about the couch.”
Boyd dropped his head, looked up, and did a demi-twirl with each eyebrow.
“Really.”
Boyd’s ears pricked forward and his head canted.
