'Why do you need to hide from him?'
'Because he's not her father.'
'Why would he lie about that? Why does he think she's his daughter if she's not?'
'Andy, I don't know Russell Reeves. I've never met him, I didn't have an affair with him. He's not her father, he didn't give her a cancer gene. She's not dying.'
'Then why does he want to help her?'
'He doesn't.' She stopped abruptly. 'Andy, the blood on that Band-Aid… it was mine.'
She pulled the girl up the path to the inn. Andy followed.
'Frankie-wait!'
'You don't know what you've done.'
Andy ran to her and grabbed her arm.
'What? What have I done?'
She said nothing.
'I'll talk to Russell, straighten this out.'
'He's coming, Andy.'
'Frankie, let me help.'
'You've helped enough.'
Andy Prescott did not scare easily, but he was scared now-because she was scared. He saw it in her face.
'I know a place you can stay, where you'll be safe.'
Paul Prescott was fixing lunch when he heard the big birds squawking to raise the roof. Someone was coming through the front gate. He walked to the screen door at the front of the house. A small car was coming up the drive. He didn't recognize it, so he grabbed the double-barreled shotgun and loaded two shells. Then he stepped out onto the porch.
It was just after noon.
Max bounded up to the car, barking like the place was being invaded. The car stopped, and Paul's son emerged. Andy squatted to greet the dog; a red-headed girl joined in. A young woman exited the vehicle. His son stood and walked over to the porch.
'Didn't recognize the car,' Paul said.
He unloaded the shotgun and dropped the shells into his shirt pocket and snapped the button.
'Dad, this is Frankie and her daughter, Jessie. They need a place to stay for a few days.'
'Welcome to stay here.'
'Thanks. Frankie, meet my dad, Paul Prescott.'
'Hi, Mr. Prescott,' she said, but her eyes took in his orange skin.
'Just Paul. Jaundice. Got a bad liver.'
'He's waiting for a transplant,' Andy said.
'Y'all hungry? I was just rustlin' up some lunch. Your girl like grilled cheese sandwiches?'
The girl named Jessie ran over.
'I love grilled cheese.'
Paul held the screen door open for Jessie and her mother.
'Come on, Max, or you're gonna miss out on lunch.'
Max bolted up the porch steps and into the house. Andy was the last one in. Paul stopped his son.
'What's up, Andy?'
'You were right. Working for Reeves, it's not all good.'
'You in trouble?'
'Maybe.'
'The law?'
'Not yet.'
'What about them?'
'They're running, but not from the law.'
'Then from who?'
'Me, at first. Now Russell Reeves.'
'Your client?'
'Yep.'
'And now you're hiding them from him?'
'Yep.'
'Isn't that what you lawyers call a 'conflict of interest'?'
'Yep.'
'That's not good.'
'Nope.'
Paul Prescott scratched his beard then said, 'Well, let's get them fed and fixed up in the spare bedroom. Pull her car into the barn, then we'll figure this deal out.'
'Thanks, Dad.'
Forty miles north, Harmon Payne and Cecil Durant were walking down South Congress Avenue asking the freaks they encountered if they knew Andy Prescott. Everyone said no, which annoyed Harmon because he knew they were lying. But his driver was whistling like a kid, a sure sign that he had 'You got a hooker last night, didn't you?' Harmon said.
'Does it show?'
'It probably will in a couple of weeks.'
They stopped at the coffee joint called Jo's and ordered skinny lattes and deli sandwiches at the walk-up window.
'You know Andy Prescott?' Harmon asked the Mexican boy working the window.
'Andy Prescott? Nope. Never heard of him.'
The boy wasn't a convincing liar.
They got their food, but Harmon lost his appetite when he turned and found himself staring at a bare butt walking past. A man's bare butt. Right there on the sidewalk fronting Congress Avenue, before God and everyone. A few folks stopped the guy and took pictures with him on their cell phones just as if he were a real star like one of the gals on Jersey Shore. From behind them, the Mexican boy said, 'That's Queen Leslie. He's a local celebrity.' This Queen Leslie was older than Harmon, with gray frizzy hair pulled back in a ponytail and a gray goatee; he was wearing only a pink thong, a black bra, and running shoes.
Cecil grunted. 'You think he really jogs in that? Seems like it'd chafe your butt after a while.'
'It's chafing my butt just looking at it.'
Cecil gestured at the cell phone clipped to the Queen's thong.
'Who do you think he calls?'
'I keep having to look at his butt, he's gonna need to call 911.'
Harmon's cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID and answered.
'Hi, hon.'
Cecil walked a few steps away so as not to obviously eavesdrop on Harmon's conversation. But he still heard Harmon.
'Yeah, we're wrapping up a meeting now… a few more days… his playoff game's on Saturday? At noon?… I don't know, this deal's dragging on… Sure, put him on… Hey, little man, how're you doing?… Three goals, that's super… I'm gonna do my best to be there, I promise… Okay, have fun at school… I love you, and tell your brother and sisters I love them, too. Bye.'
Harmon tried to plan their trips around his kids' sports schedules. Four children, that wasn't an easy task, but Harmon seldom missed their games. Cecil hoped he was as good a father as Harmon, who hung up and turned to him.
'Cecil, we gotta find this guy fast. Between missing my son's games and guys wearing thongs, I'm liable to go postal.'
Andy carried Frankie's stuff up the stairs to the spare bedroom. He opened the windows to let the breeze
