?Come back up to my place,? Linda said. ?I sure as hell don?t want to be the one to do it, but someone needs to call Keone?s folks.?
?I don?t know the number,? Mike said.
?What? How can you not know??
?I said I don?t know it.?
?That?s impossible.? She crossed her arms, frowned. ?He?s only twelve. You?re telling me his parents let him work here all summer and didn?t leave a number? That?s ridiculous. You must have some kind of??
?Linda!?
She started, took a step back.
?I don?t know, okay? He showed up for work, and I paid him. His folks live in a trailer. I?ve never been there. I don?t even know if they have a phone.?
She burst into tears again, sobbed quietly. The three of them stood around the body, not talking. A stiff breeze blew smoke past them. The crackle of fire.
Finally, Mike said, ?Linda, can Andrew stay with you a few days? I have to take care of something.?
?What? Where are you going??
?Can he stay with you or not??
She hesitated only a second. ?Yes.?
Mike went to the Caddy, climbed in behind the wheel, stuck the key into the ignition.
Andrew ran to the driver?s side, put his hands on the door. ?Whoa. Wait a minute. You?re just taking off??
?I have to,? Mike said. ?They?ll keep sending killers until the job is done. I have to go finish this now. I have to take the initiative, or we don?t have any advantage at all.?
?I?ll come with you. I can help.?
?This isn?t for people like you,? Mike said. ?It?s for men like me. Stay with Linda.? He cranked the Caddy.
Andrew stepped away from the car. He looked like he was in shock. He looked lost.
Mike drove away, didn?t look back. Blood had started this, and there would be more blood to finish it.
23
Nikki Enders hung up the phone and bit her thumbnail. Middle Sister wasn?t answering her phone. She sat with one leg dangling over an arm of the big overstuffed chair beneath the ever-watchful eye of her father?s portrait in the library. When Mother finally passed on to that great knitting circle in the sky, Nikki fully intended to remove the portrait and hide it in the farthest reaches of some dark closet. Daddy?s portrait had an Edgar Allan Poe quality about it. Sometimes he seemed to grimace in disapproval. Other times he seemed to sport a slight Mona Lisa smile as if he kept some smug secret.
?I?m worried about Middle Sister, Daddy,? Nikki said to the portrait. ?I used her. Just like you used to do. I used her to finish a job I was too chickenshit to finish myself.? She drank the rest of her coffee. It was her seventh cup.
Nikki no longer bought into the fiction of her injury. Yes, her wrist had been banged up pretty badly, but she?d completed more difficult assignments with worse injuries.
Now Middle Sister. Why didn?t she answer her phone?
The library was dim and quiet, only a small reading lamp casting a dirty yellow glow. A light rain beat a slow rhythm against the windows. The weather service had predicted it would get worse. A tropical storm in the Gulf of Mexico would soak New Orleans with a few days of heavy thunderstorms. Nikki let her thoughts drift, bit her nails, listened to the wind and rain and the gentle creak of the large old house.
On the wall near the library door a red light blinked, accompanied by a gentle, inoffensive buzz. Nikki came to attention, sprang from the chair, and went to a panel set in the wall under the light. She slid the panel back, revealing a floor plan of the mansion. A tiny green light indicated a secure door or window. A flashing red light
