Son of Fletch

“The first half of the concert was big band, you know, like in the 1940s? The second half a rock light show. Like in the sixties, I guess.”

“Eclectic,” Fletch said.

“It’s left me confused. Headachy.”

One of many things Fletch admired about Andy was his respect for straight lines. “Go with the flow, baby.”

“Anything else? I’m leaving for the office now.”

“What’s The Tribe?”

“Whose?”

“I guess that’s the right question.”

“Mister Fletcher, I told you I heard more noise last night than is good for one.”

“I know, Andy. You lead the quiet life, there in the Virginia countryside.”

“Is this a real question? Am I supposed to find out something about some tribe?”

“I don’t know yet. But the question doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“Can noise make you feel sort of sick? We had beef Thai pecan last night, wild rice. That couldn’t have done it, could it?”

“As long as the pecans weren’t wild.”

“Are there wild pecans?”

“Oh, Andy, you should know some of the nuts I’ve known! I’ll say they can be wild! I’ll call you later at the office. Don’t try to call me.”

“HI, AETNA. WILL you patch me through to the sheriff, please?”

“Hydy, Mister Fletcher. How’s everything at the farm this fine morning? You all survive the big storm last night?”

“Just fine, Aetna. We’re as slick as a boxer after the tenth round.”

Fletch wondered if the dispatcher for the county sheriffs office recognized the voice of everyone in the county. Once, only by recognizing a woman’s voice had she sent the Rescue Squad to the right farm. She was credited with saving the woman’s life. She also had a great ear for music. She led the county’s most accomplished Baptist choir.

“The sheriff’s actin’ right tired this morning, Mister Fletcher.”

“I expect so.”

“Say, Mister Fletcher, while I have you on the phone, will you tell Carrie that Angie Kelly has that recipe for firecracker cake Carrie wanted?”

“Angie Kelly. Firecracker cake.”

“Who’s talking about firecracker cake on this line?”

Fletch recognized Sheriff Rogers’s gravelly voice. It was more gravelly than usual this morning.

Aetna said, “Mister Fletcher’s on the line, Sheriff.”

The sheriff said, “I sincerely doubt Mister Fletcher is interested in the recipe for firecracker cake.”

Fletch said, “I don’t even know what firecracker cake is. Listen, Sheriff, I have two of them.”

“Cakes?”

“Convicts. Escaped convicts.”

“Where?”

“One of them is dead. We found him in the gully behind my barns. Looks like the snakes got him, and then maybe he drowned.”

“Describe him.”

“Hispanic.”

“I’m prepared to call that a good arrest, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Describe the other convict to me.”

“Heavyset. Caucasian. None too bright.”

“Okay. Restrain him however you can. We’ll come pick him up.”

“Please, no.”

“No?”

“Carrie is going to drive him out to the intersection of Worthy Road and The Old County Pike. He’ll be penned up in the back of the pickup truck. She’ll pretend she’s run out of gas. As soon as she stops at the intersection there, you guys swarm him.”

“Why you want to do it that way? Why don’t we just come shoot the bastard your place?”

“I don’t particularly want that to happen.”

“Oh, I see. Sorry, Fletch. Your wife. Princess … You don’t want the unpleasantness of a police action your place. Might attract the tourists, uh? Cause the press to reprise the assassination. Is that it?”

“Something like that.” One way and another, Fletch had learned the importance of creating a diversion.

“We do it my way, he’ll be docile. We’re telling him Carrie is helping him escape. He’s a real big guy. He’ll be half asleep. This way, all you need do is step out of the woods, swarm him, and chain him.”

“Sure.” The sheriff was slurring his words, just slightly. “We’ll blow him away wherever you say.”

“Carrie doesn’t particularly need to see anyone blown away, either, here, there, or anywhere.”

“Okay. I understand. We’ve got to protect the ladies.” The sheriff burped. “And their gardens. We’ll tiptoe out of the woods and take him off Carrie’s truck as gently as a potted petunia. Say again where she will be?”

“At the intersection of Worthy Road and Old County Pike. She’ll be there at nine o’clock sharp.”

“Okay. Nine o’clock sharp.”

This rank, nonsensical interference in normal police procedure was proving easier than Fletch had thought.

“Worthy Road and Old County Pike, nine o’clock,” Fletch repeated.

“I’ve got it. We’ll be there. In tennis shoes.”

“By the way, Sheriff, will you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“This morning I’m driving my son and his professor down to the University of North Alabama. In the station wagon. They absolutely have to be there by eleven o’clock. Will you tell your guys and the state troopers please to let us through any roadblocks without delay?”

“Sure. I even recall your vanity license plate. I’ll put that on the radio right away. After what you’ve done: capturin’ those two guys. We’ve been up all night.”

“Sorry. You must be tired.”

“Rain that hard, ordinarily I would have called the hunt off. Sent everybody home. I mean, if we were just huntin’ ornery critters.”

“There will be three of us in the car. And Carrie will meet you at Worthy Road and Old Pike intersection at nine o’clock exactly.”

“This is great!” the sheriff said. “Only one left!”

The line went dead before Fletch could check the sheriff’s arithmetic.

8

Your name is Carrie?” Not having heard him enter the kitchen, she was leaning over, putting a frying pan in the dishwasher. When she stood up, her tanned face was slightly reddened, not, Jack suspected, from exertion.

“Broom Hilda,” Carrie said. “I’m a witch.”

Jack dropped two paper plates and a plastic knife and fork into the wastebasket by the back door of the kitchen. “That was Kriegel who said that.”

“There’s a difference?” Carrie said.

“Yes,” Jack said. “There’s a difference.”