about the client? Why no billing or correspondence record? And then there’s Murdock’s letter and Bergin writing Kelly Paul’s name in his car warranty book.”
“So do we sit out here all night or go knock on her door?”
“Knocking on someone’s door at this hour in this place might result in buckshot wounds to our person. I say we pull off the road, stretch out, and get some sleep. I definitely could use it.”
“We should take turns being on watch.”
“Watching for what? Cows?”
“Sean, we were both almost killed yesterday. Let’s be prudent.”
“Okay, you’re right.”
She said, “I’ll take the first watch. I’ll wake you in two hours.”
Sean tilted his seat back and closed his eyes, and a few minutes later his soft snore wafted through the truck’s interior. Michelle glanced over at him, reached in the backseat, pulled out a blanket from the floorboard, and placed it over him. She stared back out the front window, alternating this with glances in the side mirrors to check on anyone creeping up on them from the rear. Her hand dropped to the butt of her gun and stayed there.
Sean yawned, stretched, and blinked himself fully awake. Sunlight stared back at him. He jolted up and looked over at Michelle. She was tapping a tune on the steering wheel and sipping on a bottle of G2.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” He checked his watch. It was nearly eight.
“You were sleeping like a baby. I didn’t have the heart.”
He noted the blanket she’d put over him. “Okay, your drastically heightened sensitivity factor is really creeping me out.”
“I got plenty of sleep in jail. I’m fresh and now you are too.”
“Okay, now that makes more sense.”
His stomach grumbled.
“Want me to run over and pick some corn?” she said with a smile.
“No, but do you have a power bar in that pile of crap in the back? I’m afraid to put my hand in there.”
She reached back, snagged one, and tossed it to him. “Chocolate fudge. Twenty grams of protein. Knock yourself out.”
“Any activity from Kelly Paul?”
“No cars in or out and no sightings of any humans, though I did see a black bear and what I think was a beaver.”
Sean rolled down the window and sucked in the clean, chilly air. “My bladder is telling me I need to do something.”
Michelle pointed to a spot across the road. “I already did my business.”
He was back in a few minutes. “I think it’s time we had our face-to-face with Kelly Paul.”
Michelle started the Land Cruiser. “Okay, but let’s hope there’s some coffee in the house.” She turned down the gravel road. “What if Paul won’t talk to us?”
“Then I think we have to insist. We came all this way, after all.”
“And we tell Paul about Bergin?”
“If Kelly Paul hired Bergin, then his death might make her more likely to help us. How all of this connects to what happened in Maine I don’t know. But I have to believe that unless Bergin had some dark secret in his past, his death and his secretary’s death are connected to Roy. And that means Paul is connected too.”
“Despite what you said earlier I could have been the one to kill Hilary Cunningham.”
“Is that the real reason you didn’t sleep last night?”
“She was an innocent old lady, Sean. And now she’s dead.”
“If you did it you sure as hell didn’t mean to do it. Someone was shooting at you. You shot back. That’s instinctual. I would’ve done the same thing.”
“She’s still dead. What do they tell her kids or grandkids? ‘I’m sorry, she’s dead because she was accidentally shot’? Come on.”
“Life is not fair any way you cut it, Michelle. You know that and I know that. We’ve lived that stuff too often to recognize it any other way.”
“That can’t stop me from feeling guilty. From feeling like a piece of shit.”
“You’re right, it can’t. But keep this in mind. Somebody brought Hilary Cunningham to that house against her will in all likelihood. And if you did shoot her I don’t believe it was accidental, at least on their side.”
“What, you mean they wanted me to shoot her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Hilary might have known something that certain people didn’t want to get out. And if you shoot her then the police are all over us. That puts us out of commission, or so they think.”
“If that’s the case these are some pretty sick people we’re up against.”
“We’re always up against psychos, Michelle. It’s what we do. But I want these sons of bitches more than I’ve wanted anybody else.”
CHAPTER
25
THE HOUSE WAS A WHITE SINGLE-STORY clapboard with a black shingle roof in need of replacement. The porch was wide and inviting, with a couple of beat-up-looking rockers moving slightly to and fro in the breeze. The sun was coming up to the left of the house, but the reach of a monster oak blanketed it in shadows.
The front drive was more dirt than gravel. The lawn was cut short, there were a few flowers in pots, and a rooster strutted in front of the Toyota as Michelle braked to a stop. The bird cocked its head in their direction, rustled its feathers, gave the pair a withering one-eyed gaze, and crowed as they got out of the Land Cruiser.
The edge of a chicken coop could be seen sticking out from behind the rear of the house. Beyond the coop a red barn rose up about a hundred feet from the house and at an angle to it. A clothesline hung in the right side yard, and the few garments strung on it lifted lazily with the dull movement of air.
“Okay,” said Michelle. “Five gets you ten that a fireplug of a woman in either bib overalls or a cotton print dress and work boots is going to answer the door smelling of chickenshit. And she’s going to be holding a shotgun pointed right at our guts.”
“I’ll take that bet,” said Sean with an air of confidence.
Michelle shot him a glance before gazing up at the house. Somehow the woman had materialized on the porch seemingly without making a sound. Michelle, who had perfect vision and hearing, hadn’t seen or heard anything.
“You must be Sean King. I’ve been expecting you,” said the woman. Her voice was deep but still remained feminine. It was an assured voice.
When Michelle’s boots hit the top step of the porch she did something she almost never had to do with another woman. She had to look up. The lady must have been at least six feet tall in bare feet. She was lean without an ounce of fat on her frame. And even though she wasn’t exactly young anymore, she had retained the physique and the graceful movements of a formidable athlete.
They had to be related. Same eyes, same nose, obviously the height factor. The only differences from Edgar Roy were the color of the hair and the eyes. Her hair was light brown and the eyes were green instead of black dots. The green was less intimidating.
And obviously she could talk.
Sean put out his hand. “We’re sorry for coming by so early, Ms. Paul,” he said.
Her long fingers enveloped his hand and then she waved his apology off. “This isn’t early, at least in these parts. I saw your truck out there at five this morning. I would’ve gotten you to come in for some breakfast, but you were sleeping and the lady here was doing her business in the woods.”
Michelle looked at Kelly Paul with a mixture of admiration and astonishment. “I’m Michelle Maxwell.” She shook hands with Paul and came away respectful of the woman’s grip.
