“The kitty doesn’t know you, so maybe he’s afraid.”
“That’s silly.”
“Yes, it is. Very silly.” She shifted her gaze back to Coburn and added meaningfully, “He should know you won’t do anything.”
Okay, he wasn’t dense. He got the message. “If you do,” he said softly, “he’ll scratch, and it will hurt.” Holding her frightened stare, he slid the pistol into the waistband of his jeans and tugged the hem of his T-shirt over it, then turned around. The kid was staring up at him with blatant curiosity.
“Does your boo-boo hurt?”
“My what?”
She pointed to his head. He reached up and touched congealed blood. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”
He stepped around her as he crossed to the table. Ever since coming into the kitchen, his mouth had been watering from the aroma of freshly baked cake. He stripped away the paper cup of a cupcake and bit off half of it, then ravenously crammed the rest of it into his mouth and reached for another. He hadn’t eaten since noon yesterday, and he’d been slogging through the swamp all night. He was starving.
“You didn’t wash,” the kid said.
He swallowed the cupcake practically whole. “What?”
“You’re supposed to wash your hands before you eat.”
“Oh yeah?” He peeled the paper off the second cupcake and took a huge bite.
The kid nodded solemnly. “It’s the rule.”
He shot a look at the woman, who had moved up behind her daughter and placed protective hands on her shoulders. “I don’t always go by the rules,” he said. Keeping an eye on them, he went to the fridge, opened it, and took out a plastic bottle of milk. He thumbed off the cap and tilted the bottle toward his mouth, drinking from it in gulps.
“Mommy, he’s drinking from-”
“I know, darling. But it’s okay just this once. He’s very thirsty.”
The kid watched in fascination as he drank at least a third of the milk before stopping to take a breath. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and replaced the bottle in the fridge.
The kid wrinkled her nose. “Your clothes are dirty and stinky.”
“I fell in the creek.”
Her eyes widened. “On accident?”
“Sorta.”
“Did you have wings on?”
“Wings?”
“Can you do a face float?”
Clueless, he looked at the mother. She said, “She learned to do a face float in swim class.”
“I still have to wear my wings,” the little girl said, “but I got a gold star on my fertisicate.”
Nervously, the mother turned her around and ushered her toward the doorway into the living room. “I think it’s time for Dora. Why don’t you go watch while I talk to… to our company.”
The child dug her heels in. “You said I could lick the bowl.”
The mother hesitated, then took a rubber spatula from the bowl of frosting and handed it down to her. She took it happily and said to him, “Don’t eat any more cupcakes. There s’pposed to be for the birthday party.” Then she skipped out of the room.
The woman turned to him, but said nothing until they heard the voice track of the TV show come on. Then, “How do you know my name?”
“You’re Eddie Gillette’s widow, right?” She merely stared at him. “It’s not that tough a question. Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“So, unless you’ve remarried…”
She shook her head.
“Then it stands to reason your name is Mrs. Gillette. What’s your first name?”
“Honor.”
“They said your name is Lee Collier.”
“Coburn. Pleased to meet you. Sit down.” He indicated a chair at the kitchen table.
She hesitated, then pulled the chair from beneath the table and slowly lowered herself into it.
He worked a cell phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and punched in a number, then hooked a chair leg with the toe of his boot and sat down across the table from her. He stared at her as he listened to the telephone on the other end ring.
She fidgeted in her seat. She clasped her hands together in her lap and looked away from him, then, almost defiantly, brought her gaze back to his and held it. She was scared half to death but trying not to show it. The lady had backbone, which was okay by him. He would much rather deal with a little moxie than bawling and begging.
When his call was answered by an automated voice mail recording, he swore beneath his breath, then waited for the ding and said, “You know who this is. All hell’s broke loose.”
As soon as he clicked off, she said, “You have an accomplice?”
“You could say.”
“Was he there during the… the shooting?”
He merely looked at her.
She wet her lips, pulled the lower one between her teeth. “They said on the news that seven people were killed.”
“That’s how many I counted.”
She crossed her arms over her middle and hugged her elbows. “Why did you kill them?”
“What are they saying on TV?”
“That you were a disgruntled employee.”
He shrugged. “You could call me disgruntled.”
“You didn’t like the trucking company?”
“No. Especially the boss.”
“Sam Marset. But the others were just shift workers, like you. Was it necessary to shoot them, too?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They were witnesses.”
His candor seemed to astonish and repel her. He watched a shudder pass through her. For a time, she remained quiet, simply staring at the tabletop.
Then slowly she raised her head and looked up at him. “How did you know my husband?”
“Actually I never had the pleasure. But I’ve heard about him.”
“From whom?”
“Around Royale Trucking, his name pops up a lot.”
“He was born and raised in Tambour. Everybody knew Eddie and loved him.”
“You sure about that?”
Taken aback, she said, “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Among other things, he was a cop, right?”
“What do you mean by ‘among other things’?”
“Your husband, the late, great Eddie the cop, was in possession of something extremely valuable. I came here to get it.”
Before she could respond, the cell phone still in his pocket, hers, rang, startling them both. Coburn pulled it from his pocket. “Who’s Stanley?”
“My father-in-law.”
“Grandpa,” he said, thinking back to what the kid had said out in the yard.
