it?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it what you expected?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I watch all those cop shows, you know, and for some reason I could just see Romey’s
house with yellow police line tape strung all over the place.”
“Why? No crime was committed there. It’s just the home of a man who committed suicide. Why would the cops be interested?”
The house was out of sight, and Mark turned around and sat straight in the seat. “Do you think they’ve searched it?” he asked.
“Probably. I’m sure they got a search warrant for his house and office, but what could they find? He carried his little secret with him.”
They stopped at an intersection, then continued their tour of the neighborhood.
“What happens to his house?” Mark asked.
“I’m sure he had a will. His heirs will get the house and his assets.”
“Yeah. You know, Reggie, I guess I need a will. With everybody after me and all. What do you think?”
“What, exactly, do you own?”
“Well, now that I’m famous and all, I figure the Hollywood people will be knocking on my door. I realize we don’t have a door at the present time, but something’s gotta happen about that, Reggie, don’t you think? I mean, we gotta have a door of some sort? Anyway, they’ll want to do this big movie about the kid who knew too much, and, I hate to say this for obvious reasons, but if these goons put me away, then the movie will be huge and Mom and Ricky will be on easy street. Follow me?”
“I think so. You want a will so Dianne and Ricky will get the movie rights to your life story?”
“Exactly.”
“You don’t need one.”
“Why not?”
“They’ll get all your assets anyway.”
“Just as well. Saves me attorney’s fees.”
“Could we talk about something other than wills and death?”
He shut up and watched the houses on his side of the street. He’d slept most of the night in the backseat, then napped for five hours in the motel room. She, on the other hand, had driven all night and napped less than two hours. She was tired, scared, and beginning to snap at him.
They zigzagged at a leisurely pace through the tree-lined streets. The weather was warm and clear. At every house, people were either mowing grass or pulling weeds or painting shutters. Spanish moss hung from stately oaks. It was Reggie’s first tour of New Orleans, and she wished the circumstances were better.
“Are you getting tired of me, Reggie?” he asked without looking at her.
“Of course not. Are you tired of me?”
“No, Reggie. Right now, you’re my only friend in the entire world. I just hope I’m not bugging you.”
“I promise.”
Reggie had studied the street map for two hours. She completed a wide loop, and now they were on Romey’s street again. They eased by the house without slowing, both gawking at the double garage with a pitched gable above the retractable doors. It needed painting. The concrete drive stopped twenty feet from the doors and turned to the rear of the house. A ragged hedgerow over six feet high ran along one side of the garage and blocked the view of the nearest house, which was at least a hundred feet away. Behind the garage, the small rear lawn stopped at a chain-link fence, and beyond the fence was a heavily wooded area.
They said nothing during the second viewing of Romey’s house. The black Accord wandered aimlessly through the neighborhood and stopped near a tennis court in an open area called West Park. Reggie unfolded the street map, and twisted and flipped it until it covered most of the front seat. Mark watched two heavy housewives engage in truly horrible tennis. But they were cute, with their pink and green socks and matching sun visors. A biker approached on a narrow asphalt trail, then disappeared deep into the woods.
Once again, Reggie attempted to fold the map. “This is the place,” she said.
“Do you want to chicken out?” he asked.
“Sort of. What about you?”
“I don’t know. We’ve come this far. Seems kinda silly to run away now. The garage looked harmless to me.”
She was still folding the map. “I guess we can try, and if we get spooked, we’ll just run back here.”
“Where are we now?”
She opened her door. “Let’s go for a walk.”
The bike trail ran beside a soccer field, then cut through a dense section of woods. The branches of the trees met above it, giving a tunnel-like darkness. The bright sunlight flickered through intermittently. An occasional biker forced