I replied in exaggerated disbelief.
She peered through the window blind. “He’s just sitting there now, but I think he made a grab for me.”
I straightened to my full height. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.” I strode across the kitchen and pulled Barbara away from the door. I stepped outside, my wife crowding behind me with the telephone in her hand. “Hey!” I said. The bum looked up from the old newspaper he’d pulled from our recycling bin. His squint pulled his lips over the dark, rotten teeth. “Come on in,” I told him. Max stood. “The bathroom’s down the hall.”
“Okay,” he said, and came inside. It took us five minutes to stop laughing after Barbara burned rubber out of the driveway.
CHAPTER 11
An hour later, I was showered, changed, and clear in my head for the first time in what felt like years. It may have been years. What I knew was this: All you have in life is family. If you are lucky, that includes the kind you married. I was not so fortunate, but I had Jean. I’d take the fall for her if I had to.
I made two phone calls, the first to Clarence Hambly; after my father, he was considered the finest attorney in the county. He’d drawn up Ezra’s will. He’d just returned from church but reluctantly agreed to meet me later in the day. Next, I called Hank Robins, a private investigator in Charlotte whom I’d used on most of my murder cases. His machine picked up: “I can’t take your call right now, probably because I’m out spying on somebody. Leave your number so I don’t have to trace it.” Hank was an irreverent bastard. He was thirty now, looked forty on a rough day, and was the most fearless man I’d ever met. Plus, I liked him. I told him to call me on my cell phone.
I left Barbara a note saying I might not be home that night and put Bone in the car. We went shopping. I bought him a new collar, leash, and dog bowls. I also picked up a thirty-pound bag of puppy food and a box of jerky treats. By the time I got back to the car, he’d chewed the leather off one of the headrests, which gave me an idea. I drove a BMW that Barbara had insisted would draw clients, which, in retrospect, was hilarious. I still owed a few grand on it and resented every payment. I took it to a shade-tree lot off Highway 150 and traded it for a five-year-old pickup. It smelled bad, but Bone seemed to like the taste of it.
We were having lunch in the park when Hank finally called. “Work, my man! Been reading about you in the papers. How’s my favorite suit holding up?”
“I have to admit that I’ve been better.”
“Yeah. Figured as much.”
“How’s your schedule these days, Hank?”
“Always busy. I even work sometimes. What’ve you got for me? Another Rowan County tragedy of love and deception? Rival dope dealers? Not another remote-control killer, I hope.”
“It’s complicated.”
“The best ones always are.”
“Are you alone?” I asked.
“I’m still in bed, if that answers your question.”
“We need to talk in person.”
“Salisbury, Charlotte, or in between. Just tell me when and where.”
That was a no-brainer. I’d take any excuse to get out of town and get some breathing room. “How about six tonight at the Dunhill?” The Dunhill Hotel was on Tryon Street in downtown Charlotte. It had a great bar, full of deep and shadowed booths, and would be almost empty on a Sunday night.
“Should I bring you a date?” Hank asked, and I heard a giggle from his end of the phone, a woman.
“Six o’clock, Hank. And that crack will cost you the first round.” I hung up, feeling better. Hank was a good man to have on your side.
Ezra’s attorney had made it plain that I should not arrive before two. I had half an hour. I put the dog bowls and trash into the truck and whistled for Bone. He was wet from the lake, but I let him ride up front. Halfway there and he was in my lap, head out the window. So, stinking of wet dog and used truck, I walked up the wide steps of the Hambly mansion on its sprawling acres just outside of town. The house was huge, with marble fountains, twelve-foot doors, and a four-room guest house. A plaque beside the door announced that Hambly House had been