Maybe (20 page)

I drive to the intersection, turn right, make the block.

No white Honda Accord.

This time when I pass the house I go two blocks.

“Bingo!” I say.

“Where?”

“Next block, left side.”

She digs in her handbag for her coin purse, opens it, and removes the notes she took back in Virginia.

“4XT167C,” she says.

I pass the car.

“Guy in the driver’s seat,” I say.

Miranda checks the license plate against her notes.

“
Omigod
!” she says. “It’s him!”

I drive another block, make a u-turn, and find a place to park where I can keep an eye on Miles.

“What happens next?” she says.

“We watch and wait.”

“How long?”

“Until he moves or it gets dark.”

“Donovan?”

“Yeah?”

“I need to use the bathroom.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“How long can you hold it?”

“Umm…ten, maybe fifteen minutes?”

I sigh. It’s three-fifteen, broad daylight. We’re in a residential area.

I reach across her, open the glove compartment, and pop the trunk.

“Hang on a second,” I say.

I get out of the car and remove my duffel from the trunk. Then come around to her side and open her door.

“What’s up?”

“You’re going to drive.”

“Where?”

“I’m going to walk along the sidewalk toward his car. When I get there, I need you to drive right up beside him, lower the passenger window, and ask him where the nearest fast food restaurant is.”

“Then what?”

“Try to engage him in conversation.”

“Then what?”

“Then drive to the fast food place and pee. Then drive back here and park the car. If you don’t see me, call my cell phone.”

“What if he drives away while I’m gone?”

“We’ll follow him.”

She says, “You’re going to put a tracking device on his car while I’m engaging him in conversation.”

“Thirty-eight hundred a week. That’s my final offer.”

She giggles. “Sorry, no.”

I shake my head. “I’ll talk you into it, eventually.”

“I don’t think so.”

As I walk down the sidewalk toward Gundy’s car, Lou Kelly calls to tell me two dozen kids and three adults were poisoned at a birthday party in Nashville two days ago.

“Sunday? Same day as the Derby City Fair?”

“Same day. One of the moms gave a description. Said a guy showed up at the party with a cookie cake, and there was something odd about him.”

“Odd how?”

“The way he stared at her gave her the creeps, so she followed him through the house and out the front door, and saw him drive away in a white Honda Accord.”

“The three adults?” I say.

“All Moms.”

“
Damn it, Lou
! Why did it take you two days to make the connection?”

“I just found out about it this minute.”

“How’s that possible?”

“The cookie cake was laced with ricin.”

Ricin poison takes two to four days to kill, depending on the age and health of the victim.

“They must’ve all gotten sick the same day. Why didn’t anyone report it?”

“It was a kids’ birthday party. The moms figured the kids ate too much, or maybe the potato salad was bad. They started calling each other last night to compare notes, but still didn’t want to offend the hosts.”

“But all that changed today?”

“Right.”

“How bad is it, Lou?”

“The kids are all dying or dead. The moms will probably survive.”

I’m closing in on Miles’s car.

“Son of a bitch!” I say.

Looking behind me, I see Miranda pulling out into the road. I press her number on my cell phone.

“Is this too soon?” she says.

“When you pull next to him, keep six feet of distance between the cars.”

“Okay.”

She passes me and pulls up alongside him, keeping a six-foot distance between their windows.

I’m directly behind his car now.

Miles is staring ahead so intently he hasn’t noticed Miranda’s car yet.

She taps her horn.

He looks up.

She motions him to lower his window.

He does.

She says, “I’m sorry to bother you, but can you tell me if there’s a fast food restaurant nearby?”

At that point I walk between the two cars, pull my .357 Magnum from my duffel, and blow his fucking head off.

Miranda screams.

I open the passenger door, climb in, and she speeds off down the street.

“
Omigod
!
Omigod
!
Omigod
!” she screams.

“Sorry,” I say. “Change of plans.”

“
Omigod
!” she screams again. “That was
fantastic
!”

“It
was
?”

“
Omigod
! I
loved
it!”

“Ten thousand dollars a week,” I say.

“Done!” she says.

WHAT? HOLY SHIT, I don’t believe it! You’re here with us on the private jet?

Seriously, I don’t believe it.

Look, can you give us a few minutes of privacy?

Miranda and I are having sex.

No, I’m not giving details. Except that she’s “Totally into it!”

Her words, not mine.

So please. Show some class. Give me a few minutes here.

THANKS. I needed that.

MIRANDA AND I touch down in Santa Monica, California. I’ve reserved a suite in the same location on the beach where I stayed nearly four years ago. It’s a beautiful hotel, brand new, what they call a boutique hotel.

The old hotel got blown up while I was in it! I found out about the bomb just before it detonated. I actually had to jump off the second floor balcony to escape.

You may have read about it.

My future associate, Miranda, loves the place. Although she agreed to work for me, she refuses to start until
next
June, a year from now.

Why?

She wants to finish school, then travel to Europe for several months with her friend.

No, not a guy.

Her girl friend.

No, not a female lover.

A friend.

Yes, I’m certain, because I asked her the same questions. I also spent two hours trying to talk her out of going. Then I spent an hour trying to talk her into letting me come with her instead of her friend.

But no.

“At least let me visit you in Europe,” I asked. “We’ll have dinner.”

“No,” she said. “I’m already giving up my dream of running my own practice to work for you. And don’t think for a minute I don’t know how you operate!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means working for you won’t be a nine to five job. It’ll be an all-hours-of-the-night job, and one that will ruin any chance I have of living a normal life. I’ve worked my ass off to get these degrees, and I’m not going to jump into a twenty-four-seven job until I’ve done something fun for myself.”

“You’d rather be with your friend than me?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Why?”
“Donovan, you sound like a ten-year-old.”

“You’ve always encouraged me to express my feelings.”

“Look, I love being with you, and hope you’ll let me give you the best two days of your life, starting right now. But if you bring this up one more time, I’m going to book the next flight back to New York, and I’ll never work for you.”

“Okay. Sorry. You know about my abandonment issues.”

“I do.”

I sigh. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m jealous, though.”

“I know.”

The two days went by as fast as perfect days always do. I won’t tell you how many times we laughed, or made love, or what we talked about, or how many drinks we had. I will say the hotel lounge has a wonderful house band, and Miranda shocked me by getting up on stage and singing a beautiful song called
Someone Like You
, by someone named Adele.

What shocked me was how amazing Miranda’s voice is! I mean, I’ve never heard anyone sing like that! Her voice was powerful when power was needed, but tender and haunting the rest of the time.

I’m serious, she was spectacular!

By the time she finished her song, everyone in the room was on their feet, cheering, with tears streaming down their faces! If Adele’s version is half as good as Miranda’s, well, she’ll probably have a hit on her hands.

On Friday, Sal calls with the news about Dani Ripper’s interrogation.

“The lead detective’s a guy named Marco Polomo.”

“Is he from Cincinnati or Nashville?”

“Nashville. They interrogated her on Tuesday.”

“I saw on TV where she’s back at your niece’s house.”

“Right. There’s a million cops and reporters surrounding the place. Cops are actually living
inside
the friggin’ house.”

“Today’s the funeral?”

“It was this morning. They’re probably back in Nashville by now.”

“What’s Polomo saying?”

“He’s one of my guys on the inside. He’s managed to keep Sophie out of it, but like you guessed, the FBI’s coming in on Monday.”

“Do they know who’s investigating?”

“Guy named Agent Chase. They don’t know his first name, but Polomo’s shitting his pants because I told him I want Dani cleared and he says there’s nothing he can do at this point.”

“Why not?”

“Apparently the Cincinnati police have found a bunch of evidence that—whatcha call—implicates Dani. And Polomo’s concerned if they get Dani, they’ll find a way to pull Sophie into it because of her police record.”

“Sophie’s got a police record?”

“Sort of. It’s been—whatcha call—expunged, but it’s still there for those who know how to look.”

“What did she do?”

“She, you know, fell in with the wrong crowd. It’s not important. She’s a good girl. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ll take care of it.”

“You’ll talk to the president?”

“I’ll get him the message.”

“What if he won’t play ball?”

“He’ll play.”

“You got something on him?”

“Nope.”

“Then how do you know he’ll cooperate?”

“He fears me.”

“Smart man, our president. I always said so.”

“You like him?”

“I voted for him twelve times. So did all my people.”

“Twelve times?”

“In the same election.”