Hour Game (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 2)

“That’s right, at Wrightsburg General.”

“But we were told you didn’t arrive back here until around five A.M.,” said Michelle. “Those are pretty long visiting hours.”

“I slept there in a private room down the hall from him that the hospital provided,” explained Remmy.

“That was pretty accommodating of them,” said Michelle.

“Our name’s on the building, sweetie,” Remmy said in a falsely polite tone. In a far more blunt voice she added, “Frankly, for fifteen million dollars, I thought it was the least they could do.”

“Oh,” said Michelle sheepishly.

“The police told me all the evidence leads to Junior, including his fingerprints.”

“But he was doing work here,” said King. “That could account for the print.”

“They found it on the outside of one of the panes of the busted window.” She added, “I hired Junior to work in my bedroom, not outside my damn window.”

“And I understand that things were stolen from Bobby’s closet as well.”

“It was broken into.”

“And what was taken?” asked Michelle.

“Come on, you can see for yourself.”

She led them out of her room and down the hall, where she opened another door. They found themselves in a room that reeked of cigar and pipe smoke. It was an intensively masculine room, Michelle noted. A shotgun rack hung over the fireplace, although there was no weapon on it. A pair of antique swords hung on another wall. They were crossed one over the other, forming a large X. There were several oil paintings of splendid horses. A pipe rack stood against one corner with a number of well-chewed pipes hanging from it. In another corner was a campaign desk and chair. The bed was small, and the nightstand next to it was stacked with magazines on fishing, hunting and science. One entire wall was devoted to photos of Bobby Battle. He was a tall, thick-chested man with dark, wavy hair and features seemingly cast in iron. In most of the photos he was either fishing or hunting, but there was one of him jumping out of a plane and another where he was piloting a chopper.

Remmy waved her hand in front of her nose. “I’m sorry for the smell. We’ve aired it out for days, and the smell’s still there. It must be in the carpet and furniture by now. Bobby loves his pipes and cigars.”

As Michelle looked around at Robert E. Lee Battle’s lair, images of the man seemed to flow to her apart from the photos: a bear of a man who lived life hard and took no prisoners. That such a man was lying now in a coma with bleak prospects of ever coming back made her very depressed, even though she’d never met him and was disgusted by his womanizing reputation.

Michelle pointed to several photos of Battle with large groups of people. “What are those of?”

“Some of Bobby’s employees. He was an engineer-turned-businessman. Holds over a hundred patents. Looking at this room, you might think my husband was all play and no work, but Bobby is, above all else, a hard worker. The things he invented, they all made money.”

“When did you two meet?” asked Michelle. She added quickly, “I know it’s a personal question, but he seems such a fascinating man.”

Remmy actually smiled at this. “He walked into my daddy’s clothing store in Birmingham, Alabama, forty-five years ago and announced that he’d seen me at several events and I was the prettiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on and he was going to marry me. And he just wanted my daddy to know, although he said he wasn’t seeking permission, which was and in many ways still is the custom down there. He said the only person he had to convince of his intentions was me. Well, he did. I was only eighteen then and hadn’t seen anything of life, but I was no pushover. Yet he eventually won me.”

“Quite the whirlwind,” said King.

“He was ten years older than me. When we got married, he hadn’t made much money, but he had the brains to and the drive. He was special. And yet he wanted me.” This last part was said with surprising humility.

“Well, it’s not like you weren’t quite a catch,” said King sincerely.

“I suppose I was one of the very few to stand up to him. Oh, we had our peaks and our valleys like most folks,” she added quietly.

Remmy opened a door and motioned them in. “Bobby’s closet.”

The space was far smaller than his wife’s

closet but was still elaborately built out.

Remmy pushed back some pants hanging on rods and pointed to the side of one of the cabinets where a panel of wood had been broken out.

“There’s a secret cupboard there, about the same size as the one in my room. One of the drawers in this large cabinet doesn’t go all the way back, you see. It’s pretty clever, because from the front it’s almost impossible to judge how deep the drawers are. And you can’t see the little keyhole on the side unless you’re looking for it. I’ve been in here a million times, and I never noticed it.”

King shot her a glance. “So you didn’t know Bobby had a secret drawer?”