Lethal (Lee Coburn)

Immediately he asked, “Is something wrong?”

“I’m afraid the party has to be postponed. Em and I both came down with a bug. A stomach virus. I’d heard that one was going around. Two of the kids in Vacation Bible School—”

“I’m on my way.”

Coburn gave his head a hard shake.

“No, Stan,” she said quickly. “We’d expose you, and there’s no sense in your getting it, too.”

“I never catch these things.”

“Well, I’d feel awful if you did. Besides, we’re fine.”

“I could bring you Gatorade, soda crackers.”

“I’ve got all that. And the worst is past us. Em’s been able to keep down some Sprite. She’s napping. We’re feeling a little wrung out, but I’m sure this is one of those things that runs its course within twenty-four hours. We’ll have your party tomorrow evening.”

“I hate to postpone it for Emily’s sake. She’s going to love her present.”

She smiled wanly. “It’s your birthday.”

“Which entitles me to spoil my granddaughter if I’ve a mind to.”

Background noise, which had been loud during their conversation, turned into a racket.

“What’s all the noise? Where are you?” Honor asked.

“Just leaving Royale’s warehouse. If you’ve been sick you might not have heard about what happened here last night.” He encapsulated it. “Fred’s in charge of the posse. Doral briefed me.”

Her eyes on Coburn’s, s

he said, “This man sounds dangerous.”

“He should be scared silly. Regardless of the holiday, every badge in five parishes is on the lookout. They’ll run this murderer to ground soon enough, and when they do he’ll be lucky if they don’t string him up in the nearest tree. Everybody’s jumpy and wants to avenge Sam Marset.”

“Any fresh leads?”

“A woman’s boat was stolen overnight. They’re checking that out now. And the FBI is on board.”

Honor gave an appropriate murmur that could have been interpreted any number of ways. Stan Gillette must have taken it to mean that she was weary.

“Rest while you can. I’ll call later to check on the two of you, but in the meantime, if you need anything—”

“I’ll call, I promise.”

They exchanged goodbyes and Stan Gillette clicked off. Coburn extended his hand and, with reluctance, Honor dropped her cell phone into it. Meanwhile he was using his own phone to redial the number he’d called earlier. He got the same recorded message. “What holiday is it?”

“Yesterday was the Fourth. Since it fell on Sunday—”

“Today’s the national holiday. Shit. I didn’t think of that.”

He pocketed both phones, then stood there considering the boxes he intended to pillage. “How long will the kid sleep?”

“An hour. Sometimes a little longer.”

“Okay, into the bedroom.”

He nudged her elbow, but she balked. “Why? I thought you wanted to go through the files.”