“Maybe I just imagined it,” Faith said. “Why would these guys turn around all the snow globes?” She seemed to remember something else. “And unscrew the light bulbs.”
Amanda sighed. “It doesn’t matter, Faith. What matters is that we’ve got to get a plan together.” She checked her watch. “It’s almost seven o’clock. We need to put our thinking caps on.”
Faith said, “Will’s right. They’re watching Mom’s house. I know they’re watching mine. If we bring in the APD—”
“I have no intention of doing something so stupid,” Amanda interrupted. “We still don’t know if Chuck Finn is involved in this or not.” Faith opened her mouth to protest, but Amanda held up her hand to stop her. “I know you think that Chuck was pushed into a life of crime while the others willingly jumped in, but guilty doesn’t come in shades. He took the money. He spent it. He confessed to his crimes and he’s out on the street somewhere with a very serious habit that costs a great deal of money. You also need to remember that Chuck still has friends on the Atlanta force, and where he doesn’t have friends, he might have the money to buy them. I know you don’t want to hear this, but there’s no getting around that he either gave Hironobu Kwon the tip-off or he’s pulling the strings on this new group of young guns.”
Faith countered, “That doesn’t sound like Chuck.”
“Skimming money off busts didn’t sound like Chuck, either, but here we are.” She told Will, “You mentioned the vantage point from Roz Levy’s house. There’s no way they could set up there. She’d shoot them the second they set foot in the driveway.”
“It’s true,” Faith agreed. “Mrs. Levy watches the street like a hawk.”
Will countered, “Unless someone’s getting shot or kidnapped next door.”
Amanda ignored the observation. “The point, Will, is that we can exploit the position just as easily as the kidnappers can. Short of shipping you in the world’s largest box, we need to figure out how we’re going to get you and your rifle into Roz Levy’s carport without being seen.” She looked at Faith. “Are you sure you weren’t followed here?”
Faith shook her head. “I was careful. I wasn’t followed.”
“Good girl,” Amanda told her. She was back in her element, almost giddy with the task at hand. “I need to make some phone calls to find out what’s going on at Evelyn’s house. Our bad guys wouldn’t have suggested a meeting there if they thought the Atlanta Crime Scene Unit was going to be steady at work. We’ll see if Charlie can make some inquiries, too. Failing that, I think I’ve got a few more favors in my pocket with some old gals in Zone Six who would love nothing more than to show the kids how it’s done. Dr. Linton?”
Sara was surprised to hear her name. “Yes?”
“Thank you for your time. I trust you’ll keep this little party to yourself?”
“Of course.”
Faith stood behind Amanda. “Thank you,” she said. “Again.”
Sara hugged her. “Be careful.”
Will was next. He held out his hand. “Dr. Linton.”
Sara looked down, wondering if she was having one of Faith’s hallucinations. He was actually shaking her hand goodbye.
He said, “Thank you for your help. I’m sorry we imposed on you this morning.”
Faith mumbled something Sara couldn’t hear.
Amanda opened the closet. Sara guessed the smile on her face wasn’t there because she was happy to see her coat. “I know a lot of Evelyn’s neighbors. They’re mostly retired and I think that with the exception of that old battle-ax across the street, they’ll be okay with us using their places. I’ll need to get my hands on some cash. I think I can make that happen, but we’ll be tight for time.” She slipped on her coat. “Faith, you’ll need to go home and wait until you hear from us. I imagine at some point we’ll need you to run to a bank or two. Will, go home and change that shirt. The collar’s frayed and you’re missing a button. And while you’re at it, you’d better start building a Trojan horse or come up with a plan to romance Roz Levy. She was ready to have Faith arrested an hour ago. God knows what bee is up her wrinkled old butt this morning.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sara opened the front door for them. Amanda started toward the elevator. Will, ever the gentleman, stepped aside so that Faith could leave first.
Sara shut the door after Faith.
“What—” Will began, but she put her finger to his lips.
“Sweetheart, I know you’ve got work to do and I know it’s going to be dangerous, but whatever you get into today will not be nearly as life-threatening as what’ll happen if you ever do to me what you did to me last night and then think you can get off with a handshake the next morning. Okay?”
He swallowed.
“Call me later.” She kissed him goodbye, then opened the door so that he could leave.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WILL SUBSCRIBED TO A LOT OF CAR MAGAZINES. MOSTLY, he bought them for the pictures, but sometimes he felt compelled to read the articles. That’s how he knew that Roz Levy’s avocado green 1960 Chevrolet Corvair 700 sedan was worth considerably more than Faith’s five-dollar appraisal.
The car was a beauty, the sort of classic American carmakers used to be known for. The rear-mounted, air-cooled, horizontally opposed, aluminum flat-six engine had been engineered to directly take on the increasingly more popular compact-sized European models coming onto the market. The design was renowned for its innovative swing-axle rear suspension, which received its own chapter in Ralph Nader’s Unsafe at Any Speed. The spare tire was mounted in the forward luggage compartment, where the engine was normally located in other cars, nestled right next to a gasoline heater for the passenger area. Though winter was over, the tank was still filled with gas, which Will knew because his face had been pressed against the metal canister while Faith drove him to Mrs. Levy’s house. The sloshing of gasoline had been like ocean waves crashing against the shore. Or, a highly volatile accelerant churning less than a rusty millimeter from his face.
The car had been built well before the 2001 National Highway Traffic Safety Administration deadline that required all manufacturers to install a glow-in-the-dark emergency release strap in case someone got trapped in the trunk of the car. Will wasn’t sure whether he would be able to reach a handle even if one existed. The trunk was deep but not wide, more like a pelican’s mouth. He was folded into a space meant to hold a spare tire and maybe a couple of suitcases—1960s suitcases, not the modern wheelie kinds that people nowadays used to pack their entire houses in for a weekend trip to the mountains.
In short, there existed the very real possibility that he might die in here before Roz Levy remembered that she was supposed to let him out.
There was a thin sliver of light coming through the cracked rubber seal around the hinge. Will lifted up his cell phone to check the time. He’d been in the trunk for almost two hours and had at least another half hour to go. His rifle was jammed between his legs in a way that was no longer pleasant. His paddle holster was turned so that his Glock dug into his side like an insistent finger. The bottle of water Faith had given him had long been recycled back into the plastic bottle. It was approximately six thousand degrees inside the metal tomb. He had lost feeling in his hands and feet. He was beginning to think that this was a very bad idea.