Mean Streak

Knight looked over at Grange. “Told you he’d be upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

But to Jeff’s own ears, he sounded upset. Rather than give them the satisfaction of watching him seethe, he turned his head to stare out the window. For the next half hour, they drove with only the two in front occasionally exchanging a few words. Nothing important was discussed.

The gaining altitude and curviness of the road increased Jeff’s carsickness. The drop-offs where there were no guard rails ma

de him more anxious than he already was. He wished he hadn’t agreed to come along. The day had started off badly.

He hadn’t slept well and had gotten up before his alarm and turned on the TV. As expected, all the Atlanta stations covered the story of Emory’s disappearance. Within minutes of the broadcasts, his phone had begun to ring. Acquaintances—some he barely knew—were clamoring to know more. He’d answered only a few of those calls, letting most go to voice mail.

While waiting for Knight to pick him up, he’d ruminated on everything that had been said and tried not to put too much stock in the detectives’ apparent suspicion. By Knight’s own admission, putting the spouse under a microscope was routine. If he let their insinuations rattle him, they would assume he was guilty.

But with all this talk of Emory’s finances, and now the search of his car, he was second-guessing his decision not to retain an attorney, as Alice had suggested.

She had also called this morning in spite of his telling her not to. They’d kept the conversation brief, but he was angry at her for defying him, and even angrier at himself for giving in and answering when her number came up on his phone.

He was angry at the pair of small-time detectives who apparently thought he was too dense to see through the ludicrous law-and-order charade they were playing with him.

Mostly, he was angry at Emory. It was her fault that he was being made to suffer through this.

* * *

“Know what I can’t get over?” Norman, who’d been eating a bowl of cereal at the dining table, tipped his chair on its back legs. “What I can’t get over is you being so stingy with your name. Guess I’ll just keep on calling you neighbor.”

“Your mother called me Dr. Smith’s guard. Guard, neighbor, whatever is fine with me.” He had accepted Pauline’s offer of a cup of coffee because the water to brew it had reached a boiling point and he’d washed the cup himself. Under Norman’s thoughtful stare, he blew on the hot coffee and took a sip. “But don’t think too hard about it, Norman. You might strain something.”

With a good-natured grin, Norman picked up his bowl and spooned another bite. “What I figure is, you’re a fugitive from justice.”

“Is that what you figure?”

“Me too,” said Will, who glowered at him from what seemed to be his permanent place on the couch.

“You can tell us,” Norman said in a wheedling tone. “We’ve had brushes with the law ourselves.”

“Have you?”

“You wouldn’t believe some of the stunts we’ve pulled.”

“Shut the hell up, Norman,” Will said.

But Norman was in an expansive mood. “I did three months in county for lifting an old lady’s purse out of her shopping cart in the grocery store.”

He didn’t react.

“Another time, we stole some retreads from an old guy who runs the junkyard out on sixty-four. Then—swear to God if this ain’t the truth—we sold ’em back to him a week later for twenty bucks profit. Old coot never knew he was took.”

He drew a deep breath as though singularly unimpressed.

“Will got into a fight with this guy over a poker game. We lit into him good. Took four men to pull us off him. I got probation. Will served a few months for assault. But the other guy is still regrettin’ calling my baby brother a cheat. Right, Will?”

“And we ain’t done with him either,” Will said.

“Is that right?” he asked, arching an eyebrow, feeling it was time to exhibit some interest in their exploits. “What do you have planned for him?”

“None of your damn business.”

“Don’t be so touchy, Will,” Norman said. “He’s just making friendly conversation, remember?” Then, coming back to him, he said, “Turnabout’s fair play. Come on. You can tell us. What’d you do?”