Page 46

He undresses slowly. Shirt, shoes, pants, socks. In the other room, the air conditioner rattles and rattles. He thinks about the bunk bed, of course he does. The hand hanging down in a beam of morning sun dancing with motes of golden dust. That dead hand. He tells himselfto stop, that she’s not dead—never died, never died—but that memory torments him. He can erase the rest, but never the hand in the sunlight, hanging down from the upper bunk.
Our secret, Mama said.Our secret.
“This is God’s work, God’s will, and God’s will be done,” he says to his reflection in the mirror. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. Exodus 22, verse 18.”
Our secret, our secret.
Will he go to hell after killing McKay, or will God welcome him in with aWell done, thou good and faithful servant? He doesn’t know, but he knows it will make an end to his torment.
Our secret.
In the other room, the air conditioner rattles and rattles.
6
At three-thirty that afternoon, Holly is on the phone with her ex-partner, Pete Huntley. Pete is extolling the virtues of retirement in Boca Raton, and each time she thinks he’s reached the end of his encomiums, he comes up with another one. It’s a relief when the office line rings.
“Pete, I have to get that.”
“Sure, duty calls. But if it stops calling, you should get your skinny butt down here for a visit. Boca’s fantastic!”
“I will,” Holly says, although she probably won’t. She’s afraid of hurricanes. “You take care, now.”
She ends the call and goes to the office phone. “Finders Keepers, Holly Gibney speaking. How can I help?”
“Hello, Ms. Gibney. My name is Corrie Anderson. I work for Kate McKay. Do you happen to know who she is?”
“I certainly do,” Holly says. “I was hoping to attend her lecture at the Mingo Auditorium here, but I understand it’s been postponed.”
“It has, but we’re still coming. Actually hoping to attend one of the Sista Bessie concerts.” A pause. “We’ve had some trouble along the way, Ms. Gibney.”
“So I understand.” In her spare time Holly has mostly been fixated on Izzy’s case (and wishing it was hers), but she’s been following the Kate McKay news as well. She’s curious about where this is going. Also excited. If McKay’s PA is calling, meeting the woman, up close and personal, isn’t out of the question. “There was a bleach-throwing incident in Las Vegas, I understand. Were you the one that got it in the face?”
“It was Reno, not Vegas, but yes, it was me. Kate was the actual target. It was raining, and I happened to be wearing her hat.”
Corrie goes on to tell Holly about the anthrax in Omaha. That one Holly knew about, but not about the champagne fiasco in Des Moines. Then Corrie cuts to the chase, asking Holly if she does bodyguard work.
“I never have. I’m sure you could get an off-duty police person to do that, and for a fee considerably less than I would—”
“That’s just what we… Kate, I mean…doesn’twant. She wants a woman who’s not associated with the police.”
“I see.”
She does. Those who oppose the things Kate McKay stands for will be having a field day with a big male cop breaking a woman’s arm or shoulder or whatever it was, although some of those same people cheer when a cop shoots an obstreperous suspect.
“Can you hold on? I need to look at my schedule.”
“Fine. This is a big deal for Kate. And, you know, for me.”
Of course it is, Holly thinks.You’re the one who got the bleach shower. “Hold on.”
Holly checks her appointment book, knowing she’s going to find a lot of white space. There’s that female bail jumper she needs to locate (probably with her family, that’s where the gals usually go), and there’s the stolen Tesla Cybertruck she’s been hired to find, but maybe Barbara’s brother, Jerome, could be persuaded to look for it. Otherwise, she’s free. And new things can be good things. New things are almost always a chance to learn.
“Ms. Anderson? Are you still—”
“Yes,” Corrie says.
“If I take this on, my rates are six hundred dollars a day, three-day minimum. Plus expenses, which I track by Microsoft Excel. I take Visa, Master, or a personal—”