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“Pretty much,” Izzy admits.
Tom lowers his voice, as if afraid the room might be bugged. “Talk to your friend.”
“Who? Holly?”
“Who else? She’s not police, but she thinks around corners sometimes. Fill her in, then ask if she has any ideas.”
“You’re serious?”
He sighs and says, “As a heart attack.”
10
In the Garden City Plaza Hotel, Barbara is watching with fascination as Betty Brady and Red Jones have a whisper rehearsal for next Friday night, when they will perform the National Anthem at Dingley Park. Betty says she’s done it twice at Sacramento Kings basketball games, but with a Korg accompanying her.
“Don’t know what that is,” Barbara says.
“Synth,” Red says. “That’d be better than this.” He holds up his sax. “Who wants to hear ‘O say can you see’ honked out?”
“Bullshit,” Betty says. “It’s going to be…” She points at Barbara. “Something spooky but in a good way. What’s the word?”
“Haunting, maybe?”
“Haunting! That’s it! Perfect! Let’s do it again, Red. Mostly to make sure I’m on key. Been a long time since I had to go high and low in the same song.”
Red has got three pairs of Betty’s socks stuffed into the bell of his sax, and Betty sings the National Anthem in a low, melodious voice. They try it first in the “official” key of B-flat major, but Betty doesn’tlike it, says it sounds like a dirge. They switch to G major. Red, blowing his muted horn, gives her a nod. She nods back. The first time through in G is ragged, the second time better, the third smooth as silk.
“After ‘O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave,’ I want to go dead-stop,” she says, and counts off. “One-two-three-four. Then the last line. Really punch it.”
“Cool. It’s a groove.”
“Let’s try it.”
They do.
When they finish, Betty looks at Barbara. “What do you think?”
“I think the people lucky enough to go to that game are going to remember it forever.”
She’s right about that, but not the way she thinks.
Chapter 12
1
The drive from Iowa City to Davenport is a short trip on I-80. Holly, Kate, and Corrie are at the Country Inn & Suites well before noon on Saturday morning. Holly spends the first half of the trip a mile or two ahead of Kate’s truck, glancing every now and then at her phone, where the GPS tracker on the F-150 is a pulsing green dot. Then she drops back, hoping to spot a follow car. She sees one that looks likely. It’s a little Mustang convertible. It speeds up, swapping lanes to pull even with Kate’s truck on the left. Holly’s stomach tightens. She also swaps lanes to get behind the Mustang, cutting someone off and ignoring the blare of their horn. Then the Mustang’s passenger stands up, her long hair whipping in the wind, and shouts, “We love you, Kate!”
The convertible scoots away. Holly lets out a breath and drops back.
They have lunch in the restaurant next door to the hotel and then Kate has her swim. Back and forth she goes, lap after lap, sleek as a fish in her red tank suit. Holly, sitting poolside with a towel in her lap, gets tired just watching her. Kate finally gets out, takes the towel with a muttered thanks, and knots it around her waist. Holly expected some sort of endorphin rush after so much exercise, but Kate seems inward, almost sullen. She picks her phone up from the table where she’s left it along with a paperback novel, speaks briefly to Corrie, who’s at the venue, and ends the call.
“Going to take a forty-five-minute nap,” she says without looking at Holly. “Then the press conference at the Axis. Where we werebooked.”
Holly says nothing.
“These itinerary changes are a pain in the ass, Gibney.”
Holly doesn’t engage, just picks up Kate’s book. “Do you want this?”