Page 128 of The List

He was just about to hang up when the phone was answered.

“Grace, it’s Brent Walker.”

Since moving back to Concord he’d talked with her several times, along with getting to know her two grandsons.

“Is my mother at home?”

“I haven’t seen her this morning. Let me look.” The echo of steps across a hardwood floor came through the earpiece.

“Brent, her car is not in the driveway.”

“Mrs. Tanner, this is important. Mom went to the dentist. She should be on her way home. Please watch and have her come into your house and call me the second she gets there. Tell her not to go into our house.” He wasn’t sure what De Florio would do, but his main concern was the house phone. If it was being monitored he sure as hell didn’t want the son of a bitch hearing what he told her. “Will you do that?”

“Of course, Brent. I was outside doing some weeding when you called. I’ll keep a lookout.”

“Please watch carefully. She should be there shortly. Remember, have her use your phone. Let me give you the extension here in the mill.”

BARNARD KEPT WATCH THROUGH A BREAK IN THE LIVING ROOMsheers and saw when Catherine Walker turned the corner onto Live Oak Lane and headed for her driveway. Next door an elderly woman was out in the sultry morning weeding her front flower beds. Mrs. Walker pulled into the driveway and parked. Two young boys ran over from next door and started talking to her. The neighbor followed, walking through a narrow opening in the waist-high row of red tips and azaleas that formed a hedge between the properties.

The two older women talked.

The kids ran up on the porch and impatiently turned the locked front doorknob, apparently wanting to go inside the Walker house.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Catherine Walker called out.

He kept watching.

The two older women were engaged in a discussion, but he could not hear what they were saying thanks to the incessant chatter of the boys and their stomping on the front porch.

“Come with me,” the other older woman called out.

The children fled the porch and, along with the two women, walked next door.

THE PHONE RANG, ENDING THE LONGEST TEN MINUTESBRENT COULDever remember. He jerked up the receiver.

“Brent?” It was his mother.

“Where are you?”

“At Grace’s.”

“Mom, you must listen to exactly what I’m about to tell you and follow my instructions precisely.”

“What’s wrong, son?”

“Mom. Please. Not now. Go outside, get in your car, and leave. Go find Ashley, she’s on her morning route, probably near Registry Boulevard by now. Get her. Then go get Lori Anne. All of you drive straight to Uncle Erik’s. Don’t stop anywhere along the way. Go straight there and stay until you hear from me. Understand?”

Erik Walker was his father’s younger brother who lived seventy miles to the west in northeast Bulloch County on a large farm, with employees, family, and neighbors, plenty of people to discourage De Florio and associates, even if they knew where to look, which he was betting they didn’t.

“If you think you’re being followed, go to the sheriff’s department.”

“Son, you’re frightening me.”

“I don’t mean to. Just please do as I ask. Tell Ashley to park that damn van and go. Don’t worry about her job. She’s got to trust me on this. Believe me, this is far more important than delivering the mail. And none of you tell anyone where you’re going. No one. Including Grace. I’ll call you later in the day, but under no circumstances are you to leave Uncle Erik’s until I call.”

“Can I go in the house and get a few things?”

“No. If you need anything, buy it there or borrow it. Don’t worry about the money. Just go. Now.”