by Greg Iles
He turned to the Hitachi to check the video feed, and when he turned back, she shifted in her seat, uncrossed her legs, then recrossed them with the languid grace of a lioness stretching her flanks. The shortness of the cocktail dress gave him a brief but direct sight line between her legs, even from the podium. He felt blood rush to his face. It wasn’t quite Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct—this woman was wearing panties—but she had made sure he could see everything but the brand name on the silk. Those dark panties were a far cry from the white cotton “granny” panties Karen had taken to wearing the past couple of years. As Will dropped his gaze to look at his speech, he realized that he had fallen behind the video. He looked back up and skipped ahead to the proper cue line.
The ghost of a smile touched the woman’s lips.
Huey Cotton stood on the cabin porch, looking into darkening trees as the sun sank behind them. Tiny flashes of greenish-yellow light floated beneath the branches like phosphorescent sparks from an unseen fire.
“Lightnin’ bugs,” he said, his voice filled with pleasure. “I wonder if there’s a mason jar in the kitchen.”
As he watched the little flares winking in the shadows, a soft groan came from inside the cabin. Huey’s smile vanished, replaced by something like fear. He took a deep breath, then turned slowly and looked at the door with trepidation.
“I wish you was here, Mamaw,” he said softly.
The groan came again.
He reached out and opened the screen door, then pushed open the main door and walked inside.
Hickey sat at Karen’s kitchen table, eating a huge muffaletta sandwich and drinking iced tea.
“Damn, that’s good,” he said, wiping his mouth. “You got the dressing just right. Reminds me of New Orleans. That grocery store down in the Quarter.”
“Are you from New Orleans?” Karen asked. She was standing at the island, opposite the refrigerator, packing syringes and insulin into a small Igloo ice chest.
“You hear a New Orleans accent?”
“Not really.” She couldn’t classify Hickey’s speech. There was some Mississippi in it, but other inflections, too. He had to have spent some time outside the South. In the service, maybe.
“We’ll just skip over my biography for now,” he said, chewing another bite of the big sandwich. “Maybe we’ll get into it later.”
Karen was closing the ice chest when the garage doorbell rang.
Hickey was instantly on his feet, Will’s gun in his hand. “Who’s that?” he asked, his eyes flicking around the room as though a SWAT team might burst in. “You expecting somebody?”
Karen shook her head. She had no idea who it could be.
“Don’t answer it. We’ll just let them go on their merry way.” He took a step toward the pantry. “Which door are they at?”
“The garage,” she whispered, shocked by the sense of conspiracy she felt with Hickey. But the last thing she wanted was someone disrupting his carefully organized plan while Abby was under his control.
The bell rang twice more. The urgency of the ringer was like a finger poking Karen in the side.
“How come I didn’t hear a car?” Hickey asked.
“Sometimes we don’t.” As she spoke the words, she realized who the visitor might be. Stephanie Morgan, the co-chair of the Junior League flower show. Stephanie drove a Lexus that ran so quietly Karen never heard it pulling up the driveway. And of everyone she knew, Stephanie had the most reason to drop by over the next couple of days.
She and Hickey jumped when the kitchen window rattled. Karen turned and saw Stephanie Morgan’s face pressed against the glass. She was shaking a reprimanding finger, and beside her was the little moon face of her eleven-month-old son, Josh.
“Open the door,” Hickey said in a flat voice.
“Hide,” Karen told him.
“I can’t. She’s looking at me right now.” He slid the gun behind his right leg. “Go open it.”
Karen didn’t want to invite Stephanie into her nightmare, but if she refused to open the door now, Steph would throw a fit, and Hickey’s plan would come apart. She held up her hand and motioned toward the garage. Stephanie nodded and disappeared from the window.
“Let me handle this,” Karen told him. “Please.”
He looked skeptical. “Let’s see if you can.”
When Karen opened the door, Stephanie pushed right past her with Josh in her arms, talking as she went. “Karen, you’ve got to come down to the Colisseum in the morning. I mean first thing. I’ve been down there all day, and the place is a wreck. They were supposed to have those livestock people out of there by lunch today, but there are still cows on the floor. Cows, Karen.”
Stephanie had reached the kitchen. “Hello,” she said to Hickey. “Are you Karen’s secret lover? I always knew she had one. It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.”
Karen stepped into the kitchen and rubbed Josh’s arm. The little guy was obviously exhausted from his day at the flower show venue, and he was resting his head on his mother’s shoulder. Or had he sensed something frightening in Joe Hickey?
“Stephanie, this is Joe, my second cousin. He’s from Washington State. Joe, Stephanie Morgan, Junior League soccer mom.”
“Puh-lease,” Stephanie said, giving Hickey a little wave and turning back to Karen. She obviously hadn’t seen the gun. “I want to know why you didn’t answer that doorbell.”
Hickey was watching Karen over Stephanie’s shoulder. His eyes had gone dead the moment she turned away from him. “I had some Mormons around before,” Karen said. “I thought they’d come back for another try.”
Stephanie pulled a wry face. With her overdone makeup, it made her look like a circus clown. “Likely story. I know what you’re doing. Hiding from me. But I’ve got news for you, honey. You can’t. You’re the queen bee of this show, and I need you. When I saw those cows on that floor, I said, ‘There’s only one woman in the Junior League for this job, and that’s Karen Jennings. She’ll have those damn bovines out of here before another cow patty hits the floor.’”
Karen didn’t know what to say. The only thing in her mind was getting Stephanie and Josh out as quickly as possible. She felt a frightening energy radiating from Hickey, a sort of survival desperation. It was in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders and mouth. Something he’d developed in prison, maybe. If he perceived Stephanie as a threat, he would kill her. And eleven-month-old Josh? Karen didn’t want to think about that.
Josh began to cry. Stephanie gave his back a perfunctory pat and began rocking on the balls of her feet.
“I’ll be down there in the morning,” Karen promised. She took Stephanie by the arm and began walking her back toward the pantry. “But Joe’s father passed away recently, and he’s down here to work out some estate problems with me. We only have tonight and the morning to do it.”
“Karen.” Stephanie planted her feet at the kitchen door. “You know how important this is. Lucy Childs is just waiting for us to screw this up.”
Good God, Karen thought. Junior League politics. Could anything in the world be less important? She kept moving Stephanie toward the door. “I’ll take care of the cows. You take Josh home and get him some supper. Where’s Caroline?”
The second she asked, she wished she hadn’t. Because Stephanie would now ask where Abby was.
“With my mother,” Stephanie replied. “Which is another reason I’m so stressed. Mom was all set to get her highlights done this afternoon, and then she had to cancel to keep Caroline. Guilt trip from hell, of course. Where’s Abby?”
“With Will’s mother, in the Delta.” They had reached the laundry room. Karen looked back and saw Hickey silhouetted in the kitchen door. Her eyes searched for the outline of the gun.
“Nice meeting you, Joe!” Stephanie called.
“Yeah,” he said.
Karen pushed her into the garage. Sure enough, Stephanie’s white Lexus was parked just behind the Expedition.
“Your cousin lo
oks interesting,” Stephanie said, her eyes twinkling. “A little rough, maybe, but interesting. You sure I didn’t just stumble onto a tryst?”
Karen forced a laugh. “Positive. Joe can’t stand me. He’s just here to settle the estate.”
“Well, I hope you get some money out of it.” She pointed at the Avalon parked beside the Expedition. “You need to upgrade your transportation, girl.”
“I’ll see you in the morning, Steph. I may be a little late.”
Stephanie had leaned down to strap Josh into his car seat. “Don’t you dare. I cannot handle cow shit, okay? That is not in my contract.”
Karen forced another laugh. Stephanie got into the Lexus, started it, and backed around to go down the hill.
Something brushed Karen’s shoulder. Hickey was standing beside her, and she hadn’t even realized it. He waved at the Lexus. Stephanie honked her horn in reply, then disappeared over the lip of the drive.
“Not bad, Mom,” Hickey said. “That skinny bitch owes you her life, and she doesn’t even know it.”
Karen realized she was shaking.
Hickey slapped her lightly on the behind, exactly the way Will would have. “Let’s get back inside. My muffaletta’s getting cold.”
Will’s lecture was nearly done. The first susurrant sounds of dresses shifting on seats had reached his ears from the floor of the darkened ballroom. He had timed the program just right. Behind him, the Hitachi showed a maternal-fetal medicine specialist injecting Restorase into a fetus still in the womb. The fetus had been paralyzed before undergoing a blood transfusion to save its life. Restorase would bring it out of paralysis in a tenth of the time it would normally take.
“And while this particular injection required a good deal of comment,” Will said, “I think this last shot is pretty self-explanatory.”
The pregnant woman’s belly was replaced by a wide-screen sequence of Will teeing off at the Annandale golf course, one recognized by most doctors in the audience. With creative editing, he had made his perfect drive appear to conclude with a stunning hole-in-one. When the ball hit the pin and dropped into the cup—to the accompaniment of Tex-Mex music from Kevin Costner’s Tin Cup—a wild whoop went up from the dark (probably from the throat of Jackson Everett) and enthusiastic applause followed. The lights came up and revealed a laughing, exhilarated audience.
“I’ll be at the Klein-Adams booth for two hours tomorrow afternoon,” Will said. “I’ve brought samples of Restorase with me, as well as some of the gas-injection systems I’ve discussed tonight. I look forward to speaking with all of you.”
This time the applause was more sedate, but also more sustained. Saul Stein stood and patted him on the back. Will shook Stein’s hand, then began disconnecting his computer while the MMA president waited for the applause to die. Stein gushed over the presentation, then moved on to announcements regarding the next day’s seminars. Will zipped up his computer case and stepped down from the podium.
He was immediately swallowed by a congratulatory mob that swept him out of the Magnolia Ballroom and into the atrium area. A visual echo of the woman in black remained in his mind, but he saw no sign of her among the smiling faces. For fifteen minutes he shook hands and accepted compliments, but before the real gabbers could trap him, he made for the escalators.
Like all casino hotels, the Beau Rivage made sure its guests had to pass through a carnival of slot machines and gaming tables on their way to and from the meeting rooms. Will’s joints were giving him trouble, but he walked briskly. He wanted to get up to the room and take some more Advil.
He had planned to use the VIP elevators, but as he passed the main elevators, Jackson Everett reached out and pulled him into the waiting area. Everett had another drink in his hand, and the smell of rum came off him like Caribbean perfume. He opened his mouth to say something to Will, but just then an elevator opened and disgorged an elderly woman holding a cigar box full of quarters.
“Take ’em to the cleaners, Grandma!” he yelled. “Break the bank!”
The woman grinned and hurried toward the lobby. Everett pushed Will into the elevator, then followed him. Two more doctors wearing name tags stepped in after them, and the door began to close.
“Hold the door!” cried a female voice.
Will’s right arm shot out to stop the sliding door, despite the pain the sudden move caused him. As the door retracted, the blond woman in the black dress stepped into the elevator.
“Thanks,” she said. Her cheeks were flushed as though she had been running.
“You’re welcome,” Will replied.
The woman immediately turned and faced the closing doors, leaving him to study the wave of Lauren Bacall hair. The elevator was lined with mirrors and burled wood. Will looked to his right and studied her reflection in profile. The first thing he noticed was Everett and the other two doctors staring at her behind. She clutched her small handbag and looked at the floor, seemingly oblivious to the men behind her. Everett’s gaze was openly lascivious.
“Did you set up that video display, Jennings?” asked one of the docs, whom Will vaguely recognized. “Or did you get some talented secretary to do it?”
“Karen probably did it,” interjected Everett.
“No, I did it. It’s easier than you think.”
“Maybe,” said the first man. “But where do you get the time?”
“I don’t have Jack’s bad habits.”
“Hah,” said Everett. “That from the guy who just developed the ultimate date-rape drug.”
The men fell uncomfortably silent, and the elevator stopped on the eighth floor. The doctors waited, giving the woman time to exit first, but she didn’t move. The one who’d spoken to Will excused himself and brushed past her. Everett reached down and made as if to squeeze her exquisitely round derriere, then laughed and followed the other man out. Instead of walking to his room, he turned back to the elevator and pointed at Will.
“Come on to the casino with us! You’ll love it. And even if you don’t, we’re going to take in a little dancing later. Know what I mean?”
The woman stiffened.
“I’ve got to call Karen,” Will said, before Everett could get more explicit. “And I’m getting up early for golf. You guys knock the walls out.”
“We always do.” Everett smirked and flicked his eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx.
Will leaned forward and hit the CLOSE DOOR button.
“Thanks,” the woman said as the doors slid shut.
“He’s okay, really. Just a little drunk.”
She nodded and gave Will a look that told him she was used to such things. The elevator began to ascend. Between floors, Will caught himself staring at her trim figure again. When he looked up, her reflected face was watching him. He blushed and looked at the floor.
Someone behind Will cleared his throat. He’d forgotten the other doctor was still aboard. The elevator stopped again, this time on the thirteenth floor. The stranger got out, but the woman stayed put.
“What’s your floor?” she asked.
“I’m sorry?”
“There’s no floor button lit.”
“Oh. I forgot to hit it. Still nervous, I guess. Twenty-eight, please.”
“You’ve got a Cypress suite? So do I.” She half-turned to him and smiled. “Your program was great, by the way. I can’t believe you were nervous.”
“Are you a physician?” he asked. He didn’t like to think he believed in stereotypes, but he’d never met a woman doctor who looked like this.
“No. I’m with the casino company.”
“Oh. I see. Hey, what’s your floor? There’s no button lit but twenty-eight.”
“I’m twenty-eight, too. Most of the Cypress suites are up there.”
He nodded and smiled politely, but when the woman turned away he gave her a hard look. A hooker? he wondered. The desk manager had told him Saul Stein said to give him the red carpet treatment. Did that include a beautiful call girl?
&nbs
p; The elevator opened on twenty-eight.
“Bye,” the woman said. She got off and walked briskly down the hallway to the left. Will got off and watched her seductive motion, then turned left and counted the numbers down to suite 28021. He was inserting his credit card key when a female voice called, “Dr. Jennings?”
He looked up the long corridor. The blonde in the black dress was walking hesitantly toward him, gripping her small handbag in front of her.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
She fidgeted with her bag, then stopped as a door opened opposite Will. A heavyset man wearing a plaid sport coat came out and hurried toward the elevators.
“My key doesn’t work,” the woman said, after he’d passed. “Could you try it for me?”
“I doubt I can do any better than you. I’ll give it a shot, though.”
“No pun intended?”
Will laughed, then put his computer case inside his room and followed her past the heavyset man waiting for the elevators.
The elevator bell dinged as Will inserted her card key and watched for green LED lights. But when he removed the key, only one LED flashed—red—and there was no click of tumblers. He tried again, seating the card squarely and firmly, but no matter what he did, the lock refused to open.
“I think you’re out of luck,” he told her.
“Looks like it. Would you mind if I used your phone to call the desk?”
He started to say he didn’t mind, but something stopped him. A sense of something out of place, not quite logical. “I think there’s a house phone by the VIP elevators. I’ll be glad to wait with you.”
She looked momentarily confused, but after a moment she smiled. “That’s right. I appreciate you waiting with me. You never know who’s creeping around the casino. My name’s Cheryl, by the way.”
Will accepted her proffered hand, which was cool, almost to the point of coldness. It felt like the hand of an anxious patient, someone terrified of needles. He dropped her hand and escorted her back toward the elevators, walking a little ahead.