David Baldacci - Hour Game

Michelle pointed to several photos of Battle with large groups of people. "What are those of?"

"Some of Bobby's employees. He was an engineer-turned-businessman. Holds over a hundred patents. Looking at this room, you might think my husband was all play and no work, but Bobby is, above all else, a hard worker. The things he invented, they all made money."

"When did you two meet?" asked Michelle. She added quickly, "I know it's a personal question, but he seems such a fascinating man."

Remmy actually smiled at this. "He walked into my daddy's clothing store in Birmingham, Alabama, forty-five years ago and announced that he'd seen me at several events and I was the prettiest thing he'd ever laid eyes on and he was going to marry me. And he just wanted my daddy to know, although he said he wasn't seeking permission, which was and in many ways still is the custom down there. He said the only person he had to convince of his intentions was me. Well, he did. I was only eighteen then and hadn't seen anything of life, but I was no pushover. Yet he eventually won me."

"Quite the whirlwind," said King.

"He was ten years older than me. When we got married, he hadn't made much money, but he had the brains to and the drive. He was special. And yet he wanted me. " This last part was said with surprising humility.

"Well, it's not like you weren't quite a catch," said King sincerely.

"I suppose I was one of the very few to stand up to him. Oh, we had our peaks and our valleys like most folks," she added quietly.

Remmy opened a door and motioned them in. "Bobby's closet."

The space was far smaller than his wife's closet but was still elaborately built out.

Remmy pushed back some pants hanging on rods and pointed to the side of one of the cabinets where a panel of wood had been broken out.

"There's a secret cupboard there, about the same size as the one in my room. One of the drawers in this large cabinet doesn't go all the way back, you see. It's pretty clever, because from the front it's almost impossible to judge how deep the drawers are. And you can't see the little keyhole on the side unless you're looking for it. I've been in here a million times, and I never noticed it."

King shot her a glance. "So you didn't know Bobby had a secret drawer?"

Remmy looked like a woman who'd realized far too late that she'd said far too much.

"No, I didn't," she said.

"What was stolen?"

"What does it matter?" she snapped. "I know what was stolen out of mine."

"Remmy, you mean you don't know what Bobby kept in there?" asked King.

She didn't answer for a long moment. When she did, her tone was far more subdued.

"No, I don't."

"OKAY," SAID MICHELLE ONCE they'd left the house. "A psychiatrist could write an entire textbook on just Savannah and Remmy's relationship."

"Her not knowing what was in Bobby's secret drawer is bugging the hell out of the woman," said King as he glanced back at the mansion.

"And while her closet was all broken up, Bobby's wasn't. That's significant."

"Right. The person knew where Bobby's secret cache was but didn't have the key to open it."

Before leaving the house they'd spoken with Mason and the other household help. Their answers were incredibly consistent: they'd all been in the house in the rear grounds and had seen and heard nothing when the burglary occurred.

King and Michelle got in the car, but instead of leaving, King steered his Lexus down the asphalt road leading to the rear of the property.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"I met Sally Wainwright, the woman who handles the stables, at a horse event last year. Let's see if she saw and heard nothing that night too."

Sally was in her mid-twenties, cute, petite but wiry with long brown hair that she kept in a ponytail. She was mucking a stall when King and Michelle drove up. She wiped the sweat from her face with a cloth and came over to the car.

"You probably don't remember me," began King. "I spent the day with you at the charity dressage event in Charlottesville last year."

Sally smiled broadly. "Of course, I remember you, Sean." She glanced at Michelle. "You and Ms. Maxwell here are pretty famous now."

"Or infamous," replied King. He looked around at the stables and horses. "So do many of the Battles still ride?" he asked.

"Dorothea never has. Eddie does quite a bit. He's into Civil War reenactments and has to saddle up sometimes in those."

"Are you into that?" asked Michelle.

Sally laughed. "I'm from Arizona. I could care less about the Civil War."

"I see Savannah 's home. She used to ride in competition, didn't she?" asked King.

A slight look of annoyance crossed Sally's face. "She used to." King waited expectantly to see if Sally would put a defining exclamation point on that comment.

"She's a great rider. Not so handy with mucking, grooming and dealing with people who didn't grow up with silver spoons in their mouths." Sally suddenly looked scared as though she'd spoken out of turn.

"Not to worry, Sally," said King supportively. "I know just what you mean." He paused and added, "Does Mrs. Battle ride?"

"I've been here five years, and she hasn't saddled up once in that time." Sally leaned on her muck rake. "I saw you drive in earlier. You just visiting?"

King told her why they were there, and Sally's brow clouded as she anxiously glanced in the direction of the main house.

"I don't know anything about that," she said.

"So you were in your house with Mason and the rest the whole time, I suppose."

"Right," she said. "I go to sleep early. Have to get up at the crack of dawn."

"I'm sure. Well, if anything occurs to you, let me know." He handed her one of his business cards. She didn't even look at it.

"I don't know anything, Sean, I really don't."

"Okay. You ever see Junior Deaver around here?"

Sally hesitated and then said, "Couple times. When he was working here."

"You ever speak to him?"

"Maybe once," she said evasively.

"Well, you have a good day, Sally."

They drove off. King looked in the rearview mirror at a very nervous Sally.

"She's not telling us something," said Michelle.

"That's right," answered King.

"Where to now?"

King pointed to a large house on the other side of the board-on-board fencing. "Two more Battles to go, and then we can call it a day," he said.

"SO THIS IS A CARRIAGE HOUSE, "said Michelle as she climbed out of King's car and stared at the approximately five-thousand-square-foot red brick structure. "I always imagined them to be bigger," she added sarcastically.

"I guess it depends on the size of your carriage." King glanced at the late-model silver Volvo station wagon parked in the motor court. "That's Eddie's car."

"Let me guess, you're clairvoyant?"

"No, but I see a Confederate soldier's uniform and a painting easel in the back."

Eddie Battle answered the door and ushered them in. He was a big man, at least six-two and packing over 220 very muscular pounds. He had unruly thick dark hair and striking blue eyes, and his features were strong and weathered by the elements. The hair came from his father; his mouth and eyes came straight from his mother, Michelle observed. However, there was nothing of her sternness and cold reserve about him; indeed, his boyish manner was ingratiating. He reminded her of a handsome, albeit older, California surfer dude.

He shook their hands and sat them down in the living room. His heavily muscled and thickly veined forearms were spotted with paint, and he was wearing what appeared to be cavalry boots with his faded jeans tucked inside them. His white work shirt had several holes in it and numerous paint stains; he was also unshaven. He seemed the antithesis of a rich man's son.