David Baldacci - Hour Game

King glanced at the sky.

"What are you looking for?"

"Tornadoes. The only time I got caught in one I was in a trailer in Kansas. There wasn't a single blade of grass disturbed in the whole area, but that twister picked that trailer up and deposited it somewhere in Missouri. Luckily, I got out before the ride started. The guy I had gone to question about a counterfeiting ring chose to stick it out. They found him in a cornfield ten miles away."

King didn't head to the front door; instead, he went around to the side of the trailer. Directly behind the double-wide about forty feet back and enclosed on three sides by leafy trees was a large wooden shed. It had no door, and inside they could see walls lined with tools and a large air generator on the floor. As they approached the structure, an unkempt dog, ribs showing, lumbered out of the shed, saw them and commenced barking and baring its yellowed teeth. Luckily, the animal appeared to be chained to a deeply set stake.

"Okay, enough snooping around," King declared.

As he and Michelle mounted the steps to the trailer, a heavyset woman appeared behind the screened front door.

The woman's hair was big and black with silver streaks. Her dress resembled a purple sandwich board glued over her immense, square-cut frame, and her face was composed of doughy cheeks, three chins, small lips and closely set eyes. The skin was pale and virtually unwrinkled. Except for the hair color, it would have been difficult to guess her exact age.

"Ms. Oxley?" said King with his hand out in greeting. She didn't take it.

"Who the hell wants to know?"

"I'm Sean King and this is Michelle Maxwell. We've been hired by Harry Carrick to handle an investigation on behalf of your husband."

"That'd be quite a feat considering my husband's been dead for years," was her surprising reply. "You must be wanting my daughter, Lulu. I'm Priscilla."

"I'm sorry, Priscilla," said King, glancing at Michelle.

"She's gone to get him. Get Junior, I mean." She took a sip of something in a Disney World coffee mug she was holding.

"I thought he was in jail," said Michelle.

The woman's gaze swiveled to her.

"He was. That's what bail's for, shug. I come up from West Virginia to help out with the kids till Junior gets himself outta this mess. If he can." She shook her large head. "Stealing from rich people. Ain't nothing dumber, but dumb is what Junior's been his whole life."

"Do you know when they'll be back?" asked King.

"They were picking up the kids from school, so ain't gonna be too long from now." Priscilla looked at them in distrust. "So exactly what are you doing here?"

"We've been retained by Junior's attorney to dig up evidence proving his innocence," explained King.

"Well, you got yourself a long road ahead."

"So you think he's guilty?" said Michelle, leaning against the banister.

Priscilla looked at her in unconcealed disgust. "He's done shit like this before."

King spoke up. "Well, maybe Junior didn't do this."

"Yeah, and maybe I'm a size six and got me my own TV show."

"If they're going to be back soon, can we come in and wait?"

Priscilla raised the pistol that she held in her other hand; it had been hidden from their view behind an outcropping of fleshy hip. "Lulu don't like me letting people in. And I don't have no way of knowing if you are who you say." She pointed the gun at King. "Now, I don't want to shoot you, 'cause you're kinda cute, but I sure as hell will, and your little skinny plaything there too, if you try anything funny."

King held up his hands in mock surrender. "No problems, Priscilla." He paused and added, "That's a fine pistol you've got there. H and K nine-millimeter, isn't it?"

"Hell if I know, belonged to my husband," said Priscilla. "But I sure know how to shoot it."

"We'll just take a stroll around outside and wait," said King, backing down the stairs and pulling Michelle with him.

"You do that. Just don't steal my Mercedes over there," said Priscilla as she shut the door.

Michelle said, "Skinny plaything? I'd like to stick that pistol right up her-"

King gripped her shoulder and led her away from the trailer. "Let's just be cool and live to play detective another day."

As they headed away from the trailer, King bent down, picked up a rock and sent it sailing into a ravine. "Why do you think Remmy Battle left the hole in the secret cupboard in Bobby's closet? She hired someone to fix the damage in her closet. Why not fix Bobby's at the same time?"

"Maybe she's pissed at him and didn't want to deal with it."

"And you think she's upset because she didn't know there was a secret drawer in his closet or what was in it?"

"While we're at it, there's something bugging me too," she said. "Why was her wedding ring in that drawer? She tells us what a great man her husband is, so why wasn't she wearing her ring? It couldn't be because of the secret drawer. She didn't find out about that until after her ring and the other things were stolen."

"She might have suspected Bobby was hiding something from her, or maybe they were having problems. Like Harry said, Bobby slept around. Or she could've been lying to us."

Michelle had a sudden thought. "Do you think Junior was hired by someone to break into the house and steal what was in Bobby's secret drawer?"

"Who would know about it other than Bobby?"

"The person who built it."

King nodded. "And that person could presume that valuables would be kept in there. In fact, it might be the same person who built Remmy's. Bobby might have hired him to do his without bothering to tell his wife."

Michelle said, "Well, I guess we can rule out Remmy's hiring Junior to break into the house and steal what was in her husband's drawer. If she knew where it was, she could've done it herself."

" If she knew where it was. Maybe she didn't or couldn't find it on her own, and hired Junior to find it for her and make it look like a burglary."

"But if she had hired him, she never would have called the police."

King shook his head. "Not true if Junior double-crossed her and stole her things while he was looking for Bobby's secret cache. And maybe Junior's not telling everything just yet because he wants to see how the cards fall."

"Why am I suddenly thinking this case is far more complicated than people think it is?" said Michelle wearily.

"I never thought it was simple."

They both turned in the direction of the van pulling up to the trailer.

King glanced at the occupants of the vehicle and then looked at Michelle. "Lulu must have scored the bail. That's Junior Deaver in the passenger seat. Let's see if we can get the truth out of him."

"With the way things have been going so far, don't hold your breath on that. Straight answers seem to be in short supply."

JUNIOR DEAVER LOOKED LIKE A man who made his living with his hands. His jeans and T-shirt were streaked with paint smears and seemed permanently coated with drywall dust. He was over six feet four, and his arms were thick and powerful, deeply bronzed by the sun, and bore numerous scars, scabs and at least five tattoos, by Michelle's count, covering a variety of subject matter from mothers to Lulu to Harley-Davidson. His hair was brown and thinning, and he wore it long and pulled back in a ponytail that unfortunately emphasized his graying and receding hairline. A small, bristly goatee covered his chin, and his bushy sideburns had been grown down past his Santa Claus cheeks. He lifted his smallest child, a six-year-old girl with beautifully soft brown eyes and slender pigtails, out of the van with a tenderness that Michelle would hardly have given him credit for.

Lulu Oxley was thin and wore a crisp-looking black business suit and low heels. Her brown hair was done up professionally in a complicated braid and bun, and she wore chic eyeglasses with slender gold frames. She held a briefcase in one hand and in the other the small hand of what looked to be an eight-year-old boy. The third child, a girl of about twelve, followed behind carrying a large school bag. All the children wore the uniform of one of the local Catholic schools.