She passes it to me, then follows me out and switches off the light behind us. While she locks the front door downstairs, I scan the yard, which at this hour is a dark jungle filled with azaleas, oak trees, and huge Elaeagnus shrubs.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“I think so. Let’s get to the Flex.”
Not a car moves on Hallam Avenue, which is normal at this hour, but I feel strangely alert. I crank the SUV quickly, then head east, away from the Garden District and the river.
“Didn’t you say you needed to stop by the newspaper?” she asks.
“I can handle it by phone. Ben’s there late tonight.”
“You’re welcome to call him now.”
“I’ll do it when I get home.”
Soon we’re passing through the outer sprawl of Bienville to the outlying subdivisions.
“Who could do that?” she asks in a distracted voice.
“What? Kill Buck?”
“No. Get into my safe like that. Without damaging it. You said a pro. What kind of professional does that?”
“Some of the Poker Club guys have connections who could do that. Tommy Russo for sure. Wyatt Cash has Special Forces guys who endorse his products. And Paul has buddies who served with him in Iraq. They worked for ShieldCorp, his private security company.”
Nadine lays her fingertips on the window and slowly drums the glass.
“Did you notice how angry Beau Holland was when he lunged at me during the party?” I ask. “He looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. He’s been in my store quite a bit. Most of those Poker Club guys have, for coffee or breakfast. I’ve learned a fair bit about them.”
“What do you know about Holland?”
“My guess is he has the most to lose if the paper mill deal were to fall apart.”
“I figured that would be Buckman or Donnelly.”
“Those guys are rich enough to take a licking and keep on ticking. Beau Holland comes from a proud family that was short on cash. He’s bound to be overextended. He owns the biggest piece of the Aurora, for starters. Russo’s deep in that with him. And Holland’s the main investor in the white-flight developments out by the county line. Also in the new outlet mall, plus some land grabs near the industrial park. God knows what else he’s got cooking. If the Chinese pulled out at this point, Beau could be ruined.”
“That makes sense.” I still recall Holland’s red-faced fury, and how Max stopped him with his flattened hand.
“Why does Warren Lacey hate Jet so badly?” Nadine asks.
“Before you can open a nursing home or surgical center in Mississippi, the state has to issue a certificate of need. They’re worth more than gold mines. Lacey was trying to fiddle one in Jackson, for a city where there’s no legitimate need. A state official ended up going to jail over it. Lacey kept himself insulated enough to stay out of prison—barely—but Jet almost got his medical license revoked. He’s never forgiven her.”
“I think he’d strangle her if he could.”
“He won’t. You don’t bite off a piece of the Mathesons if you plan on living the rest of your life outside a wheelchair.”
“So . . . Max protects Jet?”
“That’s the only explanation I can figure for why she’s not dead.”
Nadine looks over at me for several seconds. “Max is a real son of a bitch, isn’t he?”
“You know the stereotype about Vietnam soldiers committing atrocities? Ninety-nine-point-nine percent never did. But Max did. Worse, he’s proud of it. When I was playing football at ten years old, he told us, ‘War is hell, boys, so I made it as hellish as possible. That’s the way you win.’ When I was younger I thought that was just Patton-type bluster. But later I found out he meant it.”
Nadine is nodding. “He’s hit on me a few times in the store.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve seen him flirt with other women, too. He’s got an instinct for weakness.”
“I know. We’re about five minutes from my house,” I tell her, hoping to change the subject.
“Is Paul an alcoholic?” Nadine asks.
“Yeah. Has been most of his life.”
“I feel like his public persona is a mask. Like underneath, he might be a little nuts.”
“He might be. But he’s basically a good guy. At least he used to be. He’s not living the life he hoped for.”
She gives the windshield a pained smile. “Are any of us?”
I shrug. “I figured you are, if anybody is.”
She doesn’t reply for some time. We’re on a lightless stretch of Highway 61, a black ribbon of asphalt stretching through thick forest on both sides of the road. There’s not much to see.
“This isn’t where I thought I’d open my bookstore,” she says at length. “But it’s been interesting. The social life leaves a bit to be desired, though.”
“You do more than your share to make the town interesting.”
“I try.” Her fingernails tap the window glass again. “Are you sure I’m not putting you out? Staying at your place?”
“I’ll sleep a lot better knowing you’re safe.”
“I can move to my friend’s house tomorrow.”
“Whatever you want. You’re always welcome.”
She smiles. “You gonna tell me about that shirttail?”
“Oh. Jet was crying. She’s afraid Paul might be mixed up in Buck’s murder. I wiped her face with my shirttail.”
Nadine nods slowly. “Did she notice something suspicious about Paul?”
“Not specifically related to Buck. But she’s around those Poker Club guys a lot.”
“No kidding. It’s hard to believe she’d be surprised that her husband might be involved.”
I suddenly feel defensive about Jet. “She’s done more than anybody else to punish them for illegality.”
Nadine watches me expectantly but says nothing.
“I think she sort of wears blinders when it comes to her husband,” I venture.
“Maybe they both do.”
I look back at her, but Nadine is staring through the windshield.
Three minutes later, I click us through the security gate with my remote and drive the long road through the woods to my house. Nadine seems to like the isolation, and once we get inside the house, I show her to my spare room. It’s nothing special, just a queen bed, a dresser, and a chair that came with the house.
“Bathroom’s in the hall, I’m afraid, but I have my own in the back. So nobody will be knocking on the door while you’re in there.”
“Thanks. Hey, is that your guitar by the wall?”
I’d forgotten I moved Quinn’s gift to the spare room before heading for the party. “Um, I guess it is now. That belonged to Buck. Quinn gave it to me this afternoon.”
“Wow. Which one is it?”
I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s curious about Buck’s guitars, especially after we played at her store. Nadine isn’t merely a music fan, but a promoter. “That’s Buck’s personal guitar. One he built himself.”
“The baritone?”
“That’s the one.”
“I love that guitar! It almost sounds like a cello.”
This brings a smile to my lips. “That’s what Buck used to say.”
“Will you play it for me tomorrow?”
“Sure, yeah.” I step back into the hall. “Hey, did that muffin fill you up? Or do you need some food before bed?”
She laughs. “You going to cook for me?”
“You’ve done it for me enough. I can scramble eggs. Huevos rancheros?”
“Maybe for breakfast. I need sleep now.”
I nod, then take her father’s pistol from my pocket. “I want you to keep this close.”
Her face darkens. “I’d rather you hold on to it.”
“I have one in my bedroom. But if anybody sneaks up this hall, they’ll get to your room first. Better safe than sorry.”
She reluctantly accepts the handgun.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I tell her.
As I start down the hall, Nadine leans out and calls, “Did I weird you out when I mentioned Jerry Lee Lewis’s son drowning in the swimming pool?”
“No. It’s fine. Hard to believe, really. That and losing his brother, just like me.”
“Truth is stranger than fiction, right?”
“Always.” I wait to see if she has anything else to say. I feel like she does.
After a few seconds, she says, “Have you given any more thought to what I asked you this morning?”
“You asked me a lot of things.”