“Late, yes. Don’t worry, man. I’ve got her.”
“I’ll run the name, see if anything pops. Keep in touch.” Fletcher nodded once, then went out the front door. Sam heard some low words. His car engine turned over and he drove away, the gravel crunching under his tires. Thor barked once in farewell, and the forest grew quiet.
Davidson was waiting for them on the porch.
“Ready? You want to ride with me?”
Xander shook his head. “We’ll follow you.”
“Suit yourself. It’s about a thirty-minute ride. We’re heading toward the city, then south a piece. Stay close so I don’t lose you.”
He got behind the wheel, and before he put on his sunglasses, Sam saw him stare angrily toward the hills.
Whoever was nosing around the case, she had the distinct impression Davidson knew exactly where to find him.
Chapter
22
THE ROAD OUT of Lynchburg followed a path the locals called Doo-Doo Highway, an odiferous few minutes past the waste treatment plant. The temperature had risen, waves of heat dancing up from the asphalt, and the miasma bled in through the Jeep’s doors. Thor whined once, and Sam simply took a huge gasp of breath and plugged her nose.
Xander started to laugh. “You look rather miserable.”
“And why aren’t you?”
“I am, but I’ve smelled worse.”
“I have, too. No reason to be heroic about it.”
They topped the hill. “It’s safe now. You can breathe.”
She dragged in a lungful of air. It was sticky and hot, but it didn’t stink. “Not sure I’m in love with central Virginia in the summer.”
“It’s better down by the river. There’s a breeze.”
Davidson flashed his brake lights twice to get their attention, then turned off the road into an unmarked drive. He started a series of switchback turns that led up the side of a mountain.
“Where is this guy going?” Xander asked.
“Well, if the Scarrons are as rich as he says, they’ll have put the house on easily defensible land. Right?”
“Never start a land war in Asia, or Lynchburg?” he asked with a wry smile.
“Something like that. I’m assuming we’re dealing with seriously old money. Scarron Oil’s been around awhile.”
“It’s his wife’s place, though. Her family might not be rich.”
“If it’s the person I’m thinking about, her maiden name is Dawson, and she’s richer than dirt,” Sam said.
“You know her?”
“Know of her. There was a Town & Country profile on her a while back. She’s younger than her husband by about two decades. Trophy wife.”
“Are you going to mention this to Davidson?”
“What, that I read an article on her years ago? It’s hardly worth mentioning. She’s a designer, interiors and textiles. Has her own line of fabrics. They’re a bit like Brunschwig & Fils. Too busy and bright for me, you know how simple I like things. So family money, husband’s money and her own very successful business. Yes, Ellie Dawson Scarron is filthy rich. I’d be watching out for a moat.”
That got another laugh out of him, and she relaxed against the seat, let the breeze move her hair off her face. Thor put his head on her shoulder and she stroked his ears. They could be out for a Sunday drive instead of barreling headlong into a murder investigation.
*
Ellie Scarron did not live in a castle with a moat. But the place was indecently large, ornate, a magnificent modern straight out of the school of Frank Lloyd Wright. The house was a series of rectangular boxes nestled into the side of the mountain with lots of glass, and a massive double front door that looked as though it was made from the trunk of a redwood.
Xander pulled the Jeep into the curved drive and shifted into neutral. “Funny. The old money’s in the modern palace and the funeral home is in Tara.”
Davidson waved for them to join him. Sam didn’t move, just stared at the house. After a moment, she put her hand on the door handle. “Come on. Let’s get this over with and get back to D.C.”
Xander immediately went on alert. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. This place doesn’t feel right.”
She didn’t want to tell him she smelled blood, and fear, and more. Evil. Something wrong, and wicked. It was ridiculous. She was just being jumpy. They were off the beaten path with a cop neither of them trusted, and she was missing Fletcher. Xander wasn’t carrying, not on his person, at least that she could see. His concealed carry permit didn’t extend to Virginia, but she knew he had weapons in the Jeep. He’d never go anywhere without them.
She glanced over at him. He was watching her, tensed, hands curving around an invisible M-4.
She smiled. “It’s okay. I’m being spooky. Let’s go.”