Al-Serafi’s death as an accident. That could be why the
document was still in the car. No one searched it.”
The office door opened and a young couple trundled
in. The man lugged a carrier holding a sleeping baby. Woody smoothed the front
of his shirt and strolled over to greet them.
“Agnes Dalton-Evers with Tri-County Realty told us
to see a man named Woody about getting pre-qualified for a home loan.” The
thin, blue jean clad father glanced from Randolph to Woody. His short, round
wife nodded, her blond curls bouncing. It was easy to see that she had yet to
shed the baby fat she’d accumulated while pregnant. Woody smiled, introduced
himself, and escorted the young family to his desk.
Rhetta left them to business and accompanied
Randolph to his truck. She leaned into the driver’s window after he’d tucked
himself behind the wheel.
“Maybe this,” Randolph said, holding up the
envelope, “isn’t anything to worry about, but I’ll go and see Billy Dan first
thing tomorrow.” He laid the envelope on the seat next to him.
Rhetta touched her husband’s cheek. “Billy Dan can
probably clear a lot of this up. I have a bad feeling about that schematic, but
maybe it’s just that—a bad feeling.”
Randolph stretched up out of the truck window to
kiss her, then turned the ignition key. The Artmobile roared to life.
Rhetta climbed into her car and sat, staring at the
console. Her craving always intensified under pressure.
CHAPTER
8
While maneuvering through the late afternoon traffic
leading westward out of Cape, Randolph considered the envelope beside him. By
the time he reached the edge of town, instead of turning south toward home, he
continued straight to Marble Hill. Feeling an inexplicable sense of urgency, he
didn’t want to wait before talking to Billy Dan. Randolph assured himself that
meeting Billy Dan would dispel any wrong ideas that the three of them had
formed.
Randolph was perpetually skeptical, never one to
jump to conclusions. Knowing that Al-Serafi possessed a schematic for a
substation generator and had died in an unusual accident made the revelation
about Agent Cooper’s death more significant. Randolph, like Rhetta, wasn’t a
big believer in coincidences. Nevertheless, all of that didn’t necessarily add
up to a terrorist plot, either. What would be the point? How would it happen?
A glance at his watch reinforced his hope of finding
Billy Dan hanging out at his new office, Merc’s Diner, enjoying a late
afternoon cup of java. Since his retirement, Billy Dan told Randolph that he
followed a daily routine, always making his way to Merc’s in the afternoon in
order to catch up on the gossip and drink coffee.
Randolph pulled up in front of Merc’s, a converted
Tastee-Freez built alongside Crooked Creek in the 70s. Initially constructed as
a small walk-up ice cream stand, Merc, short for Mercury, Leadbetter bought the
business fifteen years earlier and added on a large dining room and full
kitchen. He re-opened as a full service restaurant. Being situated practically
on the creek bank, the cedar sided building had suffered through a few floods.
Each time high water had invaded his building, Merc rebuilt and his loyal
customers always returned.
Randolph found a large sycamore and parked under it,
hoping the shade would keep his truck cool. Once inside Merc’s, he headed
straight for the smoking section in the back where he guessed he’d find Billy
Dan. Glancing around, he spotted two old geezers dressed alike in faded green
overalls, one sitting on either side of Billy Dan. The three occupied an
oversized round table, discussing, drinking coffee, and polluting the air with
an abundance of cigarette smoke.
“Judge McCarter, are you lost?” Billy Dan waved and
called out upon spotting Randolph. Randolph waved back and headed their way.
“May I join you?” He nodded at the two old gents and
waved the smoke aside. Randolph wondered why Merc didn’t install a
document was still in the car. No one searched it.”
The office door opened and a young couple trundled
in. The man lugged a carrier holding a sleeping baby. Woody smoothed the front
of his shirt and strolled over to greet them.
“Agnes Dalton-Evers with Tri-County Realty told us
to see a man named Woody about getting pre-qualified for a home loan.” The
thin, blue jean clad father glanced from Randolph to Woody. His short, round
wife nodded, her blond curls bouncing. It was easy to see that she had yet to
shed the baby fat she’d accumulated while pregnant. Woody smiled, introduced
himself, and escorted the young family to his desk.
Rhetta left them to business and accompanied
Randolph to his truck. She leaned into the driver’s window after he’d tucked
himself behind the wheel.
“Maybe this,” Randolph said, holding up the
envelope, “isn’t anything to worry about, but I’ll go and see Billy Dan first
thing tomorrow.” He laid the envelope on the seat next to him.
Rhetta touched her husband’s cheek. “Billy Dan can
probably clear a lot of this up. I have a bad feeling about that schematic, but
maybe it’s just that—a bad feeling.”
Randolph stretched up out of the truck window to
kiss her, then turned the ignition key. The Artmobile roared to life.
Rhetta climbed into her car and sat, staring at the
console. Her craving always intensified under pressure.
CHAPTER
8
While maneuvering through the late afternoon traffic
leading westward out of Cape, Randolph considered the envelope beside him. By
the time he reached the edge of town, instead of turning south toward home, he
continued straight to Marble Hill. Feeling an inexplicable sense of urgency, he
didn’t want to wait before talking to Billy Dan. Randolph assured himself that
meeting Billy Dan would dispel any wrong ideas that the three of them had
formed.
Randolph was perpetually skeptical, never one to
jump to conclusions. Knowing that Al-Serafi possessed a schematic for a
substation generator and had died in an unusual accident made the revelation
about Agent Cooper’s death more significant. Randolph, like Rhetta, wasn’t a
big believer in coincidences. Nevertheless, all of that didn’t necessarily add
up to a terrorist plot, either. What would be the point? How would it happen?
A glance at his watch reinforced his hope of finding
Billy Dan hanging out at his new office, Merc’s Diner, enjoying a late
afternoon cup of java. Since his retirement, Billy Dan told Randolph that he
followed a daily routine, always making his way to Merc’s in the afternoon in
order to catch up on the gossip and drink coffee.
Randolph pulled up in front of Merc’s, a converted
Tastee-Freez built alongside Crooked Creek in the 70s. Initially constructed as
a small walk-up ice cream stand, Merc, short for Mercury, Leadbetter bought the
business fifteen years earlier and added on a large dining room and full
kitchen. He re-opened as a full service restaurant. Being situated practically
on the creek bank, the cedar sided building had suffered through a few floods.
Each time high water had invaded his building, Merc rebuilt and his loyal
customers always returned.
Randolph found a large sycamore and parked under it,
hoping the shade would keep his truck cool. Once inside Merc’s, he headed
straight for the smoking section in the back where he guessed he’d find Billy
Dan. Glancing around, he spotted two old geezers dressed alike in faded green
overalls, one sitting on either side of Billy Dan. The three occupied an
oversized round table, discussing, drinking coffee, and polluting the air with
an abundance of cigarette smoke.
“Judge McCarter, are you lost?” Billy Dan waved and
called out upon spotting Randolph. Randolph waved back and headed their way.
“May I join you?” He nodded at the two old gents and
waved the smoke aside. Randolph wondered why Merc didn’t install a
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