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“This ain’t my house or my closet. How long is it going to take you to get that blood test done? I know about your little tackle box, Simon. CSI: Las Vegas you ain’t.”
“The blood test won’t take long at all, and I’m good enough at what I do to get a warrant to find out what’s behind that wall.”
Joey snorted. “You think so? Agnes’s got a wedding to put on here.
And Jefferson and Evie Keyes aren’t going to like you fucking around with their only son’s wedding. Maybe Jefferson calls the sheriff and they put the brakes on your little one-man show. You’re right, you’re gonna need a warrant to get behind that wall. Which means you’re gonna need the judge to sign off on it. You know, the judge who golfs with Jefferson every week. Whose wife is best friends with Evie.”
“And how are the Keyes going to know about this?” Xavier asked.
Joey gave his shark smile. “It’s a small town, Simon.”
Xavier shook his head. “I’ll find out what’s behind that wall. One way or another.” He climbed up the ladder.
“Now I want some answers,” Shane said.
“Everybody wants answers. I want breakfast,” Joey said, and went up the ladder right behind Xavier.
Like that’s gonna work, Shane thought, and followed him up.
When Agnes put the third platter of pancakes and the second plate of ham on the table, the atmosphere lightened considerably. There was something about being full enough to relax yet still hungry enough to enjoy food with plenty of it still on the table, that just mellowed the hell out of people.
And there were a lot of people at her table, she thought happily.
“So, Garth,” Carpenter said genially.
“Is here to paint the house with Doyle,” Agnes said brightly. Carpenter smiled at her gently. “I was here last night, Agnes.”
“Right,” Agnes said.
“Who sent you, Garth?” Carpenter said. His voice was soft, but there was no denying it.
“My grandpa. He found that newspaper picture on his window-shield, you know, the one with the dog in it? And he wanted me to get the necklace it had on it in the picture, except the dog don’t have no necklace on it.”
Carpenter looked at Agnes, and she said, “I have no idea where the necklace went.”
Doyle put up a hand. “That was my foolish doing. I found that piece of junk when I was clearing up around here, and I put it on Rhett as a joke.”
“A joke,” Carpenter said. “And where is this joke necklace now?”
“I pawned it,” Doyle said. “I asked Agnes if she wanted it, and she told me I could have anything I found cleaning up, so I took it to Atlanta and pawned it. Sorry.”
“You pawned it?” Agnes said. “I thought it was junk.”
“It was,” Doyle said. “I got five dollars for it. You want the five dollars? If I overstepped, I’m real sorry, lass.”
He didn’t look sorry, and when Agnes thought about it, she couldn’t exactly remember telling him he could have anything he found, either. He probably could—she wasn’t interested in most of the stuff he turned up—she just couldn’t remember telling him that.
Which was just like the old reprobate.
“No, I don’t want the five bucks,” she said. “I don’t care about the necklace.”
“Why Atlanta?” Carpenter said. “Savannah’s closer.”
“I was in Atlanta,” Doyle said. “Now, would you be suspecting me of something, Mr. Carpenter?”
“I have an unfortunately suspicious soul, Mr. Doyle,” Carpenter said. “I would also like to know who arranged for Mr. Four Wheels to find the newspaper picture in his car.”
“Don’t know that,” Garth said, and shoveled in more food.
