57

We managed to pull Ronnie’s truck into the trees beside mine. It was a tough squeeze, but after getting out and looking at it from the winding mountain road, I felt like it was hidden well enough. We got into mine, and I backed it out, repositioning it so that we could watch the road and see vehicles coming and going from the Harden School.

We waited with the windows down, watching the road.

Ronnie smoked and drummed his fingers nervously on the dash. “What are we doing, exactly?”

“Well, I’m hoping we can catch either Blevins or Harden leaving for the day. And then I’m hoping one of them might head over to visit the woman I believe abducted Rufus.”

“Lots of hoping.”

“Just requires patience,” I said. What I didn’t say was that I felt completely frustrated. Patience be damned. I was ready to move, to do something. Yet, I knew from experience, sometimes waiting was all there was.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s pass the time. Tell me the damned story.”

“Excuse me?”

“The story. You’ve been holding out on me since the first time we came here. All of it. From the beginning.”

“Okay,” I said. Hell, I owed him that much, didn’t I? What right did I have to keep asking for his help and not tell him what was going on?

Time slipped away as I spoke. By the time I’d finished, it was late afternoon, getting close to six thirty. Dusk.

“So, the dead man …” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember the name.

“Joe,” I said.

“Right. So, Joe’s boyfriend is going to write the article? The one you hope will take down Walsh?”

“Yeah. That’s the plan. Hopefully, he’s already contacted Mindy and Lyda. Maybe even Claire.”

“Okay, but to bring Walsh down, won’t you need some hard evidence?”

“Yeah, probably. But I can’t worry about that until I get Rufus back.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Look, I’m tired of waiting.”

“Me and you both.”

He flicked his cigarette out the window. “Let me see your phone.”

“Why?”

“Do you have Blevins’s number?”

I started to say no, but then I remembered I’d called him several weeks back after finding his number in the letter he had written to Joe. “Yeah. I got it.”

“Pull it up.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me.”

“I don’t know …” Trusting Ronnie wasn’t always a wise decision. In fact, it could often be the opposite.

“Come on. I can do this.”

“Do what?”

“Make a call. Fool him into leading us to her place.”

“How?”

“Okay, he’s not afraid of the police, right?”

“Why should he be?”

“What about the Georgia Bureau of Investigation?”

I shrugged. “GBI? How would we get them involved?”

“We don’t have to actually get them involved. He just has to think they’re on to him. You told me about Sister. That’s got to be Savanna, right?”

I sighed. It didn’t have to be. I mean, I thought it was, but who could be sure of anything?

“Just go with me on this, okay, Earl?”

“Okay.”

“So, if that’s Savanna, then wouldn’t Blevins or Harden keep her abreast of what was happening with the authorities?”

“I suppose so, but there isn’t anything actually happening, is there?”

“Not yet, but there will be when I make the call.”

I was starting to understand what Ronnie had in mind, and as much as it surprised me, I thought it might work.

“You can pull this off?”

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been pretending to be people in authority since I can remember. Dial the number.”

I scrolled through the recent calls on my phone, hoping it hadn’t been too far back to be considered “recent.” Luckily, I didn’t use my phone very often, so it was still there. I pressed call and handed it to Ronnie.

“Put the speaker on,” I said. “I want to hear it.”

We waited for Blevins to pick up. It went to voice mail. Ronnie ended the call.

“What now?” I said.

“Wait a few minutes and call again. He probably thinks it’s a spam call.”

“Right.”

But before Ronnie could call again, the phone rang. “It’s him,” Ronnie said.

“Well, do your thing. And turn the speaker on.”

“North Central GBI,” Ronnie said.

“What?” The voice on the other end sounded angry.

“This is the GBI, Mr. Blevins. We’ve been following up on some reports about your school. Some parents have contacted us directly hoping to get our support.”

“Who called you?”

Jesus, he was buying it. I had to give Ronnie credit. He was selling it.

“I can’t reveal those names, sir. I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but I felt like it was only right to give you a heads-up. We know all about Sister and what she’s been doing with the boys. We’d like to bring you in for a conversation in the morning, see if you might be amenable to working with us. We’re trying to nail down some details about Sister. Would you be able to help us with that, Mr. Blevins?”

Damn, he was good. There was no trace of Ronnie’s usual hillbilly drawl, the cagey way he talked like he was always expecting somebody to contradict him and he had to keep his guard up. This was matter-of-fact talk, fast and grammatically correct. I’d had no idea.

“What’s your name?”

“Agent Pete Nichols. Keep in mind, Mr. Blevins, that a refusal to cooperate will likely mean you’ll be indicted along with Sister. We only extend this invitation out of deference to your and Randy Harden’s relationship with Mr. Walsh.”

“Jeb? He knows about this?”

“We’re trying to keep him out of it, actually. We can keep you out of it too if you cooperate.”

He was silent for a moment. The whole world was silent, waiting. Everything seemed to hinge on his response. When it came, I felt my heart sink. “You ain’t got nothing. If you did, Jeb would have already told me about it.”

Damn, he was right about that. I waited to see what Ronnie would do next, but he played it cool.

“Well, if that’s the way you want it. Fine by me. We’ll get what we need on Sister eventually, and when we do, we’ll remember that you refused to cooperate.”

There was a silence followed by the sound of someone typing on a keyboard.

“Mr. Blevins?”

“Give me a sec.”

“I have other calls to make.”

More typing. Deep breathing.

“That’s what I thought,” he said at last.

“Excuse me?”

“Who the hell is this?”

“I’ve already told you—”

“Fuck off with the GBI. I just looked up this number. It belongs to that detective, Earl Marcus. Only I don’t think it’s him, so who the hell are you?”

“I’m the man who’s heading to Sister’s house right now. Going to get my friend Rufus back, and kill your girlfriend,” Ronnie said, and his drawl was back, never missing a beat.

“You fucking try it, asshole. Just go on and try it.”

“We’ll talk later,” Ronnie said. “After she’s dead.”

He clicked off.

I turned on the interior light to see him better. “Nice work,” I said. “Do you think it’ll draw him out?”

Ronnie handed me the phone. “Time will tell.”