With the start of the music, Savannah rolled to her side. WCIC. Kick. It was a natural. Jared Snow was not the only disc jockey to link the words. She had heard Joseph Allan Johnson do it. And Melissa Stuart. It was obviously part of the station’s logo, like “cool country” and “a little country in the city.”
Kick in a cool three million.
Kick in a cool cut…
Coincidence. That was all.
Still, she wondered. She thought about work, too, as she lay there. Had she properly prepared one of the witnesses for the arson trial? Would the upcoming fund-raiser for Paul be another small stepping stone toward the governor’s office. She wondered about turning thirty-one on Saturday and whether she could have a baby at forty-one. Most of all, she thought about Megan.
She planned what she would do the next day, mentally shifting her schedule around to allow time with Will. She even climbed out of bed once to jot down a note of two appointments her secretary could postpone. Then she returned to bed, huddled beneath the covers listening to the rain, and waited for Jared Snow’s voice.
The last thing she remembered was his telling her that it was coming up on two-thirty and he was kickin’ off another string of six.
***
The taut and silent faces that met Savannah in the Vandermeer kitchen at eight the next morning told her that there was no news.
Sam joined her for a quiet meeting in the hall. “I just talked with Chris,” he said, “and they haven’t found a thing. No cash purchases of vans, no shady types checking into local hotels. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Providence County had gone pure overnight.”
“Not quite,” she remarked dryly. “Did you give Chris the names of Will’s managers?”
Sam nodded. “They’ll split up, Ginny and him, so they can hit all three this morning.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll give the lab a little longer, but I doubt they’ll come up with anything useful. This was a clean job, Savvy.”
“I hate clean jobs. They mean that our quarry is smart.”
“Depressing, but true.”
She nodded toward Will, who stood at the kitchen window. “Did he sleep?”
“For an hour or two. No more. He’s pretty edgy.”
“No wonder. How about you? Get much sleep?”
“Enough.”
“Was Susan okay?”
“Not bad.”
“What does that mean?”
“She decided to bake a cake at one this morning.”
“That’s nice.”
“A rum cake,” Sam said, then his eyes narrowed on Savannah. “Does she always drink, or is it the situation?”
“Both, I suppose.”
“You suppose? She’s your sister. Don’t you know?”
“I’m not her keeper,” Savannah said a bit sharply, then quickly gentled her tone. “I try to do more, but she denies there’s a problem.” She shrugged. “Maybe there isn’t.”
Sam said nothing.
“Is she still sleeping?”
“I guess so. She hasn’t been down yet.” His gaze shifted. “I take that back. Here she comes.”
