“About?”
“His hands.” I watched the strip malls and fast-food joints slide past, giving way to stretches of pine trees and the occasional farmhouse set back from the road. “The old breaks. The calluses. He’d been fighting for years, Jack. That kind of damage doesn’t happen overnight.”
“He’s got a trainer for a reason,” Jack said. “That suggests a level of professionalism in the sport.”
I shifted in my seat, trying to find a comfortable position. My lower back ached from hours of standing, and exhaustion was starting to creep in around the edges. “I’ll know more after the autopsy.”
He reached over and took my hand, his fingers warm and rough against mine. We drove like that for a while, leaving behind the strip malls and chain restaurants of King George Proper as Route 3 curved north toward Bloody Mary. The landscape shifted as we went—tract housing giving way to farmland, the occasional tobacco barn weathered silver by decades of sun and rain, hand-painted signs advertising fresh eggs and firewood for sale.
A red pickup truck passed us going the other direction, and Jack raised two fingers off the steering wheel in that universal rural greeting.
“Was that Bobby Hendricks?” I asked, craning my neck to look back.
“Looked like it. He had a woman in the passenger seat.”
“Not Marlene.”
“Definitely not Marlene. This one was blond.”
“Interesting.” I settled back in my seat. “Emmy Lu said she heard Marlene kicked him out last month. Apparently she found receipts in his pocket from the Comfort Inn over in Fredericksburg.”
“The Comfort Inn.” Jack shook his head. “If you’re going to step out on your wife, at least have some class about it.”
“Right? Take her somewhere nice. Make it worth losing half your assets.”
“I don’t think that’s the lesson here.”
“I’m just saying, if Marlene’s going to take him to the cleaners—and she will, her sister’s a divorce attorney in Richmond—he should have at least gotten some decent thread count out of it.”
Jack laughed. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m practical.” I watched the scenery roll past. “How long were they married? Fifteen years?”
“Something like that. Kids are in high school now.”
“That’s the part that gets me.” I shook my head in disbelief. “You do something like that, it’s not just your spouse you’re betraying. It’s your whole family.”
Jack squeezed my hand. “Some people don’t think past what they want in the moment.”
“Lucky for Bobby, Marlene’s been thinking. Emmy Lu said she’s been squirreling money away for two years. Had a feeling something was off.”
“Smart woman.”
“Always was. Too smart for Bobby Hendricks, that’s for sure.”
We passed the old Mercer place, where three generations of junk cars rusted in the front yard alongside a hand-lettered sign that read Trespassers Will Be Shot—Survivors Will Be Shot Again. A few miles later, the white steeple of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church came into view, and then the town itself—Main Street with its antique shops and law offices, the Towne Square where old men gathered on benches to solve the world’s problems, and Martin’s Grocery Store.
Jack turned onto Catherine of Aragon, and the funeral home came into view where it sat on the corner—a three-story Colonial in dark red brick and white columns flanking the front entryway. Two massive elm trees shaded the front yard, their gnarled roots cracking the sidewalk.
Jack pulled under the metal portico on the side, where the black Suburban was already parked.
“What time do you think you’ll be done?” he asked.
“Between three and four,” I said. “Depends on what I find.”
“I’ll pick you up, and we can hit King’s Construction before they close for the day. And then we can grab dinner at Rosa’s.”
“You just want an excuse to flirt with Rosa.”
