Helene says, “He also says that backstabbers are only powerful when your back is turned.”
She looks around again, one face to the next.
“Briar Crockett might not know it yet,” she continues, “but he better watch his back.” She pauses and says, “And his sorry ass.”
“Damn straight,” my grandmother says.
I feel my phone buzzing in the front pocket of my jeans then. I’d turned off the ringer during dinner and forgotten to turn it back on.
I pull it out and look at the caller ID, then hold up the phone for everybody to see.
“Speak of the devil,” I say, and then add, “Literally.”
FIFTY-FOUR
I STEP INTO the kitchen to take the call, which doesn’t last long. Briar Crockett tells me why he’s calling. As soon as he invites me to breakfast the next morning at his house, I accept.
Helene Mayes walks with EJ and me to my truck, along with Taylor, now that we’ve finally called it a night.
“Crockett is like a dog who detects danger, Silas,” Helene says. “And when he looks at you right now, all he sees is danger. So watch what you say. And watch your own ass tomorrow.”
“He always has,” Tay says. “Way he was raised.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” I say.
“Duh,” Tay says.
Even before I’m out of my truck, I’m greeted by what could be the beginning of a charm offensive on the part of Briar Crockett. He’s waiting for me out in front of his house, flanked by his two little girls.
I remember Laurance Most telling me one time that the one mistake he tries not to make as an agent is believing his own material.
“Or believing my own bullshit, as the case may be,” Laurance had said.
I’m wondering, as I walk toward Briar Crockett, if he’s already there and has been there for a powerful long time.
“Well aware that you’ve met my sons, those two devils,” he says as a form of greeting. “Thought it was time you met my little angels. The taller one to my right, this here is Annabelle. Her little sister is Sarabeth. She’s the shy one.”
The girls dutifully take turns shaking my hand.
“This is daddy’s friend Silas Tucker,” their father says.
“They’re beautiful, Briar,” I say to him.
“By the grace of the Good Lord above and as you can plainly see,” he says, “they clearly favor their mother, who’s out back swimming the first of about a thousand laps.”
“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Tucker,” Annabelle says, right before she and her sister turn and run into the house.
“Didn’t you mention the last time I was here that they were at sleepaway camp?” I ask.
“They got homesick,” he says. “And gave their daddy yet another chance to spoil them rotten by bringing them home.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll understand someday if you have a daughter.”
“If that day ever comes,” I say, “I’m the one who’ll need grace from the Good Lord above.”
He walks us through the door now and back to his dining room. There is a long table in here, two places set at the far end, the one at the head of the table almost certainly for the lord of the manor.
There is also a man standing down there who looks to be at least a head taller than I am, and even wider. Shaved head, arms full of tattoos, a shade of skin that looks to be the color of mocha. He is holding a silver tray with a coffee pot on it, and two mugs.
