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WHEN THEY CALLED the Center for Public Policy at VCU, King and Michelle were told that Kate Ramsey was away but was expected to return in a couple of days. They drove back to Wrightsburg, where King pulled into the parking lot of an upscale
grocery store in the downtown area.
“I guess I owe you a fancy dinner and a nice bottle of wine,” explained King, “after dragging you all over the place.”
“Well, it was a lot more fun than standing in a doorway with a gun while a politician scrounges for votes.”
“Good girl. You’re learning.” King suddenly stared out the window, obviously thinking about something.
“Okay, I know that look. What’s going through that head of yours now?” asked Michelle.
“You remember Jorst kept saying that Atticus was lucky to have
someone like Ramsey, that Berkeley scholars and national experts didn’t just drop into schools like Atticus every day?”
“Right. So?”
“Well, I saw Jorst’s diplomas in his office. He went to decent schools, but nothing even in the top twenty. And I’m guessing the other professors in the department weren’t superstars like Ramsey, which was maybe why they were intimidated by him.”
Michelle nodded thoughtfully. “So why did a brilliant Berkeley Ph.D. and national expert end up teaching at a place like Atticus?”
King looked at her. “Exactly. If I had to guess, it’s because Ramsey had some skeletons in his closet. Maybe from his protesting days. Maybe that’s why his wife finally left him.”
“But wouldn’t that have come out after he assassinated Ritter? They would have checked his background with a fine-tooth comb.”
“Well, not if it was covered up well enough. And you’re talking a long time before the assassination. And the sixties were a crazy time.”
As they meandered through the grocery store aisles gathering items for dinner, Michelle noted the whispers and glances the well-heeled patrons were giving King. At the checkout counter King tapped the shoulder of the man in front of him who was doing his best to ignore King’s presence.
“How’s it going, Charles?”
The man turned and blanched. “Oh, Sean, yes, good. And you? I mean…” The man looked thoroughly embarrassed at his own question, yet Sean just kept smiling.
“Shitty, Charles, just shitty. But I’m sure I can count on you, right? Got you out of that nasty tax problem a few years ago, remember?”
“What, oh, I… oh, there’s Martha out front waiting. Good-bye.”
Charles hustled off and climbed into a Mercedes station wagon driven by a distinguished-looking white-haired woman whose mouth dropped open when her husband started telling her of his encounter. She drove off in a huff.
As King and Michelle headed out with their grocery bags, she said, “Sean, I’m sorry about all of this.”
“Hey, the good life had to end sometime.”
Back at King’s house he fixed an elaborate dinner that started with a Caesar salad and crab cake appetizers and was followed by pork tenderloin in a mushroom and Vidalia onion sauce and a side serving of garlic mashed potatoes. For dessert they feasted on chocolate éclairs. They ate on the rear deck overlooking the lake.
“So you can cook, but are you available to rent for parties?” she joked.
“If the price is right,” he answered.
Michelle held up her wineglass. “Nice stuff.”
“It should be, it’s right in its prime. I’ve had it in my cellar for seven years. One of my most cherished bottles.”
“I’m honored.”
Sean eyed the dock. “How about a spin on the lake later?”
“I’m always game for water activities.”
