“Are we?”

“The guy who quarreled with Brady White? His alibi is solid. He’s skiing in Colorado.”

“I wasn’t sold on him anyhow.”

“Then you’re gonna love this. Dr. O’Neal didn’t take delivery on the car I arranged for her. She skipped.”

“Be right there.”

“Bring a bag of chips. Never mind the crab dip.”

They lived no more than a five-minute drive from each other, but by the time Rawlins got to Wilson’s apartment, Wilson had a six-pack iced down in his Igloo. He uncapped two bottles and, as he sank into his recliner, passed one to Rawlins. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

They clinked bottles and drank.

Rawlins took a seat on the sofa, opened the bag of chips and munched a couple, then got down to business. “Where’d she go?”

“To the restroom.”

Rawlins stopped chewing and looked quizzically at Wilson.

Wilson explained what he’d gleaned from the car dealer and the waitress at the café. “Nobody’s seen her since.”

“Wanna bet?” Rawlins drawled and took another sip of beer.

“Mallett?”

Rawlins shrugged. “He’s the type.”

Wilson nodded in grudging agreement. “Damn his hide.”

“His hide and hair.”

Wilson, who’d lost more than half of his, gave his partner a wounded look.

“That hurt.”

Rawlins chuckled.

After taking another drink of his beer, Wilson began absently scraping the bottle label with his thumbnail. “I’ve got an ear worm.”

“What song?”

“Not a song. Something I overheard, at the department, as we were walking upstairs with them. The doctor and Mallet had an exchange there on the landing.”

“I remember you telling them to move along.”

“Right, but it’s what he said I keep going back to.”

“Relative to—”

“Nothing at the time,” Wilson admitted. “Not till later.”

“Okay.”

“His jacket. He’d folded it over his arm to where the lining showed. White silk, but old-looking, yellowed. It’s got a pinup girl painted on it.”

“Like they used to paint on the noses of bombers?”

“Before political correctness,” Wilson said. “It wasn’t lewd. The girl’s got clothes on. More teasing than anything. But when the doctor saw it, she took exception, and let him know it.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing right away. But you know that look they give you. Like, ‘Will you grow up?’”

Rawlins said, “I know the look.”

“So Mallett refolded the jacket, gave this mock apology, and told her that there was a world map on the inside.”

Rawlins listened, crunched, drank from his beer. “Okay.”

“Well…” Wilson glanced at the muted TV. A receiver had just dropped a perfect pass, but neither was interested in the game any longer. “It got me to thinking that maybe we were shown blood samples to keep us from looking at something underneath them.”

Rawlins set his beer on the coffee table. “Like inside the foam lining.”

“Like that.”

They held each other’s gaze, then Wilson took the bag of chips from Rawlins and dug in. Rawlins stared blankly at the TV as he thought it over. “Brady’s head wound looks like the kind made with the butt of a gun, and Mallett has that pocket pistol. But it’s small, and there wasn’t any blood on it when I took it from his bag.”

Wilson noshed. “And why would he want to clobber Brady?”

Rawlins admitted that Rye Mallett had put that same question to him.

“Did you come up with a motive?” Wilson asked.

“None that held water.”

“Dr. O’Neal insisted that I take her to the hospital so she could personally check on Brady’s condition before leaving town. Either her worry was genuine, or she’s one hell of a good actress. I was surprised to see Mallett there.”

“He was?”

“There when I dropped her off and there when I picked her up.”

“He was lurking at the hospital? Why? Worried that Brady would wake up and point the finger at him?”

“According to Thatcher, Brady doesn’t know who hit him. He was struck from behind.”

“If Brady had died, whoever hit him would be facing a much more serious charge. Manslaughter, if not murder. That would make a suspect nervous.”

“Nervous enough to make a visit to the hospital?” Wilson set aside the chips and dusted salt off his hands. “Hell, I don’t know. But if he’s that cold and calculating, I don’t see how he could look Marlene in the eye.”

“Mallett talked to her?”

“Dr. O’Neal did, too.”

“Huh.” Rawlins frowned in thought, then stood up and reached for his coat. “Then I think we should talk to Marlene.”

Although they were officially off duty, they chewed mints on the way to the hospital so no one would smell the beer on their breath. The admissions nurse knew them by sight, even in plainclothes.

“Marlene White still here?” Rawlins asked as they approached the window.

“Some of the relatives have trickled out, but they told me that she won’t leave.”

The two deputies took the elevator up. In the waiting room, Brady’s wife was surrounded by well-meaning people. Rawlins asked if they could speak with her alone. They stepped out into the corridor.

Weary as she looked, her concern was for them. “I’m sorry you’re having to work on a holiday.”

“We’re sorry you’re spending it here,” Wilson said. He inquired after Brady.

“Holding his own,” she said. “Deputy Thatcher told me that the man Brady quarreled with has been cleared. I don’t know anyone else who could have done this.”

Wilson waited a beat, then said, “Dr. O’Neal was set on stopping here before she left for Atlanta.”

“It was so kind of her to come by. Her and Rye both. I think his visit was a tonic for Brady.”

“He visited Brady?”

“For only a minute.”

“They talked?”

“Oh, yes. Rye felt responsible for what happened. He promised to take Brady flying when he’s well. Brynn was equally sweet. I hoped to say goodbye to her, but she was already leaving when I returned with the key. Rye was watching her through—”

“Excuse me,” Rawlins said. “What key?”

“The key to my car. I loaned it to him.”

The two deputies looked at each other before going back to her. Rawlins said, “You loaned your car to him?”

She explained how that had come about. “He was reluctant to take it, but I insisted. He was going out to the crash site. I told him to keep the car for as long as he needed it.”

“Has he brought it back yet?” Wilson asked.

“No, and he was very apologetic over having to leave it.”

Wilson held up a hand. “Leave it?”

“He called…oh, maybe a half hour ago. I’ve lost track of time.”

“What about the car?” Rawlins said, prodding.

“He said he had to get to Atlanta. A spur-of-the-moment thing. He wouldn’t be coming back through town.”

With a renewed sense of urgency, Wilson asked, “He left your car near the crash site?”

“No.”

She gave them the name of a seedy motor court about five miles outside of town on a two-lane state road that wasn’t heavily traveled.

“I told him that it was no problem at all for me to send someone out there to pick it up. My brother and nephew have already volunteered to go. I suggested Rye leave the key with the desk clerk, but he said he didn’t trust him. He told me where he’d left it hidden.”

2:41 p.m.

When Wilson and Rawlins walked into the cabin rental office, they understood why Mallett might be mistrustful of the attendant. He was stoned. His lazy grin was comprised of crooked and rotting teeth. “Which one of you is her old man?”

“Neither.”

The deputies produced their badges.

“Awww, ssssshit.” The clerk threw a nervous glance over his shoulder toward an open door, through which could be seen a messy office.

Rawlins said, “We’ll forget that it reeks of weed in here if you tell us whose old man you thought we might be.”

“I don’t know.”

“Try again.”

“I never saw her. Only the dude came in.”

“What did the dude look like?” Rawlins asked.

“Tall, blond hair, leather jacket. Sunglasses.” He looked out the window at the fog. “Can’t figure why.”

“What time did he check in?”

“What time?” In thought, he scratched his pimply cheek. “Before nine?” He put it in the form of a question, as though it were the guessed-at answer on a pop quiz.

“What name did he register under?” Wilson asked.

“Didn’t. Paid cash and asked we keep it just between us.”

“Hmm,” Wilson said. “Smoking dope and cheating your employer out of a cabin rental. You’ve had a busy day.”

The allegations made the clerk considerably more helpful. “He said they ran out on the Thanksgiving get-together to have a shagfest, and that if anybody came in asking had somebody rented a cabin in the last hour or so, I was to play dumb.”

“That would be a stretch,” Rawlins deadpanned.

The clerk divided an avid look between the two deputies. He licked his crooked front teeth. “He looked like a dude that’s been around. What did they do?”

“We can’t disclose that.”

“Well, whatever, wasn’t much of a shagfest. They’ve already vacated.”