Spencerville

be gone by Friday,
and I see your car still here. I’ll be coming around Mon
day to see if you’re gone.
    The note was unsigned and not written in words that could be construed as threatening in a court of law. But Keith had no intention of going to the county prosecutor. He was either going to kill Baxter or let him live. The choice was actually Baxter’s.
    Keith wondered why Baxter was waiting until Monday, then realized that Baxter was away on his Saturday hunting or fishing trip. And tomorrow being the Sabbath, even Police Chief Baxter might want a day of peace and rest. It didn’t matter. Keith would be gone before Monday. In fact, by tonight, when Cliff Baxter returned home and didn’t see his wife there, he might figure it out and realize that indeed Keith Landry was gone, and so was Mrs. Baxter. Keith wondered if she would leave him a note.
    Keith got in the Blazer and turned the ignition switch. Nothing happened. Completely dead. He popped the hood release, got out, and lifted the hood. The battery was gone, and in its place was a note that said, simply, “Fuck you.”
    Keith took a deep breath. The man was making it difficult for Keith to keep his promise to Annie. All in all, the last few days hadn’t been good days, starting with Charlie Adair driving up to his house. The White House was no treat, either. Neither was Hurricane Jack. Now this. “Okay, Landry. A new transportation problem.” He thought a moment, then walked to the barn. The garden tractor had a 12-volt battery, and it should have enough amps to kick over the Blazer.
    He slid open the door and sat on the tractor. He was going to start it, ride it over to the Blazer, let it charge awhile, then put the tractor battery in his car. He pushed the starter button. Dead. But he heard a clicking sound and looked at the dashboard. Someone had turned on the headlight switch, and the battery had run down. “Cliff, you’re getting on my nerves.”
    He got off the tractor and looked out across the road at the Jenkins farmhouse. He could borrow a battery from them, but he noticed that both their vehicles, the car and the pickup truck, were gone. He could borrow their tractor battery, with or without their knowledge, but you didn’t do that around here.
    He went inside and tried the Jenkinses’ number, but, as he thought, no one was home. The Muller farm was about a half-mile walk down the road. “Damn it.”
    He looked through the phone directory and called a service station out on the highway, and they said they’d be there in half an hour with a new battery. The man added, “Damn kids probably stole it. You ought to call the cops.”
    “I will.” He gave them directions to his farm and hung up. “Maybe I should have called Baxter Motors because that’s where my battery is.”
    He considered calling Terry. Annie was there now, waiting, and Cliff Baxter was presumably out of town. But what if his calls did actually go through police headquarters? No matter how guarded he tried to be with Terry, or whoever answered, the call would be like a four-alarm bell ringing at police headquarters. All his instincts, as well as his tradecraft, said, “Do not use the phone.”
    He used the time to shave, shower, and change into casual clothes, all the while trying to put these bad omens into a happier context.
The
course of true love never did
run smooth.
“Tonight, Washington, dinner with the Adairs, Sunday, maybe the National Cathedral, Monday, Charlie’s tour of Washington, then submit a written turndown of the job offer, get the passport, and fly to Rome no later than Wednesday.” Sounded good. “Where’s the damned battery? For want of a nail, the king sat in Dumferling Town.” Something like that.
    About forty minutes after he’d called, a pickup truck came into the driveway, and within ten minutes, he had a new battery. He started the Blazer while the serviceman was still there, and everything seemed to be all right.
    Keith pulled out of the driveway, and within a few minutes was heading south on a straight country road toward Chatham County. It was one thirty-five P.M. , and he’d be there in less than an hour.
    A blue and white Spencer County sheriff’s car fell in behind him. At this point, Keith couldn’t care less. There was only the driver in the car, and Keith decided that if the sheriff pulled him over, the sheriff would find himself hog-tied in the trunk of his own car.
    At the southern end of Spencer County, Keith got