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Atlanta.”
    “What’s he do for a living?”
    “Drives a truck. When he isn’t in jail.”
    “That’s a joke, right?”
    “No, it’s the truth.”
    “He’s done time?”
    “Yes. But not for anything serious.”
    “What was it?”
    “Two dope convictions.”
    “Trafficking?”
    “No.”
    “Cause that’s serious, trafficking.”
    “This was simple possession.”
    “Do any of his pals know about this big insurance policy?”
    “Pals?”
    “Any of his former cellmates? Any of the yardbirds he buddied with? Wherever it was he did time.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Be nice to find out,” Sloate says, and nods thoughtfully. He’s really trying to dope this out, she thinks. But he seems so very… country-boy. If this were New York or some other big city…
    But this isn’t New York.
    This is Cape October, Florida, and my children have been kidnapped, and at noon tomorrow a woman with a voice like a razor blade will call again and ask me if I’ve got the money. And all Alice can think is I don’t have the money, I don’t have the money, they will kill my children.
    “How about your sister?” Sloate asks. “What does she do?”
    “You’re barking up the wrong tree. She loves my kids.”
    “Does her jailbird husband love them, too?”
    “I’m telling you you’re mis—”
    “What does she do, your sister?”
    “She works in a bank. She’s straight as an arrow. Look, I really don’t like the direction—”
    “It wasn’t her on that phone, was it?”
    “No. Of course not.”
    “Mrs. Garrity said you told her the woman sounded black…”
    “Well, she might have been black, yes.”
    “Does your sister have a Southern accent?”
    “No.”
    “You said she lives in Atlanta.”
    “Yes, but she moved there to marry Rafe. She’s originally from upstate New York, same as me.”
    “Rafe. Is that his name?”
    “Rafe Matthews, yes. My sister is Carol Matthews.”
    “When’s the last time old Rafe was in jail?”
    “He got out two years ago.”
    “Been driving a truck since?”
    “Yes.”
    “When he’s not in jail, is what you said.”
    “Yes.”
    “But you don’t think he’d kidnap your kids, is that it?”
    “Of course not!”
    “Me, I don’t trust anybody who’s done time. My own brother done time, I wouldn’t trust him. Let’s give your sister a call.”
    “Why?”
    “Find out where old Rafe is.”
    “Why?”
    “Man might be in Florida, who knows? Georgia’s not all that far away, you know.”
    “Rafe doesn’t have a blue car.”
    “Maybe the lady who called you does. Is Rafe playing around?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t think so. My sister loves him.”
    “That ain’t always insurance. Let’s call her, okay, say hello. Would you like a drink? I have bourbon.”
    “No.”
    “Calm you down a little?”
    “I’m calm.”
    “You don’t seem calm.”
    “I’m just scared, is all. If anything happens to my kids…”
    “Nothing’ll happen to them. Just tell your sister you were thinking about her, decided to call. Don’t mention the kids being missing,” he says, and hands Alice the phone.
    She dials Carol’s number, and waits. One of her nephews picks up. Either Michael or Randy, she can’t tell which.
    “Hi, honey,” she says, “this is Aunt Al. What’re you doing up so late?”
    “Watching TV,” he says.
    “Your mama know that?”
    “Oh sure.”
    “Who’s this I’m talking to?”
    “Randall.”
    “How’re you doing, Randall?”
    “School sucks,” Randall says.
    Eight years old.
    “Is she there?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Could you get her for me, please?”
    “Sure, just a sec,” he says.
    She waits.
    “Hello?”
    “Carol, hi, it’s me.”
    “Hey, Alice, how are you, honey?”
    “Fine, fine, just thought I’d check in.”
    “I’m glad you did. It’s getting kind of lonely up here.”
    “How come?”
    “Rafe’s off on a long one. I kind of miss him stompin around. How are the kids?”
    “Fine, just fine.”
    “Did Jamie get