Hour Game by David Baldacci

approximately five-thousand-square-foot red brick structure. “I always imagined them to be bigger,” she added sarcastically.
    “I guess it depends on the size of your carriage.” King glanced at the late-model silver Volvo station wagon parked in the motor court. “That’s Eddie’s car.”
    “Let me guess, you’re clairvoyant?”
    “No, but I see a Confederate soldier’s uniform and a painting easel in the back.”
    Eddie Battle answered the door and ushered them in. He was a big man, at least six-two and packing over 220 very muscular pounds. He had unruly thick dark hair and striking blue eyes, and his features were strong and weathered by the elements. The hair came from his father; his mouth and eyes came straight from his mother, Michelle observed. However, there was nothing of her sternness and cold reserve about him; indeed, his boyish manner was ingratiating. He reminded her of a handsome, albeit older, California surfer dude.
    He shook their hands and sat them down in the living room. His heavily muscled and thickly veined forearms were spotted with paint, and he was wearing what appeared to be cavalry boots with his faded jeans tucked inside them. His white work shirt had several holes in it and numerous paint stains; he was also unshaven. He seemed the antithesis of a rich man’s son.
    He chuckled when he noted Michelle staring at his footwear. “I was killed last week during an ill-advised charge against a fortified Union position in Maryland. I wanted to die with my boots on, and I can’t seem to muster the energy to take them off. Poor Dorothea is growing very annoyed with me, I’m afraid.”
    Michelle smiled and King said, “You’re probably wondering why we’re here.”
    “Nope. My mother called a few minutes ago. She filled me in. I’m afraid I can’t tell you much. We were gone when the burglary happened. Dorothea was at a Realtor’s convention in Richmond. And I fought in a fierce two-day reenactment in Appomattox and then drove straight over to Tennessee to catch the early morning light over the Smoky Mountains. I was painting a landscape,” he explained.
    “Sounds pretty exhausting,” said Michelle.
    “Not really. I get to ride around on horses and play pretend soldier and cover myself in paint. I’m a little boy who never had to grow up. I think it pains my parents to see what’s become of me, but I’m a good artist, though I’ll never be a great one. And on weekends I play soldier. I’m privileged and lucky and I know that. And because of that, I try to be modest and self-deprecating. Actually, I have a lot to be modest and self-deprecating about.” He smiled again and showed teeth so perfect in shape and color that Michelle concluded they were all capped.
    “You’re certainly frank about yourself,” she said.
    “Look, I’m the son of fabulously wealthy parents, and I’ve never really had to work for a living. I don’t put on airs, and what I do I do as well as I can. However, I know that’s not why you’re here. So go ahead with your questions.”
    “Had you ever seen Junior Deaver around here?” asked King.
    “Sure, he did a lot of work for my parents. Junior’s also done work for me and Dorothea, and we never had a bit of trouble with him. That’s why I can’t understand the burglary. He was making good money off the family, but maybe not good enough. I understand there’s a lot of evidence tying Junior to the crime.”
    “Maybe too much,” answered King.
    Eddie looked at him thoughtfully. “I see what you mean. I guess I haven’t given the matter a lot of attention. We’ve been pretty preoccupied with family issues lately.”
    “Right. We were sorry to hear about your father.”
    “It’s funny. I always thought he’d outlive all of us. Mind you, he still might. The man’s used to getting his way.”
    There was a pause before King said, “This question might seem a little awkward, but I have to ask it.”
    “Well, I guess the whole