“Order me a cheeseburger,” Caitlin said, nodding at the quick-service counter. “And get yourself something. I need to run to the bathroom.”

“Okay.”

Caitlin walked toward the restroom but didn’t go in. The dining area was a collection of booths with bright orange plastic seats and wood-topped tables. The smell of hot grease and onions permeated the air. Most people probably bought food from the counter, but there was a waitress who would come to your booth and take your order if you wanted to sit for a while. Three booths were occupied, all by groups of men. Two groups were black, one white. The black men were older and drank coffee as they pored over racing forms. The white men looked like truckers. She wondered what would happen if she approached one of the black men and struck up a conversation.

Jordan wouldn’t think twice about doing that, she thought, trying to work up her nerve.

CHAPTER 65

PEGGY HAD LAID out a platter of roast beef, cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes in the kitchen. She and Annie were making sandwiches for themselves and for Officer Ervin. The iron skillet crackled and popped with melted butter as Ervin’s grilled cheese crisped up. (He’d seen Kirk Boisseau’s earlier and decided he wanted to try one himself.) Annie had the den television tuned to the Baton Rouge station and turned up loud, so that she could hear any relevant news that might break in on regular programming. Earlier she’d heard on the Jackson, Mississippi, station that an interview with Caitlin would be broadcast on WJTV during tonight’s six o’clock report.

Peggy scooped the heavy grilled cheese out of the skillet with a spatula, then cut it in half and poured some potato chips onto the plate from a bag.

“You take that to Mr. Ervin,” she said.

As Annie disappeared through the back door, Kirk Boisseau entered the kitchen from the den and asked if there was any coffee.

“I can make you some,” Peggy offered. “Or I can offer you iced tea. I just made a pitcher.”

Kirk looked suspiciously at the pitcher by the kitchen window, then walked over to it and tapped its glass rim. “It’s not that syrupy sweet stuff like we drank when I was a kid, is it?”

Peggy laughed. “The kind you can pour over pancakes? No, these days even my tea has Sweet’N Low in it.”

Kirk laughed and said he’d try a glass after he made one more round of the house.

Peggy fixed two roast beef sandwiches and set them on the counter for herself and Annie, then poured the tea and walked to the front door to find Boisseau. Her former student was just walking up the steps, and he accepted the glass with a grateful smile. Over his shoulder Peggy watched a blue pickup truck roll up Duncan Avenue, then slow as though its driver was watching the foursome playing on the eighteenth fairway. Seeing her sight line change, Kirk turned toward the street. As she looked past him, the face in the driver’s window caught her attention. Oddly, it didn’t look human, but almost like a cartoon. Then she recognized the character: Spider-Man . . .

As she registered a flicker of flame in the truck, Kirk shoved her back through the door. Falling backward, she saw an arm hook over the truck’s roof and throw something toward the house, the way one of her newspaper deliverymen used to heave the Examiner at her old house. A gun appeared in Kirk’s hand, but before he could fire, a whirling object smashed against the steps and the air burst into flame.

Peggy smelled kerosene, and then the truck tires screamed.

Kirk Boisseau fired a fusillade of shots at the departing truck, then grabbed his leg and started to yell for Officer Ervin. With the unreality of a nightmare, Peggy saw fire run up Kirk’s pant leg and gather around his waist. The floor vibrated like a drum beneath her, and then James Ervin ran past her, dragged Kirk down the steps, and rolled him onto the ground. Then he wrapped his jacket around Kirk’s leg and smothered the fire. Peggy scrambled to her feet, her mind on one thing: Annie—

“Gram, what happened?” the girl yelled from behind Peggy. “Something’s burning!”

Her frightened voice filled Peggy with relief, but instead of wasting time with conversation, Peggy pulled Annie into the kitchen, opened her purse, and took out the .38 that Tom had bought her long ago. Then she led Annie into the den and made her crouch behind a big club chair.

Heavy footsteps hammered on the hardwood, and then Officer Ervin came pounding back into the den, his beagle-like face animated with anxiety.

“You all right, Miz Cage?”

“We’re fine, James. Was that a Molotov cocktail?”

Ervin nodded. “I b’lieve it was. Call 911 and tell them we need the fire department. I’m going back outside.”

Peggy’s phone was stored in her purse and powered down, as Penn had insisted. She started to get to her feet, but Annie already had her cell phone in hand and was entering the numbers while it searched for a signal.

As Officer Ervin went back out the front door, two explosions sounded behind the house. Then Peggy heard a roar and crackle that could only be fire. She leaped to her feet and pulled Annie up with her.

“We’ve got to get out!”

Annie was speaking into her cell phone, but she let Peggy lead her toward the front door. Halfway there, Peggy stopped. What if the fire was meant to drive her and Annie into the open, where they could be shot or taken? She thought frantically. The best solution she could come up with was to hunker down just inside the front door, protected from gunfire but near an escape route.

“We need a fire truck!” Annie cried into her phone. “Two hundred Duncan Avenue! A bomb just blew up at our house. . . . Yes, a bomb!”

Through the open door Peggy heard a man roar in anger and pain. She knew it was Kirk Boisseau. Pulling Annie down to the floor, she took the phone from her granddaughter and tried to remember the last number Penn had given her.

I’M PARKED IN THE drive-through lane of the Vidalia Burger King when my BlackBerry rings. It’s Kaiser.

“What’s up?” I ask him. “Did Sonny get Snake to tell him about Dad?”

“No. Where are you, Penn?”

“Getting food.”

“Okay, stay calm. Your mother and daughter are fine, but there was some kind of attack on the house where you have them staying. A Molotov cocktail, it sounds like.”

“What?” A blast of adrenaline brings me straight up in my seat. “How the hell did they find it?”

“I don’t know that yet. Your mother called the sheriff’s office looking for you. Whatever number she has for you didn’t get answered, so she got me instead.”

I take out my burn phone, which I set on silent before meeting Forrest and neglected to switch back on after hearing Sonny’s JFK story.

“They just hit our satellite dish, too,” Kaiser says, “at the hotel. This was a coordinated attack, Penn. Nobody was hurt at the hotel, but our secure communications with Washington have been knocked out. The Natchez PD and fire department are over at Duncan Avenue now, and they’re covering your mother and daughter. I’m going to head over myself, because my guys can handle the hotel scene.”

“I’m on my way, John. I’ll talk to you there.”

I honk my horn, but the cars in front of me don’t move. Rather than wait for a response, I wrench the wheel right and drive over the concrete curb, then squeal out of the parking lot.

Once I’m on Highway 84, I speed-dial Walt’s burn phone.

“Talk to me,” he says.

“The Knoxes just hit the house where I was hiding Mom and Annie. They’re okay, but the war has definitely started. Where’s Forrest?”

“I’m following him south on Highway 61. He could be headed back to Baton Rouge, or he could turn east for Athens Point and head back to Valhalla. I’m hoping that’s his plan.”