Gail on the phone was not as troubling as Gail in real life. It was true that Mary Beth had only met her once in person, but something about the way she moved had reminded her of a snake in a garden. Coiled up but watchful, with her gaze fixed on Parr—and at a family party too. Even in the random photos Mary Beth had seen by chance, Gail had been half hidden.

Mary Beth didn’t suppose that Gail had any particular interest in Bobby Joe, only that perhaps the woman wanted Parr to think that might be the case.

Her uneasiness grew as Bobby Joe sat idly listening to the unanswered ringing. “Guess she’s not there.” He spun away from Mary Beth when Gail finally picked up.

“Hello,” he intoned. “This is Robert Weston speaking, from Robert Joseph Weston and Associates.” He broke into laughter. “Don’t I sound like a big shot? How are you, Gail? How’s the weather in Memphis?”

A response that was too soft for anyone besides Bobby Joe to make out actual words reached Mary Beth. Did Gail have a sixth sense for the presence of someone listening in? Could be.

“Lucky you. Seventy-two degrees sounds like heaven,” Bobby Joe said into the phone. “It’s hotter than Hades down here. Now, I know you’re working hard and I don’t want to keep you, but I was wondering. . .”

He explained what he needed in terms of information and ignored what Mary Beth surmised was a promise to call him back later—or a brush-off.

“Gail, you can take five minutes to talk to me. My brother won’t mind. He’s the one who said I should call you.” He lowered his voice to a seductive pitch. “And he’s not there, now is he?”

His endless flirting was nothing new, but it bordered on compulsive now. His behavior disturbed Mary Beth. The conversation could be entirely practical on Gail’s side, but Bobby Joe made it sound intimate.

Mary Beth left the room, preferring to wander through the small building rather than listen in. She went up to the third floor, a smaller, garretlike space that seemed larger than it was because of the white walls. The skylight in the ceiling had been propped open a few inches to air out the smell of fresh paint. A stepladder stood in the open position, but the inevitable mess of tarps and buckets and brushes and rollers had been cleared away.