24 Hours

“With my mother,” Stephanie replied. “Which is another reason I’m so stressed. Mom was all set to get her highlights done this afternoon, and then she had to cancel to keep Caroline. Guilt trip from hell, of course. Where’s Abby?”

“With Will’s mother, in the Delta.” They had reached the laundry room. Karen looked back and saw Hickey silhouetted in the kitchen door. Her eyes searched for the outline of the gun.

“Nice meeting you, Joe!” Stephanie called.

“Yeah,” he said.

Karen pushed her into the garage. Sure enough, Stephanie’s white Lexus was parked just behind the Expedition.

“Your cousin looks interesting,” Stephanie said, her eyes twinkling. “A little rough, maybe, but interesting. You sure I didn’t just stumble onto a tryst?”

Karen forced a laugh. “Positive. Joe can’t stand me. He’s just here to settle the estate.”

“Well, I hope you get some money out of it.” She pointed at the Avalon parked beside the Expedition. “You need to upgrade your transportation, girl.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, Steph. I may be a little late.”

Stephanie had leaned down to strap Josh into his car seat. “Don’t you dare. I cannot handle cow shit, okay? That is not in my contract.”

Karen forced another laugh. Stephanie got into the Lexus, started it, and backed around to go down the hill.

Something brushed Karen’s shoulder. Hickey was standing beside her, and she hadn’t even realized it. He waved at the Lexus. Stephanie honked her horn in reply, then disappeared over the lip of the drive.

“Not bad, Mom,” Hickey said. “That skinny bitch owes you her life, and she doesn’t even know it.”

Karen realized she was shaking.

Hickey slapped her lightly on the behind, exactly the way Will would have. “Let’s get back inside. My muffaletta’s getting cold.”

Will’s lecture was nearly done. The first susurrant sounds of dresses shifting on seats had reached his ears from the floor of the darkened ballroom. He had timed the program just right. Behind him, the Hitachi showed a maternal-fetal medicine specialist injecting Restorase into a fetus still in the womb. The fetus had been paralyzed before undergoing a blood transfusion to save its life. Restorase would bring it out of paralysis in a tenth of the time it would normally take.

“And while this particular injection required a good deal of comment,” Will said, “I think this last shot is pretty self-explanatory.”

The pregnant woman’s belly was replaced by a wide-screen sequence of Will teeing off at the Annandale golf course, one recognized by most doctors in the audience. With creative editing, he had made his perfect drive appear to conclude with a stunning hole-in-one. When the ball hit the pin and dropped into the cup-to the accompaniment of Tex-Mex music from Kevin Costner’s Tin Cup-a wild whoop went up from the dark (probably from the throat of Jackson Everett) and enthusiastic applause followed. The lights came up and revealed a laughing, exhilarated audience.

“I’ll be at the Klein-Adams booth for two hours tomorrow afternoon,” Will said. “I’ve brought samples of Restorase with me, as well as some of the gas-injection systems I’ve discussed tonight. I look forward to speaking with all of you.”

This time the applause was more sedate, but also more sustained. Saul Stein stood and patted him on the back. Will shook Stein’s hand, then began disconnecting his computer while the MMA president waited for the applause to die. Stein gushed over the presentation, then moved on to announcements regarding the next day’s seminars. Will zipped up his computer case and stepped down from the podium.

He was immediately swallowed by a congratulatory mob that swept him out of the Magnolia Ballroom and into the atrium area. A visual echo of the woman in black remained in his mind, but he saw no sign of her among the smiling faces. For fifteen minutes he shook hands and accepted compliments, but before the real gabbers could trap him, he made for the escalators.

Like all casino hotels, the Beau Rivage made sure its guests had to pass through a carnival of slot machines and gaming tables on their way to and from the meeting rooms. Will’s joints were giving him trouble, but he walked briskly. He wanted to get up to the room and take some more Advil.

He had planned to use the VIP elevators, but as he passed the main elevators, Jackson Everett reached out and pulled him into the waiting area. Everett had another drink in his hand, and the smell of rum came off him like Caribbean perfume. He opened his mouth to say something to Will, but just then an elevator opened and disgorged an elderly woman holding a cigar box full of quarters.

“Take ’em to the cleaners, Grandma!” he yelled. “Break the bank!”

The woman grinned and hurried toward the lobby. Everett pushed Will into the elevator, then followed him. Two more doctors wearing name tags stepped in after them, and the door began to close.

“Hold the door!” cried a female voice.