Hour Game

"No, I've seen it before." He quickly amended this answer. "At a pool party I attended."

"Uh-huh. Her name on her butt, what, so the guys don't forget?"

"I'm trying very hard not to think of the reason."

Savannah looked up, saw them and waved. She wrapped a short see-through robe around her, slipped on some flip-flops and headed up the brick steps toward them.

When she reached them, she gave King a hug that seemed designed to drill her large bosom right into his chest. Up close her facial features were not quite as flawless as her body; her nose, chin and jaw were a bit too sharply outlined and irregular, but that was nit-picking, Michelle decided. Savannah Battle was a very beautiful woman.

Savannah looked King up and down admiringly. "I swear, Sean King, you just get better-looking every time I see you. Now, how's that fair? We women just keep getting older." This came out in a southern drawl that Michelle thought was highly affected.

"Well, you certainly don't have to worry about that," said Michelle, extending her hand. "I'm Michelle Maxwell."

"Oh, aren't you sweet," said Savannah in a tone that wasn't sweet at all.

"Congratulations on your graduation," said King. "William and Mary, right?"

"Daddy always wanted me to go to college, and I did, though I can't say I loved it." She sat down and slowly dried off her shapely legs in what Michelle interpreted as a seductive gesture aimed at King. Then she dug into the tiny sandwiches.

"What'd you major in?" asked Michelle, thinking that the young woman must have gotten her degree in either cheerleading or throwing parties or perhaps both.

"Chemical engineering," was her surprising if mumbled reply. Apparently, no one had taught the girl not to talk with her mouth full. "Daddy made his fortune as an engineer, and I guess I took after him."

"We were sorry to hear about Bobby," said King quietly.

"He's tough; he'll pull through," she said confidently.

"I heard you might be heading out on your own," said King.

Savannah 's expression darkened. "I expect people are having a good time trying to figure out what I'm going to do. Trust-fund Baby Battle," she added bitterly.

"I didn't mean it that way, Savannah," said King gently.

She waved off his apology with a dismissive karate chop through the air. "I've been dealing with that all my life, why stop now, right? I have my own way to make in the world, and it's not always easy with parents like I have. But I'll make something of myself. I'm not going through life using my credit card to buy happiness."

As she listened, Michelle felt her opinion of the young woman turning more positive.

Savannah wiped her mouth with her hand and said, "I know why you're here. It's about Junior Deaver, right? I can't figure why he would've done anything so stupid. I mean, like my mother's going to just look the other way while he walks off with her wedding ring? I don't think so."

"Maybe he didn't do it," said King.

"Sure he did," said Savannah as she toweled off her wet hair. "From what I heard he left so much evidence behind he might as well have just sat on the floor and waited for the police to show up and arrest him." She shoved another piece of sandwich into her mouth and crammed in a handful of potato chips as a chaser.

"Stop eating like some damned pig, Savannah!" the voice said sharply. "And while you're doing that, try and halfway sit like a lady, if your imagination can possibly grasp such a concept."

Savannah, who'd been slouching in her chair with her legs spread wide like a hooker on the prowl, instantly straightened up and cemented her thighs together, stretching the robe over her knees.

Remington Battle strode onto the terrace with as much presence as a Broadway legend convinced of her ability to effortlessly dominate an audience.

She was dressed impeccably in a dazzling white pleated skirt that fell several inches below the knee. On her feet were stylish if conservative low-heeled pumps. A patterned blouse of cool blue was partially covered by a white sweater that was draped around her shoulders. She was taller than her daughter by several inches-around Michelle's height-and her touched-up auburn hair and makeup were expertly done. Her features were strong, indeed almost visually overpowering. Michelle guessed that Remmy in her youth had probably been even more beautiful than her daughter. Now in her sixties she was still a very handsome woman. Yet with all that, it was the eyes that caught and held you: part eagle, part buzzard and intimidating as hell.

Remmy shook hands with King and then was introduced to Michelle. The latter felt the woman run a severe gaze over her and suspected that Remmy Battle found much to find fault with in her very casual clothes, nonexistent makeup and windswept hair. She didn't have long to ruminate on that, though, as Remmy turned her attention to her daughter once more.

"In my day we didn't greet guests without any clothes on," she said icily.