The Summer House

Chapter 57

Captain Allen Pierce is leaving the interior of a cluttered and busy restaurant called Four Corners BBQ — located at the intersection of Route 119 and a local country road — when his smartphone rings. He puts down the plastic tray holding cold drinks for the squad and checks the phone’s caller ID, sees the call is coming from SULLIVAN DISTRICT ATTORNEY.

“This is Pierce,” he answers. Most of the restaurant’s seating is outside on worn, splintering wooden picnic tables, and the Army personnel are sitting at a far table, underneath a large hickory tree. For once they don’t have the news media hovering around.

“Hey, Captain, glad I caught up with you. How’s your day going?”

“It’s going well, Mr. Slate.”

“I hear you and your folks might be leaving soon, heading back home to Virginia. That true, son?”

Pierce works his jaw as the old insult comes across his phone, said in a polite and soothing voice, a descendant of the master class establishing the correct order of things.

“First, we’re not leaving any time soon, Mr. Slate, and second, I told you not to call me son. Understand?”

Slate says, “Oh, sorry to offend you, snowflake. That’s what all you entitled members of society do nowadays is look for ways to be offended. Isn’t that right? Or is snowflake one of the forbidden words nowadays? Should I make a list, then? Make sure I don’t hurt your tender feelings?”

“What do you want?” Pierce says, struggling to keep his voice steady.

“Well, it looks like the head Ranger, Staff Sergeant Jefferson, has changed his mind. He wants to talk to me, and he demanded that you come along as well when we meet.”

It feels like a sudden hot wind is buffeting him. “Are you sure?”

“Damn, I’m not going to win reelection in a few days because I’m not sure of my work. ’Course I’m sure. He told Chief Kane over in Ralston that he wants a meeting as soon as possible with you and me. Now” — and Pierce hears the sounds of paper shuffling — “I’ve got a couple of appearances over in Chatham County Superior Court tomorrow, but I think I can manage to get over there this evening. Say... 8:00 p.m. Does that work?”

Pierce could have had an appointment with the Georgia Lottery Corporation to receive a payout at 8:00 p.m., but there is no way he is going to miss this meeting.

“I’ll be there,” he says. “At the Ralston jail?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you know what Staff Sergeant Jefferson is considering?”

“Not a clue, but I bet we’ll know soon enough, now, won’t we?” The district attorney chuckles and says, “See you then, son.”