The Hunt Club

"Doesn't do me any good, though."

Carol Manion sighed. "Aren't you getting a little hot under there?"

The blankets moved as he shook his head no. "What did you need to talk to me about?"

Now was the time. She sighed again. "There's a picture in the paper this morning of a boy who looks like you. In fact, it might even be a picture of you that someone took from a long distance away a couple of years ago."

The head, teary-eyed but now curious, too, peeked out. "Why would somebody do that?"

"I don't know for sure, but in the paper it said that they found the picture in the room of somebody who was killed last week."

"Killed? You mean like really killed in real life? Not like on TV?"

"No. Really killed."

"Cool," Todd said.

"Well, it isn't really, Todd. It's really kind of scary. But, anyway, they thought if somebody could recognize the picture of the boy who looks like you that they might be able to find the relatives of the young woman who got killed. If you were related to her. Do you understand?"

"But I'm not."

"No, you're not. But your father and I don't know who took the picture or why. Or if it even has to do with you. We just want you to be safe."

"And that's why you cut my hair? Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"Because we didn't want to scare you."

"I wouldn't have been scared."

"No. Probably not, I know. But it scares your mother and father to think that somebody who got killed took a picture of you and kept it, and now the killer might know what you looked like. So we thought it would be smart to change that a little, for a while at least. You see? I really want you to understand."

"I think I do."

"Good. Because some people might come by and ask questions. Maybe even policemen. And I don't want you to worry."

"Why would I worry?"

"You shouldn't. That's what I'm saying, that there's nothing to worry about. We're just going to tell everybody it's not you. It might look a little like you, but we don't think it's you."

"In the picture, you mean?"

"Yes. And that way we just stay out of everything altogether. We don't get involved because we don't need to be. This doesn't have to do with us. I want you to understand that."

"But what if it is me? Can I see it? I bet I could tell."

"I bet you could, too. But the picture's not the most important thing, Todd. The most important thing is that we protect you. That you always know that you're safe, no matter what."

"I do know that, Mom."

"Because you are my only son, and I'm never going to let anything happen to you. Ever. Okay? Now how about if you come out from under those blankets and give your old mother a big hug?"

Ward Manion had the face of a Marlboro man gone corporate, and it wore a stern expression as he looked across the front seat at his wife. "I don't think I agree that that's a good idea at all. I wish you wouldn't have talked to the boy without discussing it with me first." Though Jay Leno wouldn't take the stage and the auction itself wouldn't formally begin until six o'clock, the Manions had been invited to an exclusive preview of some of the wine lots that would be up for bid, and they were driving the BMW with the top down on the Silverado Trail.

He glanced over at his wife, whom he thought was still a very handsome woman, albeit unconventionally so, with her strong jaw, deeply set and widely spaced gray eyes. She'd had her face lifted twice for lines and crow's feet, but the cheekbones needed no help and never would. "I agreed with the haircut," Ward said, "because what could it hurt? But I don't understand why you don't want to contact the police yourself. Say that it looks like Todd all right, but you don't know anything more about it, which is true."

"No. That's not true, Ward. Not from their perspective, and you know it. How can I tell them it does look like Todd and not mention that his birth mother's name was Staci?"

"It wasn't Staci Rosalier."

Carol waved that off. "So she changed it. Or maybe the slut had gotten herself married. Two or three times even."

Ward pursed his lips. To Carol, the girl who'd borne their son's, now their own, child, had always been and would always be "the slut." It bothered him, but he didn't suppose he was going to be able to do anything to change it now.

"And then what if it is her?" she asked. "Staci. Todd's birth mother."

He turned to her. "Well? We both agree that it might be. So what?"

"So what is that it then involves us, Ward. You and me and Todd. You know we weren't involved in killing anybody, but they'll just rake up all that history, look into Todd's adoption, everything. I know you remember how awful Staci's people were. I don't want to give them any excuse to get back into our lives."

He seemed vaguely amused at the idea, shaking his head at the absurdity of it.

"It's not fu

"To ask us to a party, right?"

"Yes, but all they'll know-"

"Who are they now?"

"The police. All they'll know is that he made the call. What if they see it as a co

"What if? What if? But while we're at it, using the slut word will not help you appear disinterested. The woman, after all, is a murder victim. She deserves a little sympathy."

"All right. But the point remains, I did hear from George, and then I did place a call to the Parisi woman. That's a lot of coincidence, a lot of interaction with people who are involved in this."

"Now that you mention it." Ward was still smiling. "If I didn't know better…"

"Don't you dare even tease!"

"Easy, girl," he said. "There's no call for that."

She took a beat, gathering herself. "It's far better if we simply stay out of it completely. If we say that the picture doesn't really look like Todd did at that age, that ends it."

"Carol." His own calm more than matched hers. "You're not exactly some prowling murderer, after all. I think we're both rather above all that, don't you? You're acting paranoid, and that isn't like you at all."

She shook her head. "I think you're underestimating how badly they want to bring us all down. We are rich and, therefore, evil. Just look at what we're doing today."

"And what exactly is that?"

"The auction."

"Giving six figures to charity? I fail to see the evil there."

"Paying criminal prices for wine, Ward. Flaunting it for those who don't have it. Paying seven thousand five hundred dollars just to buy tickets to bid. You don't seem to know how our kind of money affects some people, how we feed their envy."

"No, of course, I understand that. The worst crime a person can commit in some circles is to be successful. But people who think that way are always with us, and they should be none of our concern. They're far beneath us. Even our contempt."

"Until they smell that we've done something wrong, where they can bring us down. Look at Martha Stewart, in jail over a handful of peanuts. Michael Milken. All the CEOs."

"But we haven't done anything like any of them, Carol. I say if we acknowledge that the picture might be Todd, and that Staci might well have been his natural mother, we nip any inquiry in the bud. It's likely one of our acquaintances will have called the police, anyway, one of Todd's teachers, somebody. We're just pointing to ourselves as hiding something if we don't come forth." He put a large, gnarled hand on her thigh. "We don't want to appear to be hiding anything, Carol. We don't want to be hiding anything." He patted her leg. "I say we bring the matter up to one of our security people down in the city, who after all are the police, at our first opportunity. Tell them what we know. Answer their questions if they have any and ask them to be discreet as they've always been. Live with what little fallout there may be."