““He hung up on me. Thanks a lot.”
Not looking the slightest bit ruffled or worried, he stood, picked up the phone, and punched “0”. “Would you please place a call to the last number dialed from this room?”
He paused. “Thanks.”
His gaze remained on the Audubon print on the wall above the bed where I sat fuming.
“Hello, Mr. Drake. My apologies for calling at such a late hour, but I have some information I believe you need. My name is Nicholas Robichaud.” He listened for a moment, then said, “As a matter of fact, yes, those Robichauds.”
He sat on the opposite bed, swung his legs up and leaned back, as if he were settling in for a cozy chat.
I glanced at Conaway, who’d just gotten out of her chair and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Beer run. We need more beer.
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