But did the score need to be evened?

He didn’t know Ben Wheeler and Wheeler didn’t know him, wouldn’t recognize him, probably wouldn’t remember his name, if he’d ever known it in the first place. Wheeler had made use of him in a way that had taken Keller’s whole life away from him, or at least it had looked that way at the time. But now Dot was alive again, and Keller was a millionaire again, and he even had his stamps back — or would as soon as he went to Albany and collected them. His apartment was gone, his life in New York was over, and he could never again use the name he’d been born with, but he could live with that, couldn’t he?

Why, he was living with it already, and living comfortably, too. He liked New Orleans as well as he’d liked New York, and he had work he enjoyed, work that was easier to live with than running around the country killing people. Not once, after a day of installing tongue-and-groove flooring, say, had he felt the need to shrink the image of the day’s work in his mind, graying it down, lightening its burden on his memory. He had a woman who was at once exciting to be with and easy to live with, and all he had to do was walk away from all of this purposeless vengeance and he could be back with her, being Nicholas Edwards, living his new life.

Wheeler had won the last hole, and led off. Keller was waiting in the woods on the right, and Wheeler actually hit the ball in his direction. But it wasn’t a terribly wicked slice, and wound up in the rough a good dozen yards short of where the trees and dense shrubbery began.

Rich hit his tee shot, and really got hold of it. It went high in the air and took off down the left side of the fairway, carrying almost to the first pair of bunkers. All three of the men at the tee watched its flight, but not Keller, who picked that moment to dart out, sprint to Wheeler’s ball, pick it up, and scamper back into the trees again.

He stopped, leaning against a tree trunk while he caught his breath. Any of them could have seen him, all they’d have had to do was glance in his direction, but if they did he’d have heard an outcry. He chanced a look, and they were still on the tee, with Eddie putting one club back in his bag and taking out another, then going through his usual ritual of practice swings before he finally stepped up to the ball. Keller begged him silently not to slice it, and he didn’t, knocking a no-harm grounder down the middle of the fairway.

All three men went to Eddie’s ball, and waited while he sent it another hundred yards or so toward the pin. Then he and Rich headed for their respective balls, while Wheeler drove straight to where he’d seen his own ball land.

It wasn’t there, and Wheeler walked around in circles, the picture of total confusion. You’d think it might occur to the guy to try the woods, but he’d seen where it landed, dammit, and that’s where he was going to look for it.

Keeping his voice down, Keller said, “Hey, buddy. This what you’re looking for?”

Wheeler looked up, and Keller motioned him over. Could the others see him? It didn’t matter, they were looking in another direction, but he moved to his left to put a tree between him and them, just to be on the safe side.

He said, “Thing hit a rock, took a leap like a scared rabbit. Right this way.”

“Never would have looked way over here,” Wheeler said. “I owe you one.”

“I’ll say.”

“How’s that?”

“Wait a minute,” Keller said. “Don’t I know you? Aren’t you Benjamin Wheeler?”

Wheeler smiled in acknowledgment. Then a frown creased his forehead. “You look familiar,” he said. “Do I know you?”

“Not exactly,” Keller said, reaching for him. “But you can call me Al.”

42

“Griqualand West,” Julia said, reading over his shoulder. “Is that a country?”

“It used to be,” he said. He reached for the catalog, found the right page. “Here we go. ‘Originally a territorial division of the Cape of Good Hope Colony, Griqualand West was declared a British Crown Colony in 1873 and together with Griqualand East was annexed to the Cape Colony in 1880.’”

“So that’s where? South Africa?” He nodded. “Do you have stamps from Griqualand East?”

“They didn’t issue stamps for Griqualand East.”

“Just Griqualand West.”

“Right.”

She studied the album page. “They all look pretty much the same,” she said.

“They’re all stamps from Cape of Good Hope,” he said, “over-printed with a G.”

“For Griqualand West.”

“I think that’s probably what they had in mind. Some of the overprints are red and some are black, and there are lots of different variations in the G.”

“And every variation is a different stamp to collect.”

“I guess it doesn’t make much sense.”

“It’s not supposed to make sense,” she said. “It’s a hobby, and you have to have rules, that’s all. Some of the G’s are upside down.”

“They call that an inverted overprint.”

“Are they worth more than the others?”

“It depends,” he said, “on how scarce they are.”

“It would, wouldn’t it? I’m really glad you’ve got your stamps back.”

At the golf course, he’d had a long walk back to the Cadillac, and was afraid someone with a badge might have taken an interest in it by then. But the car was where he’d left it, and he got in and drove to the mall. He parked at one end of it, made a quick call to Dot, then wiped the interior of the car and made sure to take his jacket with him when he left it.

The multiplex movie theater was at the other end of the mall, and he walked there and bought a ticket for a movie about penguins in Antarctica. He’d seen it before, and so had Dot, but it wasn’t the sort of film that was spoiled if you knew how it ended. He took a seat in the last row and got caught up in the action right away, barely noticing when someone took the seat beside him.

It was Dot, of course, and she offered him some popcorn, and he took a handful. They sat there, neither of them saying a word, until the entire tub of popcorn was empty.

“I feel like a spy in an old movie,” she whispered. “You saw this already, didn’t you? Well, so did I. Is there any reason we have to watch the rest of it?”

She got up without waiting for an answer, and he followed her out. “Every last piece of popcorn,” she said, tossing the tub in the trash bin. “Except for the old maids. What? You’re not familiar with the term?”

“I never heard it before.”

“Because they never got popped. Well? We’re all set?”

“All set. The car’s parked in a good spot, and it’ll probably be a day or two before anybody notices it. I left the shotgun in the trunk.”

“Is that what you used to—”

“No, it would have been awkward and messy. I used the revolver, and then I left it in Wheeler’s hand.”

“You left him holding it?”

“Why not? That’ll be puzzling, a man with his neck broken and a gun in his hand, and then when they match the gun to the slugs in Taggert, it’ll give them something to think about.”

“Retribution in Portland’s dark underworld.”

“Something like that.”

“I got us on an early flight tomorrow, and we have to change planes twice. With the time change, it’s going to take the whole day to get to Albany.”

“That’s okay.”

“I reserved a rental car, and two rooms in a motel a quarter of a mile from the airport. We’ll drive to the storage place in Latham first thing Wednesday morning, and then you can drop me back at the airport.”

“And you’ll fly back to Sedona.”

“With a few more changes en route. I’ll tell you something, Keller, I’m too old for this shit.”

“You’re not the only one.”

“When I get home I’m going to stay put. Make a big pitcher of iced tea and sit out on the terrace.”

“And listen to Bell Rock.”