“What do you think, Jacob?” Donald asked. Donald rarely visited the field sites, preferring the controlled environment of his office. He’d been pleased to have his partner back, because they both knew that Donald would never survive if he had to deal with real people, those who had to work with their hands and lived from paycheck to paycheck. He enjoyed the suit crowd, the financiers and bankers and attorneys. But lately he’d taken a much greater interest in the company’s enterprises on the ground level.

“We should get this subdivision wrapped up by October,” Jacob said.

“I’ve already got some people lined up to buy.”

“Good, because we can use that capital to get some other things rolling. I feel a hot streak coming on.”

“Hope it lasts the winter, but I’m ready to get back to the air-conditioned office.” Donald wiped at his brow. The sun was glaring, though the seasonal humidity had yet to settle in the Southern Appalachians. Donald’s jacket and tie were out of place on the scarred stretch of earth.

“There,” Jacob said, pointing to a mixed stand of evergreens and hardwoods across the valley. A two-lane ribbon of asphalt wound up the slope and few roofs were visible through the canopy, but most of the mountain was undeveloped.

Donald put his hand to his forehead to shade his eyes. “Yeah? What about it?”

“Another subdivision. And in a couple of years, Kingsboro will be ready for a business park.”

“I don’t know, Jake. We’ve done pretty well with this safe residential stuff. We tend to lose our asses when we gamble on commercial projects.”

Jacob’s lips tightened. The Comfort Suites deal had lost a quarter million due to rain. The bad weather had delayed the pouring of the foundation and slab, and that set all the other contractors back. Some of those who had committed went on to other jobs and Jacob had to use all his muscle to get them lined up again. Meanwhile, the interest on the borrowed money had compounded and Donald had to get rid of a few rental properties to cover the difference. But Donald didn’t seem to appreciate the accomplishment of a shiny new lodging establishment, of what it meant to the community and other businesses. All Donald could see was the bottom line.

“We’ll be okay,” Jacob said. He reached out and swatted Donald on the shoulder. The collective sounds of hammers, drills and chain saws blended into a symphony of progress. It was the music of money, yes, but it was also the song of a better town.

“I don’t know. Jeffrey’s been looking over the receipts and believes he’s spotted some holes. Probably some math mistakes, but it seems like enough that we might want to have our annual audit a little early this year.”

“How early?”

“November, maybe. I’m sure it’s nothing, but mistakes can eat away our asset base if we don’t catch them fast. And if we’ve overpaid some people, we need to recoup before the money’s all spent.”

“Well, I wouldn’t put too much faith in Jeffrey. He’s a receptionist, not an accountant.”

“He’s good on the phone,” Donald said. “And he annoys the tenants if they call up and make maintenance requests.”

“He’s too expensive, though. And I think he’s bad for business.”

“What do you mean?”

“What you said. Sure, he rubs tenants the wrong way, and that’s fine when it’s just apartments, but if we move into office and professional rentals—”

“Wait a second, Jake. Don’t be rushing into anything. I know you’ve got a hole in your life, but some wild plans aren’t going to fill it.”

“I think we should get rid of Jeffrey and hire Renee. We’d save on insurance because she’s already covered under my policy. She’d work for a lower salary, too.” Jacob looked past Donald to a man who was installing and squaring a door on one of the houses. “She needs something to keep her busy. I don’t want her dwelling on the past.”

Donald straightened his tie and grimaced. After a moment, he said, “Well, as long as my wife understands this was your idea and not mine. Any female in the office can spell trouble for me.”

“Only if you can’t keep it in your pants, Donald.”

“Jake, I swear I’ve never even looked at your wife—”

Jacob grinned. “Just kidding. Damn, you’re really jumpy.”

“Yeah. This accounting thing scares me, I guess. I’m at the age where I want to play it safe.”

“Play it safe when you’re dead.” Jacob spread his arms toward Kingsboro. “We’ve got the whole world to conquer.”

Donald pursed his lips then nodded. “Okay. We’ll give Jeffrey two weeks’ notice and two weeks’ severance pay.”

“Renee will be good for business. She has an eye for detail.”

“Fine.” Donald waved his hand. “I’ll go tell Jeffrey the news. I’ll tell him we had too many tenants complaining about him and we both need to move in a new direction. The usual.”

Donald climbed into his Lexus and eased down the gravel road toward Kingsboro. Jacob went to his truck to get his bagged lunch out of the cab. Renee had been feeding him lots of carrots and celery, along with high-protein foods like peanut butter sandwiches and those granola energy bars. He’d regained most of the weight he’d lost while in the hospital, and working outdoors had driven the pallor from his skin. Jacob settled behind the seat, turned on the radio to hear the weather forecast, and opened the bag.

Inside was a bundle of wax paper. He lifted it out and unwrapped the package, wondering what surprise Renee had left for him this time. The chicken head rolled out, bounced off his knee, and settled onto the floor board with a meaty plop. The wax paper was smeared with dried blood. Written on one corner in black marker were the words, “Don’t chicken out.”

Beneath that, the initial “J.” Leaning to the left.

Jacob knelt and examined the chicken head. It was a guinea, the same breed that used to run wild on the Wells farm. A ring of congealed blood circled the hatchet wound. The dull onyx of one eye showed through the crescent slit of the eyelids. The beak was parted as if in a gasp or scream.

The cell phone on the seat beside him emitted its electronic bleat. Renee had given him a new one when he’d purchased the truck, a tacit acknowledgment that Jacob was back to normal. The children’s spirits had been laid to rest in their hearts and they would move on. Happily ever after wasn’t an option anymore, but neither was mutual suicide.

Jacob flipped open the phone, looking through the windshield at the house under construction. “Hello?”

“How was your lunch?”

“I told you not to call me anymore. You’re out of my life now. You and Carlita can head back to your Tennessee trailer park, or hang around Daddy’s house until your damned skeletons collect cobwebs. But we’re through.”

“Dear brother,” Joshua said. “We’re not even halfway through. Because you still owe me a million. And brothers always keep their promises, don’t they?”

“I’m not scared anymore. Nobody would believe you if you went to the police.”

“I don’t have to go to the police. I just need to talk to your wife.”

The cords in Jacob’s neck grew taut and heat rushed to his face. “Damn it. You leave her out of this.”

“No way, bro’. We’re all in it together. Like one big, happy family. Ain’t that right, Carlita?”

Jacob heard a whisper of air on the phone’s speaker as Carlita took the phone. “My buena, Jake,” she said in her sultry, smoke-scarred voice. “Like the good old days, si?”

Jacob hated the automatic response she aroused in him, that same blend of guilt and dread and excitement. Like something forbidden, overripe fruit that smelled sweet but was utterly corrupt inside. “I’m not playing your games anymore,” he said, his chest aching.

“Oh, but you invented this game, silly chiquito. Wish me, remember?”

“But it’s over. You’ve got your million.”

“And you have your life back, yes? Just the way it was.”