A Killing Sky Read Online Free PDF Page B

and his over-sized gun.
    The truck jolted through a bigger-than-usual washout. We had been climbing gradually, and now I noticed we were approaching the top of one of the hills. Nicole must have sensed this a long time before I did, which explained the grin that had been plastered on her pretty face.
    Still no crows. Maybe they had heard we were coming and convened a powwow someplace to plan their escape. If we did manage to scare any up, our own plan called for lifting Armistead into the sight position and launching her out the window to start a tail chase. It wasn't all that elegant. But it was the tactic best suited to our habitat and our bird. Even Toronto, who had taught me most of what I knew about hawking, had adapted his falconry to suit the piedmont terrain.
    Nicole was sitting higher in her seat, peering over the break of the hill. “I'm stopping here,” she said.
    “Why? You see a crow?”
    “No, but I'm pretty sure I can see the Drummond place down there in the valley.” She set the parking brake, jumped out, and began pulling her heavy jacket and a pair of binoculars out of her backpack.
    “Nicky! We're supposed to be hunting here, not playing games.”
    But my words fell on deaf ears. She was already several yards from the truck, bounding over the rocky terrain to a better vantage point. I could either sit there with a couple of pounds of anxious redtail tethered to my wrist or follow my daughter.
    I jumped out with Armistead and opened one end of her giant hood, which was secured to the bed of the pickup. The hawk stepped inside onto her perch, and I latched the door.
    “It's okay, girl. We won't be long.” At least I hoped we wouldn't.
    By now Nicole had moved farther down the ridge to a break in the arbors. From up here you could see across open fields to another hillside and beyond to the Blue Ridge. She had the field glasses trained on something. As I came up beside her, I followed her line of sight to a cluster of buildings hugging the opposite hill in a grove of bare walnut trees maybe half a mile distant.
    “That's gotta be it. We're closer than I thought. Look at the size of that limousine.”
    She handed me the binoculars, I'm sure expecting me to raise them right away and look, but I stared wordlessly at her.
    “C'mon, Dad. Don't you want to see what the Drummonds are up to?”
    I would like to think it was only business on my part in agreeing to look for Cartwright Drummond, but to tell the truth, I bore a bit of the same sleazy curiosity as your average National Enquirer connoisseur. Why the rich and powerful incite such morbid nosiness is anybody's guess. Maybe we need to show they aren't really any better than the rest of us. Nevertheless, the feeling didn't sit well with me. Titillation coiled like a menacing viper in the pit of my stomach.
    I shook my head and raised the glasses to my eyes.
    The main house came into focus first: a contemporary design of glass and stone. There was a large terrace to one side that opened to a courtyard of sorts. Behind this stood two or three outbuildings, around which several vehicles were parked, including Tor Drummond's trademark Hummer and the black stretch limo to which Nicole had referred.
    “It looks like Drummond's place.”
    “Are they leaving for a trip or something?”
    I focused more closely on the limo. I could see a garment bag and a roll-on suitcase propped against a retaining wall to one side, partially obscured by the rear fender. I wasn't sure, but I also thought I saw wisps of exhaust coming from the back of the vehicle and the silhouette of a driver behind the darkened glass.
    “Something like that,” I said, lowering the binoculars.
    “See anything to help you?”
    “Not really.”
    “What about the guy standing by the corner of the house?”
    I'd missed that. I raised the glasses and scanned the house again. “There's nobody there.”
    “He was just there a minute ago.”
    “Wait a minute.” My stomach did a little rumba.