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Chapman.”
    “It’s Abigale.”
    “Jesus. Abigale, I got a call from your mother. I guess Joe told you. Your uncle in Virginia—Richard—he’s been shot. We’ve got you on the next chopper out of there.”
    “How badly is he injured?”
    There was a long suffering pause. “He’s dead, Abigale. Your uncle was murdered.”

CHAPTER
10

    M anning parked his BMW in front of his mother’s house behind Wendy Brooks’s Jeep. Thompson’s Explorer and the hunt’s kennel truck were parked farther up the drive.
    He killed the engine, leaned over, and rummaged through the glove box for a tin of breath mints. As he straightened back into the driver’s seat, he glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. He popped a mint in his mouth and shoved his fingers through his hair, forcing the blond waves into some sense of order. God, he looked like shit. He had skipped shaving before hunting yesterday and now the two-day-old growth of beard made him look like some Hollywood bad boy. Nothing he could do about that now. Nothing he could do about his bloodshot eyes, either.
    Manning grabbed his tweed jacket off the passenger seat and climbed out of the car, slipping the jacket on and turning the collar up against the drizzle as he hurried along the stone walk toward the house. He saw lights on in the kitchen and veered off the walk, cutting across the lawn to the back. Through the glass in the mudroom door he saw his mother standing by the kitchen counter, talking on the telephone. Her back was to him. He stomped his feet on the doormat and opened the door.
    She glanced over her shoulder as he entered and he saw her eyes travel down to his boots. He smothered a sigh.
Don’t worry, Mother. I remembered my manners and wiped my feet
.
    Manning shook the rain off his jacket and hung it on a hook in the mudroom. As he walked into the kitchen, Margaret banged the receiver back on the base. He spotted a tremble in her hand.
    “If one more person tells me that Richard is in a better place, I think I’ll scream,” she said, turning to face him.
    Manning wrapped his arms around her and she gave him a quick squeeze before backing out of his embrace. “We’ve been looking for you all morning,” she said, settling against the counter, her arms clamped across her chest.
    “I came as soon as I heard.”
    “Um-hmm.” Her lips puckered into a crooked line and her blue eyes blazed as she gave him a good once-over. “Where were you? You look like you just climbed out from under a rock. Still dressed in yesterday’s hunt attire.”
    Manning glanced away.
    “Never mind. I already know the answer.” Margaret drew in an exaggerated sniff. “You reek of some woman’s perfume. That and day-old whisky.”
    God, Mother
. He released a slow breath, refusing to be baited into an argument. “Tell me what happened to Richard.”
    Margaret turned and grabbed a coffee mug off the counter by the phone, wrinkling her nose as she took a sip. “This is cold.” She flung the contents in the sink and reached for the glass carafe in the drip coffeemaker, glancing at him as she poured steaming coffee into her mug. “I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee. Would you like a cup?”
    “No. Thanks.”
    Her disapproving eyes roved over him. “Are you sure? You look like you could use one.”
    Before he could respond there was a knock, and the door that led to the hall creaked partially open. Smitty poked his head into the kitchen. “Can I come in?”
    “Of course,” Margaret replied, lifting the mug to her mouth and eyeing Manning over the rim as she took a sip.
    Smitty’s gaze shifted back and forth between Margaret and Manning as the door swung closed behind him. “Wasn’t sure if I was interrupting something.”
    Manning looked away and perched on the edge of the kitchen table, rubbing the back of his neck as he stretched it from side to side.
    “What do you need, Smitty?” Margaret asked.
    “Percy Fletcher just showed up at the front door,