Night Fever Read Free

and he didn’t understand why Becky didn’t.
    The word around the office was that Becky was an old-fashioned girl. In such a confined society, eligible bachelors were pretty rare anyway, and the few who were left weren’t looking for instant matrimony. Becky had hoped that when the law firm moved to Curry Station, she might have a little more opportunity for a social life. For a suburban area, it did at least have a small-town atmosphere. But even if she found someone to date, how could she afford to get serious about anybody? She couldn’t leave her grandfather alone, and who’d look after Clay and Mack? Daydreams, she thought miserably. She was being sacrificed to look after her family, and there just wasn’t any way out. Her father knew that, but he didn’t care. That was hard to take, too—that he could see how overworked she was and it didn’t even matter to him. That he could go away for two years and not even call or write to see how his kids were.
    â€œYou missed two files, Becky,” Maggie said, interrupting her thoughts. “Don’t be careless, dear,” she added with an affectionate smile.
    â€œYes, Maggie,” Becky said quietly, and put her mind to the job.
    She drove home late that afternoon in her white Thunderbird. It was one of the older models with bucket seats and a small, squarish body with a Landau roof. But it was still the most elegant thing she’d ever driven, with its burgundy velour seats and power windows, and she loved it, car payments and all.
    She’d had to go downtown to pick up some files from one of the attorneys who’d left before the firm moved. She hated midtown Atlanta, and was glad not to be working there anymore, but today it seemed even more hectic than usual. She found a spot in a car park, got the files, and hurried back out—just in time to get in the thick of rush hour.
    The traffic going past the Tenth Street exit was terrible, and it got worse past the Omni. But down around Grady Hospital, it began to thin out, and by the time she passed the stadium and the exit to the Hartsfield International Airport, she was able to relax again.
    Twenty minutes down the road, she crossed into Curry County, and five minutes later, she rounded the square in Curry Station, still several minutes away from the massive suburban office complex where her bosses had their new offices.
    Curry Station looked pretty much the way it had since the Civil War. The obligatory Confederate soldier guarded the town square with his musket, surrounded by benches where old men could sit on a sunny Saturday afternoon and pass the time of day. There was a drugstore, a dry goods store, a grocery, and a newly remodeled theater.
    Curry Station still had its magnificent old red-brick courthouse with the huge clock, and it was here that superior court and state court were convened during its sessions. It was also here that the district attorney had his office, which they said was being remodeled. She was curious about Mr. Kilpatrick. She knew of the Kilpatricks, of course—everyone did. The first Kilpatrick had made a fortune in shipping in Savannah before he had moved to Atlanta. Over the years, the wealth had diminished, but she understood that Kilpatrick drove a Mercedes-Benz and lived in a mansion. He couldn’t do that on a district attorney’s salary. Curious, some said, that he’d chosen to run for that particular office when, with his University of Georgia law degree, he could have gone into private practice and made millions.
    Rourke Kilpatrick had been appointed by the governor to fill the unexpired term of the previous D.A., who’d died in office. When his term ended a year later, Kilpatrick had surprised everyone by winning the election. It wasn’t the usual thing in Curry County for appointees to garner popular support at the polls.
    Even so, Becky hadn’t been interested enough to pay much attention to the district