The words she’d read, the operative words, filled her mind, blocking out everything else. Monroe County District Court—appear on July 16—in three days!—to give reason why your daughters, Rebecca and Raquel Kramer, should not be remanded to the court for disposition to their father.
After closing the door, she sat down heavily on a chair, and for a moment stared at nothing. Then she straightened. “You have resources, Lee,” she muttered. “Use them.” She’d gotten up and started for the phone, when it rang. She answered.
“Lee, this is Art. Something urgent has come up. Everyone needs to be on the bus, with their bags, by eleven. Not a minute later, because that’s when we leave.”
She hung up frowning, then moving quickly, began to dress and pack. She’d talk to Lor Lu on the bus.
66
Prime Time
Outside the bus, people were stowing luggage. Bar Stool sat in the driver’s seat with the motor idling. Across from him, Lor Lu was in his usual seat, his office. He’d lowered the hinged worktable in front of him, and his laptop sat open on it, with a map on its screen. At the moment, though, his attention was elsewhere. Taking the summons from her purse, Lee held it out to him. “Excuse me, Lor Lu.”
For a long moment he seemed unaware of either the summons or of her, which was very unlike him; she half withdrew it. Then, glancing sideways, he took it, read it with raised eyebrows, and smiled wryly up at her. “It seems,” he said, “the artillery I called in was not adequate. I will notify the strategic air command.” His sudden laugh startled her. Getting up, he left the bus.
To make a call in private? she wondered.
He’d just returned when Art Knowles came aboard. It was Knowles who explained the situation to the tour crew. The plan had been to enter Arkansas tomorrow after breakfast, but Arkansas’s Governor Cook had just declared martial law, to take effect at midnight. And word had leaked that he’d deny them entry. Lor Lu had notified Mike Shuster, at Legal, who had called Conroy, Morgenstern, and Blasingame. The firm had personnel on night standby to cover emergencies.
“They should get us at least an abeyance based on the First Amendment,” Knowles finished. “Meanwhile, Dove’s stealing a march on the governor. We’ll cross the river before midnight.”
* * *
Duke Cochran frowned. This was Dove’s decision? He’d have expected patience. Why would Dove antagonize the governor? Marius Cook was well known to journalists as a far-right Christian activist, full of bona fide zeal, not simply a politician posturing for support from the Religious Right.
Cook had been part of the conservative backlash that led to the GOP split, and the formation of the America Party. But at crunch time he hadn’t joined the Americists; his conservatism had too strong a populist streak, which had helped him unseat Ted Jamison as governor. By and large, the media liked Marius Cook—he was neither pompous nor abrasive—but when it came to religion, he had a short fuse, so Cochran felt uneasy.
Bar Stool pulled out of the motel lot and turned onto the interstate approach. They were on their way, but the TV trucks were not. Obviously Lor Lu hadn’t notified them, and it was no oversight, Cochran felt sure. Moments later they turned south on the Memphis beltway, and Duke, who’d called up a map on his laptop, wondered if Bar Stool had made a mistake. It seemed to him they’d have taken Summer Avenue, or perhaps I-40. But a quarter hour later, when they hit the westward jog of I-55, it struck him: they were going to cross the state line on the I-55 bridge. Perhaps Cook had the Arkansas Highway Patrol watching the I-40 bridge but not the I-55, and Lor Lu or Knowles had learned of it.
A few minutes later they crossed the Mississippi into Arkansas, without incident or a cavalcade of followers. Within minutes, I-55 joined I-40. Near the junction was a visitors’ center, but the bus tooled on past it. No pursuit developed, and Cochran relaxed. The roadblock was either at the foot of the bridge or not yet in place. Or maybe the report had been a false alarm.