“Sure,” Boyd said. “Thanks. And—by the way, what are you doing now?”
“Me?” Malone said. “I’m driving.”
“Yes, I know,” Boyd said patiently. “To where, and why? Or is this another secret? Sometimes I think nobody loves me any more.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Malone said. “The entire city of Miami Beach is awaiting your arrival with bated breath.”
“But what are you doing?” Boyd said.
Malone chose his words carefully. “I’m just checking a lead,” he said at last. “I don’t know if it’s going to pan out or not, but I thought I’d drive down to Richmond and check on a name I’ve got. I’ll call you about it in the morning, Tom, and let you know what the result is.”
“Oh,” Boyd said. “Okay. Sure. So long, Ken.”
“So long,” Malone said. He hung up the phone, put the car into gear again and roared off down U. S. Highway Number One. He didn’t feel entirely happy about the way things had gone; he’d been forced to lie to Tom Boyd, and that just wasn’t right.
However, there was no help for it. It was actually better this way, he told himself hopefully. After all, the less Tom knew from now on, the better off he was going to be. The better off everyone would be.
He went on through Fredericksburg without incident, but he didn’t continue on to Richmond. Instead, he turned off U. S. 1 when he reached a little town called Thornburg, which was smaller than he had believed a town could be and live. He began following a secondary road out into the countryside.