Free The Summons by John Grisham

tapping came back, but he did not hear it. The kitchen door, now secured by a jammed chair and a piece of rope, was rattled and pushed, but Ray slept through it all.

CHAPTER 9
    At seven-thirty, sunlight woke him. The money was still there, untouched. The doors and windows had not been opened, as far as he could tell. He fixed a pot of coffee, and as he drank the first cup at the kitchen table he made an important decision. If someone was after the money, then he could not leave it, not for a moment.
    But the twenty-seven Blake & Son boxes would not fit in the small trunk of his little Audi roadster.
    The phone rang at eight. It was Harry Rex, reporting that Forrest had been delivered to the Deep Rock Motel, that the county would allow a ceremony in the rotunda of the courthouse that afternoon at four-thirty, that he had already lined up a soprano and a color guard. And he was working on a eulogy for his beloved friend.
    “What about the casket?” he asked.
    “We’re meeting with Magargel at ten,” Ray answered.
    “Good. Remember, go with the oak. The Judge would like that.”
    They talked about Forrest for a few minutes, the same conversation they’d had many times. When he hung up, Ray began moving quickly. He opened windows and blinds so he could see and hear any visitors. Word was spreading through the coffee shops around the square that Judge Atlee had died, and visitors were certainly possible.
    The house had too many doors and windows, and he couldn’t stand guard around the clock. If someone was after the money, then that someone could get it. For a few million bucks, a bullet to Ray’s head would be a solid investment.
    The money had to be moved.
    Working in front of the broom closet, he took the first box and dumped the cash into a black plastic garbage bag. Eight more boxes followed, and when he had about a million bucks in bag number one he carried it to the kitchen door and peeked outside. The empty boxes were returned to the cabinet under the bookshelves. Two more garbage bags were filled. He backed his car close to the deck, as close to the kitchen as possible, then surveyed the landscape in search of human eyes. There were none. The only neighbors were the spinsters next door, and they couldn’t see the television in their own den. Darting from the door to the car, he loaded the fortune into thetrunk, shoved the bags this way and that, and when it looked as though the lid might not close he slammed it down anyway. It clicked and locked and Ray Atlee was quite relieved.
    He wasn’t sure how he would unload the loot in Virginia and carry it from a parking lot down the busy pedestrian mall to his apartment. He would worry about that later.
    ______
    The Deep Rock had a diner, a hot cramped greasy place Ray had never visited, but it was the perfect spot to eat on the morning after Judge Atlee’s death. The three coffee shops around the square would be busy with gossip and stories about the great man, and Ray preferred to stay away.
    Forrest looked decent. Ray had certainly seen him much worse. He wore the same clothes and he hadn’t showered, but with Forrest that was not unusual. His eyes were red but not swollen. He said he’d slept well, but needed grease. Both ordered bacon and eggs.
    “You look tired,” Forrest said, gulping black coffee.
    Ray indeed felt tired. “I’m fine, couple of hours of rest and I’m ready to roll.” He glanced through the window at his Audi, which was parked as close to the diner as possible. He would sleep in the damned thing if necessary.
    “It’s weird,” Forrest said. “When I’m clean, I sleep like a baby. Eight, nine hours a night, a hard sleep. Butwhen I’m not clean, I’m lucky to get five hours. And it’s not a deep sleep either.”
    “Just curious—when you’re clean, do you think about the next round of drinking?”
    “Always. It builds up, like sex. You can do without it for a while, but the pressure’s building and sooner or later you gotta