Free Son of Fletch by Gregory McDonald

question.”
    “Mister Fletcher, I told you I heard more noise last night than is good for one.”
    “I know, Andy. You lead the quiet life, there in the Virginia countryside.”
    “Is this a real question? Am I supposed to find out something about some tribe?”
    “I don’t know yet. But the question doesn’t mean anything to you?”
    “Can noise make you feel sort of sick? We had beef Thai pecan last night, wild rice. That couldn’t have done it, could it?”
    “As long as the pecans weren’t wild.”
    “Are there wild pecans?”
    “Oh, Andy, you should know some of the nuts I’ve known! I’ll say they can be wild! I’ll call you later at the office. Don’t try to call me.”
    “H I , A ETNA . W ILL you patch me through to the sheriff, please?”
    “Hydy, Mister Fletcher. How’s everything at the farm this fine morning? You all survive the big storm last night?”
    “Just fine, Aetna. We’re as slick as a boxer after the tenth round.”
    Fletch wondered if the dispatcher for the county sheriffs office recognized the voice of everyone in the county. Once, only by recognizing a woman’s voice had she sent the Rescue Squad to the right farm. She was credited with saving the woman’s life. She also had a great ear for music. She led the county’s most accomplished Baptist choir.
    “The sheriff’s actin’ right tired this morning, Mister Fletcher.”
    “I expect so.”
    “Say, Mister Fletcher, while I have you on the phone, will you tell Carrie that Angie Kelly has that recipe for firecracker cake Carrie wanted?”
    “Angie Kelly. Firecracker cake.”
    “Who’s talking about firecracker cake on this line?”
    Fletch recognized Sheriff Rogers’s gravelly voice. It was more gravelly than usual this morning.
    Aetna said, “Mister Fletcher’s on the line, Sheriff.”
    The sheriff said, “I sincerely doubt Mister Fletcher is interested in the recipe for firecracker cake.”
    Fletch said, “I don’t even know what firecracker cake is. Listen, Sheriff, I have two of them.”
    “Cakes?”
    “Convicts. Escaped convicts.”
    “Where?”
    “One of them is dead. We found him in the gully behind my barns. Looks like the snakes got him, and then maybe he drowned.”
    “Describe him.”
    “Hispanic.”
    “I’m prepared to call that a good arrest, aren’t you?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “Describe the other convict to me.”
    “Heavyset. Caucasian. None too bright.”
    “Okay. Restrain him however you can. We’ll come pick him up.”
    “Please, no.”
    “No?”
    “Carrie is going to drive him out to the intersection of Worthy Road and The Old County Pike. He’ll be penned up in the back of the pickup truck. She’ll pretend she’s run out of gas. As soon as she stops at the intersection there, you guys swarm him.”
    “Why you want to do it that way? Why don’t we just come shoot the bastard your place?”
    “I don’t particularly want that to happen.”
    “Oh, I see. Sorry, Fletch. Your wife. Princess … You don’t want the unpleasantness of a police action your place. Might attract the tourists, uh? Cause the press to reprise the assassination. Is that it?”
    “Something like that.” One way and another, Fletch had learned the importance of creating a diversion.
    “We do it my way, he’ll be docile. We’re telling him Carrie is helping him escape. He’s a real big guy. He’ll be half asleep. This way, all you need do is step out of the woods, swarm him, and chain him.”
    “Sure.” The sheriff was slurring his words, just slightly. “We’ll blow him away wherever you say.”
    “Carrie doesn’t particularly need to see anyone blown away, either, here, there, or anywhere.”
    “Okay. I understand. We’ve got to protect the ladies.” The sheriff burped. “And their gardens. We’ll tiptoe out of the woods and take him off Carrie’s truck as gently as a potted petunia. Say again where she will be?”
    “At the intersection of Worthy Road and Old County Pike. She’ll be