He halted, amazed. In Webster Springs limousines were about as common as dinosaurs. A limosaur, that’s what this was, he thought drolly. While it climbed toward his home, he felt a premonition of trouble, which he quickly attributed to his bad mood. But for an Instant when the car paused at the top of the driveway, it caught the rays of the setting sun, its black sides flashing blood red, and Max, frowning, walked forward. The car stopped at the edge of his lawn. A chauffeur got out, nodding a silent hello. The passenger opened a rear door before the chauffeur reached it, and Max knew the visitor’s identity the moment he glimpsed a lion’s mane of white hair. T. S. Audubon. He had probably planned his arrival to coincide with the sunset’s drama. Audubon loved to make an entrance. He unfolded his tall, elegantly lean body from the limousine’s seat and flashed a pleasant smile at Max. “Major, how nice to find you at home,” he said in his aristocratic, tidewater Virginia accent as he extended a hand.
