At precisely ten the following morning, Wes climbed into Royce’s Porsche Spyder, and a few short minutes later they were pulling into the front driveway of the Morton mansion. Wes wore his favorite suit, a light gray Burberry classic-cut light wool suit, while Royce had gone more casual in jeans and a black sweater beneath a leather coat.
“Is the FBI still in town?” Wes asked his friend.
“Probably, but I haven’t heard. I’m sure the Mortons will know.”
They drove through the black gates tipped with gold spires and stopped in a circular drive before a massive Mediterranean-style stucco mansion. It was a grand palisade that always impressed Wes each time he visited. The real attraction was the Roman statuary that filled the gardens and the limestone gazebo where rich amethyst-colored bloom
