Steve Hamilton - A Cold Day in Paradise

“Thank you.”

“Edwin speaks very highly of you. He tells me that you have a bullet next to your heart.”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.” I wondered if there was anyone left in the state of Michigan who didn’t know this by now.

“Did you know that Andrew Jackson had a bullet next to his heart for the entire time he was president?”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“He was in a duel. The other man shot him in the chest, but Jackson didn’t go down. He had his one shot left, so he calmly took aim and shot the other man dead. What would you have done, Mr. McKnight?”

“You mean if I was in a duel?”

“Yes, if you were in a duel and the other man shot you first but you were still standing.”

“I guess I’d have to shoot him. I imagine I’d have a good reason to. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be in a duel in the first place.”

“I suppose so,” she said. “Anyway, they were never able to take the bullet out of Jackson’s chest. He just had to live with it for the rest of his life. Apparently, it gave him a lot of trouble. Does your bullet trouble you?”

“No, not really,” I said.

“That’s good to hear.”

“Mrs. Fulton,” I said, “how can I help you?”

She looked down at her coffee. “I’m sorry. I seem to be doing my best to avoid that topic. I take it that Mr. Uttley told you of my conversation with him?”

“He didn’t go into much detail.”

She nodded. “Well, as I’m sure you’re aware, I am very concerned about my son Edwin. His father passed on many years ago, and I think that’s been very hard on him. He hasn’t had anyone to look up to. That’s why I’m so glad that you’re his friend, Mr. McKnight.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Mrs. Fulton. I mean, I haven’t spent that much time with him lately.” His wife, that was a different story.

“Yes, but even so, I think you’re the best friend he has right now.”

I didn’t know what to say. Some best friend I was.

“Mr. McKnight,” she said, “I’m not naive about my son’s… problems. I know that he has a particular attraction to gambling. Why else would he live way up here all year long? At first, I thought he was just trying to get away from me. I suppose that’s a typical mother’s reaction. Or that he was tired of all the social obligations in the city. Or that he just liked roughing it up here in the woods without any servants. That sounds silly, I realize. Of course, I know it’s the Indian casinos that keep him up here. If they closed them, he’d be gone the next day. Although that reminds me of a question I wanted to ask you. If the casinos are legal up here, why was he betting with a bookmaker?”

“These casinos only have table games and slot machines. There’s no sports betting. For that, you have to deal with a bookmaker.”

“I understand now,” she said. “See, already I’m glad you came out to visit me. Edwin refuses to talk about these things with me.”

“Mr. Uttley mentioned a dream that you had…”

“Yes,” she said. “The dream. I hope you won’t find this too terribly absurd when I tell you.”

“Of course not,” I said.

“Saturday night,” she said. She looked out the window as she began to relate her dream in her slow, steady voice. “It was the night that he found that man, as it turned out, although I certainly didn’t know that at the time. In the dream, I saw blood. I saw a great deal of blood. I was absolutely terrified, because I have to tell you, I have this thing about blood. Just the sight of it, even my own blood if I prick my finger in the garden, I just can’t bear it. In the dream, there was so much of it. It seemed to be more blood than one single body could hold. I was floating over it, you know how it is in a dream. And then suddenly, I flew away from the blood and I was in a forest. I was moving down a road with trees on each side. Or rather, I was watching as something else was moving down the road. It was a car, rolling slowly down the road. It was the most vivid thing I have ever seen in a dream. That car just rolling smoothly down the road. But it was dark. The car didn’t have its lights on. It was traveling down the road with just the faintest moonlight to show the way. I tried to look into the windshield to see who was driving that car. But I couldn’t see. It was too dark. And then I realized that I had been on that road before. It was the road that leads to this house.”

She stopped and looked at me. “Mr. McKnight,” she said. “When Edwin called me and told me what had happened, I begged him to leave this house. But he wouldn’t. He said I was being foolish. So I did the only other thing I could do. I drove all the way up here myself. Can you believe that? My driver had the day off, so I got the car out and came all the way up here. I haven’t driven a car in ten years. I don’t even have a license anymore. But I knew that I had to come up here and try to get Edwin and Sylvia out of this house.”

“They wouldn’t leave, I take it.” I could see Edwin staying, but why would Sylvia want to stay here? God knows she hated this place.

“No, they didn’t believe me,” she said. “I guess I can’t blame them. But then, last night…”

“Last night? What happened last night?”

“I was staying in one of the guest rooms, but I couldn’t sleep. I kept walking around down here, looking out the windows. I think I finally fell asleep on the couch here for a while, but then a little while later I woke up again. I thought I had heard something outside. So I went to the back door, where you can see the road. And, I don’t know, I thought I might have seen something. A car.”

“What kind of car was it?”

“Oh, I couldn’t tell. I’m not even sure it was there. I might have just imagined it.”

“Mrs. Fulton, what time did this happen?”

“It was just after two o’clock.”

The phone call came at three, I thought. And the man did say that he had been watching Edwin. “Did you do anything?” I asked. “Did you call the police?”

“No, I didn’t,” she said. “When I looked again, it was gone. I mean, if it had even been there in the first place.”

“Did you tell Edwin about it?”

“Yes. He said that if you look out into the darkness long enough, you’ll start to see whatever it is that you’re afraid that you’ll see.”

“So what would you like me to do?”

“I want you to stay here tonight,” she said. “Maybe for a couple nights, if that’s what it takes.”

“Mrs. Fulton-”

“I’m begging you, Mr. McKnight. I’ll pay you anything you want.”

“Mrs. Fulton, I’m sure the sheriff could keep a man out here for a few nights…”

“No,” she said. Her voice changed into that of a woman who was accustomed to having things her own way, especially when she was willing to pay for it. “That will not do. The sheriff is not going to send a man out here all night just because an old woman has a dream, and thinks she sees things in the darkness. I just want someone to stay here for a night or two. To make me feel better. I want you, Mr. McKnight. I’ve already said that you’ll be well compensated.”

I couldn’t bear the thought of staying in this place, but Mrs. Fulton kept working me over like an old pro until I finally agreed. There’s something faintly annoying about rich people, I’ve noticed. They don’t even wait to see if you’ll do something for them out of the goodness of your own heart. They go right to the money. They wave it in front of you like a candy cane in front of a child.

Sylvia was still on the road when I left the place. “You’ve been out here all this time?” I asked when I stopped next to her. “You just had to get one more shot in, eh?”