Robert McCammon - Mister Slaughter

With the help of one of the coins Slaughter had left him after the Lindsay massacre, Matthew had made sure he would hi mself stand up to scruti ny. The new suit, the new cloak, the new tricorn all were necessary for the deception. The investigation, as it were. On his feet were a pair of black boots that his tailor friend had found for him from a shoemaker friend, at a reasonable price. The moccasins had had their day; when Matthew had taken them off they'd been nearly ready to fall apart.

"Mr. Shayne," the woman suddenly said, as if just to repeat the name. She didn't divert her attention from the letter. "How is my friend Oliver?"

"He's fine. Did you know that Priscilla will be having her baby in four months?"

"Yes, I did. I saw her at the market oh that was late August." She put the letter aside with a brief and unrevealing smile. "Here's our refreshment."

Opal the hip-grazing crotch-glancer had returned, bringing a silver tray that bore his cup of tea. He accepted it and the linen napkin that was also offered. In the exchange of tea and napkin he caught Opal staring right at him, her pink lips slightly parted, and he wondered who really was the lioness in the room. She was wearing a gray muslinet gown and a shapeless gray mob cap that did nothing for a woman's charm and perhaps was meant so. Under the cap Opal's hair was jet-black and the eyes that stared so piercingly into Matthew's were a bright blue almost crackling with their heated appraisal. She was the proverbial mere slip of a girl, slim and wiry and standing maybe two inches more than sixty even in clunky black heels. Matthew saw small metal rings stuck through her lower lip and her right nostril. She scared the hell out of him.

"Thank you, Opal," said Mrs. Lovejoy, who was returning the letter to its envelope. "I won't need you here any longer. Go to the laundry house and help there."

"Yes, mum." Opal gave a quick curtsey to both of them and took the tray back through the doorway again.

"Always something to be done," the woman explained. "The washing, the cooking, the general maintenance. But it's my life now, Mr. Shayne. My calling."

"And an admirable calling it is, according to Oliver." He winced inwardly, and cautioned himself that it was better not to be so very damned eager.

"Sometimes admirable, sometimes just difficult." She tilted her head slightly, as if to examine him from a different angle. "I want you to understand that Paradise is very expensive. My guests-I always refer to them as my guests, for that's how much I respect them-require the best in food, care and consideration. But before I quote you a one year's fee, which would be our least expensive arrangement, let me ask you to tell me the particulars of your situation."

Matthew paused for a drink of tea, and then he forged ahead. "I am opening a law office after the first of the year. My wife and I will be-"

"In Philadelphia?" she asked. "Your office?"

"Yes. My wife and I will be moving down from New York. We have one son and another child on the way." "Congratulations."

"Thank you." He brought up a frown. "The problem is my grandfather. He's quite aged. Seventy-two years. Come December," he chose to add, just for the sake of texture. He felt he was drawing a picture, as much as Berry ever did. "My grandmother has been dead these last few years, my father passed away on the voyage over, and my mother well, my mother met a new gentleman in New York, they married and returned to England."

"This world," she said, with no expression.

"Yes, a trying place. But the situation is that my grand-father-"

"What's his name?"

"Walker," Matthew replied.

"An active name for an active man?"

"Exactly." Matthew offered a fleeting smile. He decided then was the time to touch the plaster under his eye. "Unfortunately of late he has been too active."

"I was wondering. My pardon if you caught me looking." Now there was a quick show of teeth, then gone. The clear green eyes did not smile, Matthew noted. Ever.

He was getting nothing from her. Feeling nothing. But what had he expected? He swept his gaze around the room, as if trying to gather his next confession of the trials of this world, especially those of a young lawyer who needs to get rid of an uncomfortable cyst that pains his progress. The house, on the outside painted white with a light blue trim the exact color of the Paradise lettering, was simply a nice two-story dwelling that any lady of means might have owned. The furnishings were tasteful, the colors restrained, the windowpanes spotless and the throw rugs unsullied by a dirty boot. He wondered if Tyranthus Slaughter was lying upstairs in a bedroom right this moment, nursing his injuries. For Matthew had come to the conclusion that Lovejoys of a feather might well lie down together.

"Not long ago he struck me," Matthew continued. "Several times, in fact, as you can see. He's angry about his situation, I know, but things are as they are. He's not companionable with people, he's surly, he can't work, and I have to say, I don't like my wife and son being with him, much less the idea of a new baby coming."

"And who's with him now? Your wife and son alone?"

"No. He's in the custody excuse me, the possession of friends in New York."

Mrs. Lovejoy looked him directly in the eyes, again revealing nothing with her own. "He sounds like a difficult case."

Matthew didn't know whether her cool, polished demeanor made him go faster than he'd intended, or if he wanted to shake her up. He said, "Honestly, I'm afraid he might take a knife some night and slaughter us in our beds."

There was no reaction whatsoever. The lacquered surface between them held more expression than the woman's leonine face.

"In a manner of speaking," Matthew went on, a little flustered.

She lifted a hand. "Oh, I understand. Absolutely. I see many situations like this. An elderly person who is not used to being dependent, now finds the choices limited due to illness, waning strength or changing circumstances, and very often anger results. You and your wife have the demands of family and profession, and therein lies the problem. You say Walker will be seventy-two in December?" She waited for Matthew to nod. "Is he a strong man? In good physical health?"

"I'd say, for the most part, yes." He was still looking for some reaction, for something. Now, though, he wasn't sure he would know what it was if he saw it.

Mrs. Lovejoy picked up her letterblade and toyed with it. "I have found, Mr. Shayne, in my five years at this occupation-this calling - that the more physically aggressive guests are the ones who unfortunately tend to " She cast about for the proper word. "Dissolve, when placed in a situation of being controlled. In time, they all dissolve, yes, but those like your grandfather do tend to go to pieces first. Am I making sense to you?"

"Perfect sense." He was beginning to wonder what the further point of this was.

Maybe it showed in his own eyes and came across as boredom, for Mrs. Lovejoy leaned toward him and said, "Men like your grandfather rarely last more than two years here, if that. Now: we would wish to make him comfortable, and as happy as possible. We would wish to feed him well, to keep up his strength, and give him some kind of challenge. We do have gardening activities, a greenhouse, a library and a barn they can putter around. We have women who come from town to read to them, and to tell stories. Your wife will wish to inquire about the Bluebirds once you're settled, I'm sure. They do all sorts of charitable deeds."

She reached out and patted his hand, very professionally. "Everything is taken care of here. Once you sign the agreement, it's all done. Your life is your own again, so that you may give it to your family and your future. And as for worrying about your grandfather's future let me say that we hope, as I'm sure you do, that he lives many more happy years, but but when the day of God's blessing occurs, with your approval your grandfather will be laid to rest in Paradise's own private cemetery. He can be out of your mind and cares, Mr. Shayne, and you will know that for the remainder of his days he has received the very best treatment any guest of Paradise can be given. For that is my solemn promise."