Nelson DeMille - The Gate House

We sat and talked about London, and Paris, with maybe a side trip to the Loire Valley, as we’d done many years ago.

Susan’s portable phone rang, and it was the guard at the gate announcing the pizza man.

I got up, went through the house, and waited for him outside the front door. But as I stood there, I realized that it was moments like this, when you are least expecting it, that your world could suddenly explode – as it had for Salvatore D’Alessio.

I saw a small van coming up the driveway. I went back into the house, bounded up the stairs, grabbed the carbine, went down into my office, and looked out the window. The van stopped, and a young Hispanic-looking guy got out, retrieved the pizza from the rear, then ambled toward the front door. I mean, I wasn’t thinking that the pizza delivery kid could be a hit man, but it was just the act of me standing outside, with no one around, and Alhambra Estates five hundred yards away through the trees, that had spooked me for a moment. Well, that was good. Uncle Sal had been stuffing a cannoli in his mouth, or doing something other than watching the door, and the next thing he knew, he was looking down the barrels of a shotgun. Then, bang, he was in hell.

The doorbell rang, and I went to the front door. I stuck the carbine in the umbrella stand and opened up.

I looked over the pizza guy’s shoulder as we exchanged pizza for money, plus a nice tip, and I locked the door.

I can balance a pizza box on one finger, but I used my whole hand, and carried the box and the carbine out to the patio.

Susan couldn’t help but notice the carbine, and asked, “Do we really need that out here?”

“I hope not.”

I opened the box on the table, and the aroma wafted into my nose and engulfed my soul.

I sat, and Susan went inside, then returned with plates, napkins, knives, and forks. I explained that napkins were optional, and the rest of the stuff was not necessary.

I know that Lady Stanhope has eaten pizza – I’ve seen her – but she always approaches food like this with some trepidation and perhaps a little disdain.

I showed her how to flip the point back and bite it off, then fold the slice to stabilize it. I said, “It’s basic physics.”

So we sat there with our beers, and our pizza, and our rifle, and we had a nice lunch.

Susan confessed, “This actually tastes good.”

“And it’s good for you.”

“I don’t think so, but we can have this once in a while.”

I pointed out, “We could buy the whole pizza parlor.”

She laughed, then said, “Well, John, you saved the day, and I guess I owe you something.” She asked me, “Aside from the yacht, and unhealthy food, what would you like?”

“Just you, darling.”

“You already have me.”

“And that’s all I want.”

“How about a sports car?”

“Okay.”

I ate half the pizza – six slices – and Susan had a second piece, and we wrapped the rest for my breakfast.

Then we went to the bedroom to work off the pizza – sort of a victory lap – and pack for our trip. I had a whole wardrobe in London, so I just threw some odds and ends in my suitcase, and Susan saw this as an opportunity to pack more of her clothes in my luggage. She said, “I have some nice things in the basement that I haven’t gotten around to unpacking.”

Well, we could be gone a lot longer than three weeks, so I didn’t object.

After we packed our suitcases, we took a nap, then at about 5:00 P.M., I got up and said to Susan, “I’m going to run into Locust Valley for a few things. Would you like to come?”

“No, I have a lot to do here, but I’ll give you a list of what I need.”

So I got dressed and said to her, “Keep the doors locked, and don’t go outside.”

She didn’t reply.

I further advised her, “Keep the carbine or the shotgun near you. I’ll put the carbine in the umbrella stand near the front door.”

“John-”

“Susan, we have about” – I looked at my watch – “less than fifteen hours before we’re lifting off the runway. Let’s play it safe.”

She shrugged, then asked me, “What time do you want the car to pick us up for a seven-thirty A.M. flight?”

We’d have to leave for the airport at about 5:00 A.M. in the dark, so I replied, “We will take my rental car so that I can keep the carbine with us, and we’ll park the car in the long-term lot.”

“I’d really rather take a car service and avoid the hassle.”

“Me, too. But we need to take that final precaution.”

She didn’t look happy about that and said, “John, we’re going on vacation – not into battle.”

“Don’t argue with me, or I’ll call your father and tell him to straighten you out.”

She smiled and said, “You are going to be insufferable.”

“Yes.”

I gave her a kiss, and she said, “Don’t be too long. Do you want my cell phone?”

“I do.” She gave me her cell phone, and I said goodbye, took the carbine, and went downstairs. I placed the rifle in the umbrella stand, then went out the front door, which I locked.

I had the keys for both cars, and I decided to take my Taurus, which would be easier to park downtown.

I got in and drove down the driveway. When I got to the gatehouse, I used the remote and the gates swung inward. I had a thought, and I honked my horn, then got out of the car.

The gatehouse door opened, and a young security guard, whom I didn’t know, came out.

I said to him, “I’m Mr. Sutter and I live in the guest cottage.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you alone?”

“I am until eight P.M., then a second man comes on duty.”

“All right… well, what I need you to do, in about fifteen or twenty minutes, is to drive up to the guest cottage and just walk around to see that everything looks okay.”

“Well… I’m not supposed to leave my post.”

“That is part of your post tonight.” I gave him a twenty-dollar bill and said, “Mrs. Sutter is in the house, and we are expecting no visitors, so do not let anyone in, unless you call us and get an okay. I will be back in about half an hour.” Actually, it could be closer to an hour, but he didn’t need to know that.

He seemed happy with his tip and replied, “No problem,” whatever that means.

I got back in the car and headed toward Locust Valley.

Aside from Susan’s shopping list in my pocket, I had Ethel’s letter, which I needed to photocopy. In fact, I’d make twenty copies, and send one to William every month, plus Father’s Day, Christmas, and his birthday.

As I got to the edge of the village, I called Susan, and she answered. I said, “Traffic is heavy, and parking will be tight, so I’m not sure how long this will take.”

“Take your time.”

“Do you need onions?”

“No onions, sweetie.”

“Okay.” I told her, “I asked the guard at the gate to check out the house in about fifteen minutes.” I reminded her, “The carbine is in the umbrella stand in case you need to go downstairs. Leave the shotgun in the bedroom. I’ll call you later.”

The village was crowded with cars jockeying for parking spaces. I glanced at the dashboard clock: 5:39. Well, with any luck, I could be back within the hour.

What could happen in one hour?

Ibought everything on the list for our trip, and I also made a dozen copies of Ethel’s letter at a local print shop in case William needed monthly reminders of why we were negotiating a family financial agreement. I began the fifteen-minute drive back to Stanhope Hall. It was now 6:23 on the dashboard clock.

I used Susan’s cell phone to call the house, but she didn’t answer, so I left a message. “I’ll be home in ten or fifteen minutes. Call me when you get this.”