"We had any around here, I'd put them to work."
I figured she would. "Dellwood hinted that the General has a prejudice against doctors. In his condition I'd think he'd be ready to try anything."
"You don't know that boy. He's got a stubborn streak a yard wide. He by damned made up his mind when the missus died, he wasn't never going to trust no quack again. And he stuck."
"Uhm?"
She wouldn't talk to no outsider. Not her, no siree! "See, he loved that girl, Miss Tiffany. Such a lovely child she was. Broke all our hearts when it happened. They laughed at him, he was so much older than her. But he was her heart's slave, him that never loved a thing before. Then Miss Jennifer came. She was in labor so long. He couldn't stand to see her in pain. He brought in doctors from the city. After Miss Jennifer finally came, one damned fool gave Miss Tiffany a damned anticoagulant infusion. Thought he was giving her a sleeping potion."
A big mistake and an especially stupid one, sounded like. "She bled to death?"
"She did. Might have anyway. She was a frail, pale thing, but you couldn't never convince him."
Mistakes that cost lives aren't easy to understand or forgive, but they happen. Despite what they want us mortals to believe, doctors are human. And where there are human beings, there's human error. It's inevitable.
When doctors make mistakes, people hurt.
Easy for me to be understanding. I hadn't known and loved the General's wife.
"Changed his whole life, that did. Went off and spent the rest of it in the Cantard, taking out his grief on the Venageti." And when generals make mistakes, lots of people hurt. "You going to hang out here all day, youngster, you better roll up your sleeves and get washing. Round here we don't got no place for drones."
I was tempted. She had plenty to say. Still...
"Maybe later. If it looks like I'm wasting my time, I might as well wash dishes."
She snorted. "Thought that would get rid of you. Never knowed a man yet with balls enough to wade into a mountain of dirty dishes of his own free will."
"The lunch was great. Thank you, Miss... ?"
Didn't work this time, either.
5
That fountain in the great hall was a good hub from which to launch exploratory forays. I perched on the surround, digesting Cook's remarks. I had a premonition. I would get intimate with dishwater before I exhausted that vein of stubborn silence.
I had that creepy feeling you get when you sense somebody watching you. I looked around casually.
There she was. The blonde again, drifting in the shadows, bold enough now to be on the same floor with me. I pretended not to notice. I gave it a minute, got up, stretched. She ducked out of sight. I moved her way pretending I had no idea she was there.
She lit out like a scared pheasant. I bolted after her. "Jennifer!"
I ducked between pillars... Where did she go? I didn't see anywhere she could run. But she wasn't there.
Spooky!
‘"Hey! Mike. What are you doing?"
I jumped about five feet. "Peters. Don't sneak up like that. This place has got me believing in spooks already. Where the hell is everybody?"
Peters looked puzzled. "Everybody? Working."
That made sense. You could lose a lot more than eighteen people in that barn and on those grounds. "You'd think I'd run into somebody once in a while."
"It does get lonely at times." He smiled. That made two times in two days. A record. "Thought you might want a tour."
"I can find my way. I was a scout in the Marines, you know."
His smile vanished. He looked at me like the old Black Pete. Like I wasn't bright enough to tie my own shoes. He jerked his head toward the back of the hall, the north end, which was a wall of leaded glass with fifty furious combats going. There was a door back there.
Hey. Mom Garrett didn't raise many idiots. I got it. "I could use a look at the grounds, though, and somebody to tell me what I'm seeing."
He relaxed some, did a slick about-face and marched. I hup-two-threed behind him. I didn't feel a bit of nostalgia for the bad old days.
Peters didn't say anything till we were out of earshot of the house, clear of the formal garden behind it, away from cover where eavesdroppers might lurk. "You saw the old man. What do you think?"
"He's in bad shape."
"You know any poisons that could do that to him?"
I gave it an honest think. "No. But I'm no expert. I know a guy who is. But he'd have to see the General." Morley Dotes knows whatever there is to know about doing in your fellow man. Or elf, him being a breed with more dark-elfin than human blood.
"I don't think I could swing that. One outsider here has the place in an uproar already."
"Yeah. It's a regular busted-up beehive." Our walk to isolation hadn't shown me a single body in motion. "It was just a suggestion. You want to know something, you get the answer from somebody who knows."
"I'll give it a shot."
"The business about the thefts. Is it real? The cook thinks it's all in the General's imagination."
"It's not. She'd think that. Back when we first came here he did have a spell when he imagined things. She doesn't get out of the kitchen much and she has a few loose threads herself. Most of the time she doesn't know what year it is."
"She tried to draft me as kitchen help."
"She would. Gods! I remember your cooking."
"I remember what I had to work with. Muskrats and cattail roots. And bugs for garnish."
He grunted, almost smiled again.
"Don't tell me. You can't have fond memories of those days."
"No, Garrett. Even lifers aren't that crazy. I don't miss that part." He shuddered.
"Eh? What?"
"Bad rumor. They may call up the veterans to run Glory Mooncalled down."
I laughed.
"What's so damned funny?"
"Best joke I've heard in weeks. You know how many people that takes in? Every human male in the population over twenty-five. You think any of them would go without a fuss? A call-up like that would start a revolution."
"Maybe. You think it could be poison?"
"I suppose. Assume it is. Speculate."
"I don't know anything about poisons. How could it be given to him?"
I'm not an expert, but I have a professional interest and keep my ears open when such things are discussed. "It could be in his food or drink. It could be dusted into his bed so it would seep through his skin. It could even be in the air he breathes. Looking for ‘how' can be a dead end unless you know ‘what.' Better to look at the people. Who has access?"
"Everybody, one way or another."
"Take it a step farther. Who'd profit? If somebody's killing him, that somebody has to have a reason. Right?"
He grunted. "Obviously whoever's doing it believes he has. I've been trying to figure that out from the beginning. And I can't come up with one."
I didn't have any trouble. "What's the estate worth? Who does it go to?"
"Doesn't make sense. Jennifer gets half. The other half gets divided amongst the rest of us."
"Give me a value in gold marks. Just a guess. Then ask yourself what some people might do for a share of that."
"Three million for the house?" He shrugged. "A million for the contents. Two or three million for the real estate. He was offered three for the two north sections last year. He was tempted because he's strapped for cash and he wants to set Jennifer up so she's fixed for life, no matter what she does."
"Three million for just part of the property?"
"Somebody wanted the land near the city. But the offer was withdrawn because he dithered. They bought a tract from the Hillmans instead. For less money."