"I wouldn't take anything out of that place if you paid me, Garrett. Not if you begged me. There's a darkness in every stone, every thing, in there."
We didn't talk again till we were coming up Macunado Street toward my house. Then he said, "Go in there and get roaring drunk. Falling down, puking drunk. Get the poison out."
"That's the best idea you've had in years."
43
Dean let me in. He looked older and leaner, though it'd been only a few days. "Mr. Garrett. We were concerned, not hearing from you for so long."
"We?" I grumbled. He was going to fuss over me.
"Him." He jerked his head toward the Dead Man's room. "He's been awake since you left. Expecting you to ask for help."
"I handled this one alone." Boy, did I handle it.
"Oh." He'd gotten the sense of my mood. "Guess I'd better draw one."
"I might drink a whole barrel."
"That bad?"
"Worse. Find me a hammer, too." I eased into my office, checked the spot where I meant to hang Eleanor.
Dean went. He moved with a swiftness I should remember next time he went at his customary snail's pace. He was back with a beer, a hammer, and a cup of nails in less than a minute. I drained the beer mug. "More."
"I'll start a meal, too. You look like you could use one."
Old sneak. Going to get something on my stomach before I started my serious drinking. "I did miss your cooking where I was." I drove a nail into the wall. Dean brought beery reinforcements before I unwrapped Eleanor. This time he brought a pitcher as well as a mug.
I unwrapped the lady and hung her, stepped back.
It wasn't the same picture.
Well, yes, it was. But something had changed. The intensity, the passion, the horror weren't there. But it looked the same. Except Eleanor seemed to be smiling. She seemed to be running to something instead of from something.
No. It was the same. Nothing had changed but me. I turned my back on it. Snake Bradon hadn't been that great a painter.
I glanced over my shoulder. Eleanor smiled at me.
I downed another mug.
Dean scurried off to get something cooking before I downed enough to pass out.
The Dead Man dragged me into his room almost against my will and dragged the story out of me. He didn't criticize, which was unusual. We didn't get into an argument, despite my best efforts. Instead of climbing all over me for my mistakes, for not having recognized that Jennifer was crazy and a killer earlier than I had, he made thoughtful sounds in my mind. When I finished he meandered off on an extended review of the latest news from the Cantard.
I got interested despite myself.
Glory Mooncalled had attacked Full Harbor. He'd postured and threatened too much. He'd had to prove he wasn't all wind. He'd done his damnedest, launching night attacks from the sea and air, using Cantard creatures. He'd tried to capture the city gates so he could get his ground troops inside. And he'd gotten his ass whipped. Just as I'd predicted.
"There goes the myth of his invincibility," I told the Dead Man.
He responded with a huge mental chuckle. Not at all. Now they will chase after him, to finish him off. Into his country.
"Oh."
So. If he whipped them out there, there wouldn't be enough defenders to hold the city next time he attacked. Maybe. And our boys would chase him. In a mob. We don't have enough competent commanders. Our last really capable man retired three years ago.
I am curious, Garrett. Why would the woman hit you in the head in the sergeant's quarters? You had rendered yourself immune by plying her with your adolescent charm. He couldn't resist getting in a small needle here and there.
"I don't think she wanted to kill me. She just wanted to get the copy of the will before I did."
Why?
I had the feeling he'd figured it out and wanted to see if I had. "For exactly the opposite of the reason I assumed at the time. She wanted to destroy it. If she could get rid of the copies, she wouldn't need to kill people. There'd be no evidence there were any other heirs. The law would pass the estate to her. No dismemberment, no need for her to leave."
And how did she know where to find the copy?
"I think she was behind the wall listening when I talked to Peters. I think a lot of the time she was supposed to be in her rooms, she was creeping around in the walls, listening in. Look, I really don't want to talk about it... . I have one for you. Why did Eleanor pretend to be Morley? And how could she do it so slick that I never suspected a thing?"
She did it because she wanted to know more about you. Your fatal charm again. You had caught her eye. How is quite simple. Especially for one with her antecedents. She simply opened your mind and made herself a mirror. She did not have to know a thing about Mr. Dotes, she just had to make you think she did. You did all the work. Almost like a dream.
There was an implication, remote, that I didn't like. If Eleanor had been inside my head, she knew all about why I was there. She probably could have told me about Jennifer any time. She could have saved... I didn't want to think about it. "That's a little much to swallow."
Watch.
Suddenly that fifth of a ton of dead meat was gone, and in his place was a guy named Denny Tate who was so real, we talked about things the Dead Man couldn't possibly know.
Solid proof. Rock solid. Denny Tate had been dead more than a year. A good choice by the Dead Man. I couldn't call it a trick. He wasn't somebody who could be sneaked in for a little sleight of eye. And Denny was one of the few people important to me who'd died untimely without violence. The silly sack had fallen off a horse and broken his neck. "Enough, Old Bones. I'm a believer."
Denny Tate vanished. What replaced him was ugly as sin but I didn't tell him so. Not today.
My mood hadn't vanished. I almost asked him to conjure Eleanor.
Man, a guy could set up a hell of a racket faking calling up the dearly departed.
Think about something else, the Dead Man suggested.
"I'd love to, Chuckles. But it isn't that easy." Hell. I couldn't do anything right. Not even get drunk. I was barely light-headed.
You need a distraction.
"Right." So conjure me a miracle, Old Bones.
Somebody hammered on the front door.
The Dead Man is dead. In the flesh, anyway. But I swear he looked like he was smiling.
Dean hollered, "Can you get that, Mr. Garrett? I'm right in the middle, here. I've got both hands full."
Muttering, I stomped down the hall and flung the door open without bothering to look first. "Maya?"
"Hi, Garrett." Bright, perky, like she'd never been gone, except maybe to step around the corner. She walked in like she belonged. Which she did.
As I started to close the door I caught a glimpse of Morley Dotes holding up a wall down the street, smiling.
That slick bastard. He'd sent Dojango ahead to set this up. I bet he knew where Maya was all along. Maybe they all had.
From the kitchen Dean called, "Welcome back, Miss Maya. Dinner will be ready in a minute." He never looked to see who it was.
Set me up good, they did.
Maya took my hand and led me down the hall. For a second I resented everybody ganging up on me. But I didn't spend a whole lot of time worrying about it. Maya was there.
I was distracted.