Later

59

The tar ended abruptly, but the dirt beyond was actually better: hard-packed, oiled down, smooth. There was a big orange sign that said PRIVATE ROAD NO TRESPASSING.

“What if there are guys there?” I asked. “You know, like bodyguards?”

“If there were, they really would be guarding a body. But the body’s gone, and the guy he had minding the gate will also be gone. There was no one else except for the gardener and the housekeeper. If you’re imagining some action movie scenario with men in black suits and sunglasses and semi-autos guarding the kingpin, forget about it. The guy at the gate was the only one who was armed, and even if Teddy still happens to be there, he knows me.”

“What about Mr. Marsden’s wife?”

“No wife. She left five years ago.” Liz snapped her fingers. “Gone with the wind. Poof.”

We swung around another turn. A mountain all shaggy with fir trees loomed ahead, blotting out the western half of the sky. The sun shone through a valley notch but would soon be gone. In front of us was a gate made out of iron stakes. Closed. There was an intercom and a keypad on one side of it. On the other, inside the gate, was a little house, presumably where the gatekeeper spent his time.

Liz stopped, turned off the car, and pocketed the keys. “Sit still, Jamie. This will be over before you know it.”

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. A trickle of blood ran from one of her nostrils and she wiped it away. She got out and went to the intercom, but the car windows were closed and I couldn’t tell what she was saying. Then she went to the gatehouse side and this time I could hear her, because she raised her voice. “Teddy? Are you in there? It’s your buddy Liz. Hoping to pay my respects, but I need to know where!”

There was no answer and no one came out. Liz walked back to the other side of the gate. She took a piece of paper from her back pocket, consulted it, then punched some numbers into the keypad. The gate trundled slowly open. She came back to the car, smiling. “Looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves, Jamie.”

She drove through. The driveway was tar, smooth as glass. There was another S-curve, and as Liz piloted through it, electric torches lit up on either side of the driveway. Later on I found out you call those kind of lights flambeaux. Or maybe that’s only for torches like the mob waves when they’re storming the castle in the old Frankenstein movies.

“Pretty,” I said.

“Yeah, but look at that fucking thing, Jamie!”

On the other side of the S, Marsden’s house came into view. It was like one of those Hollywood Hills mansions you see in the movies: big and jutting out over the drop. The side facing us was all glass. I imagined Marsden drinking his morning coffee and watching the sun rise. I bet he could see all the way to Poughkeepsie, maybe even beyond. On the other hand… a view of Poughkeepsie? Maybe not one to kill for.

“The house that heroin built.” Liz sounded vicious. “All the bells and whistles, plus a Mercedes and a Boxster in the garage. The stuff I lost my job for.”

I thought of saying you had a choice, which is what my mom always said to me when I screwed up, but kept my mouth shut. She was wired like one of Thumper’s bombs, and I didn’t want to set her off.

There was one more curve before we came to the paved yard in front of the house. Liz drove around it and I saw a man standing in front of the double garage where Marsden’s fancy cars were (they sure hadn’t taken Donnie Bigs to the morgue in his Boxster). I opened my mouth to say it must be Teddy, the gatekeeper—the guy was thin, so it sure wasn’t Marsden—but then I saw his mouth was gone.

“The Boxster’s in there?” I asked, hoping my voice was more or less normal. I pointed at the garage and the man standing in front of it.

She took a look. “Yup, but if you were hoping for a ride, or even a look, you’re going to be disappointed. We must be about our business.”

She didn’t see him. Only I saw him. And given the red hole where his mouth had been, he hadn’t died a natural death.

Like I said, this is a horror story.