"That doesn't matter," said Oren. "I can still do a world of damage. Every reporter in the state wants to talk to me-thanks to your little performance today."
"You've got no proof."
Don't need it. Rumors make the best headlines."
Winston's smile was back. "You can't revive any interest in Swahn's case. It's ancient history."
The reporters will want to know why I fired you, the great Addison Winston. Now that's news. I can tell them it's because you smeared a precinct of innocent cops-and scammed them for money."
"Oh, I've always had lots of money, Oren, more than I can spend. What I do, I do for fun." The lawyer reached for the bottle and poured himself a triple shot of whiskey, the only sign of defeat. "What do you want?"
"Information."
"Millard Straub. Now there's another man with a motive to kill a woman." Addison Winston volunteered this tidbit, this breach of client-attorney confidence, as he parked his Porsche in front of the judge's house.
The bulb over the front door must have burned out. Hannah usually turned it on in the twilight hour.
The lawyer was still talking nonstop and very fast. A sign of frayed nerves?
"Old Millard was fixated on the idea that Evelyn was cheating on him. But he never asked me to cut her out of his will. Maybe he didn't want the paper trail of a poisoned relationship-a motive to kill his wife. He makes a fine suspect, but you seem skeptical, Oren. Quite understandable. It's hard to picture that old codger dragging his oxygen tank into the woods. However, this theory works rather well with the latest gossip about Evelyn. It seems she was a bit indiscreet yesterday when you came calling. It's all around town-the rumor of your old affair. What if the woman who died with Josh was the target of a hired assassin? Could be a case of mistaken identity. Suppose Millard Straub hired someone to kill his wife-because she was sleeping with you? Assuming Josh was an innocent witness-then you'd be responsible for your brother's death."
Oren stepped out of the car, and the lawyer was laughing as he drove away.
Behind him, he heard the squeaking hinges of the screen door.
"Don't let him poison you." Hannah stepped out on the porch. "It's real convenient, blaming murder on a dead man. I could make the same case for Addison. His wife drinks a lot. I think she cries a lot." The housekeeper- eavesdropper-stood at the railing and raised her eyes to the Winston lodge. "Makes you wonder what goes on up there."
Oren climbed the porch steps and reached up to twist the dark bulb in its socket-and there was light. He sat down in the wooden armchair next to Hannah's old rocker. "Tell me about Evelyn Straub's husband. I don't remember him very well."
"Millard? I'm not surprised." The housekeeper leaned back against the porch railing. "He hardly ever traveled farther than the verandah of his hotel. He was mean, but too old and too sick to lift a hand against Evelyn. He found other ways to be cruel."
"Why did she stay with him? Did he have something on her?"
"You mean something besides an affair with an underage boy? If he'd known about that-never mind what Addison thinks-Millard would've divorced Evelyn and kicked her to the curb without a penny. He'd sooner do that than part with money to hire a killer. Cheap old bastard."
"You knew about the prenuptial agreement?"
"Evelyn and me, we talk from time to time. In any case, you're not to blame for your brother's death, and you know that, Oren." The housekeeper sat down in her rocking chair. Josh had always called it Hannah's lowrider because of the seat built close to the ground. It was the only piece of furniture that allowed both her feet to sit flat on the floorboards instead of dangling in the air.
"Well, here comes my burglar alarm." She pointed toward a yellow dog of dubious pedigree, floppy ears and the big round eyes of a spaniel with a collie's long coat. The animal approached the porch, and then hesitated, one paw resting on the bottom step. He had a sad, wounded look about him as he stared at the housekeeper.
Oren noticed an empty bowl on the floorboards near the door. The dog was no longer eating his dinner of scraps down by the garden shed. "I guess you forgot to feed him."
I fed him hours ago." She nodded to the dog, as if in answer to a question, and the yellow stray bounded up the stairs. With better manners than Horatio ever had, the animal politely sat down in front of her rocking chair and cocked his head to one side-waiting. "This time he came for love." She gently stroked the dog's fur.
"Does the judge like that mutt as much as you do?"
"This afternoon, he was out here tossing sticks for the dog to fetch. It won't be long now."
Oren smiled. He approved of her plan to end old Horatio's days as a stuffed decoration of the parlor. He reached out to cover her hand with his. "You were going to tell me about the séances in the woods."
"Was I?"
"You and the judge go out to Evelyn's old cabin and-"
"No," said Hannah. "We used to go to the séances, but not anymore, not for years and years. But sometimes we watch the videotapes." Rising from the rocker, she kept hold of his hand and pulled him toward the porch steps. "We should go now while there's still some light."
The tiny woman peered over the steering wheel, sometimes rising off the seat to get a better view of the hairpin turns on this mountain road. It was scary and dangerous and great fun. Oren sensed that a legal driver's license might take some of the joy out of Hannah's rides.
They were the first to arrive at the old cabin. Though parking spaces out front were plentiful, she drove down and around to the back and stopped by the door to the crawl space. Hannah cut the ignition and searched the ring of keys until she found the one she wanted. "Let's go."
"How do you happen to have a key?"
"This one belongs to the judge." She fitted it into the lock and opened the door to the sound of an exhaust fan.
"Do people know they're being videotaped?"
"Of course. Evelyn sells copies to hotel guests, the ones who come for the séances."
"And what about the local people?"
Hannah hesitated too long. "Oh, I'm sure they know." She reached into the darkness and flipped a wall switch to flood the small room with light. From a nest of cables, lines trailed upward and disappeared into the low ceiling. He recognized the wicker armchairs as worn castoffs from the verandah of the Straub Hotel. Outdated recording equipment sat on a table alongside a pair of old television sets that would only accept video-cassettes.
"It's a little old-fashioned. Evelyn wants to change over to DVDs and computer monitors, but you know your father. He doesn't take well to change." Hannah slipped a cassette into a slot at the base of one of the TV sets.
"Never mind the tourists," said Oren. "Are you sure the locals know they're being filmed?"
"Once a cop, always a cop." She plucked a sheet of paper from a stack on the table. "This is the consent form. Everybody signs one. You can't say they don't get a sporting chance. It starts out by holding Evelyn harmless for heart attacks and hauntings, strokes and madness, hair turning white from fright. Lots of nonsense like that. And then, toward the bottom of the page, the consent for the taping is buried somewhere in all that legalese. But that comes long after people get tired of reading the damn thing. Usually, they just sign it." She fed another cassette into the second television. "There's two cameras. One shows the whole room, but this one's my favorite view."
Oren stared at the screen with the overhead camera angle. It looked down at the card table and the tops of the players' heads all leaning toward the Ouija board.