Mellery stood at the fireplace with a poker, rearranging the burning logs.
“Why would the check come back?” he said, returning to the subject like a tongue to a sore tooth. “The guy seems so precise-Christ, look at the handwriting, like an accountant’s-not a guy who’d get an address wrong. So he did it on purpose. What purpose?” He turned from the fire. “Davey, what the hell is going on?”
“Can I see the note it came back with, the one you read me on the phone?”
Mellery went over to a small Sheraton desk on the other side of the room, carrying the poker with him, not noticing it until he was there. “Christ,” he muttered, looking around in frustration. He found a spot on the wall where he could lean it before taking an envelope from the desk drawer and bringing it to Gurney.
Inside a large outer envelope addressed to Mellery was the envelope Mellery had sent to X. Arybdis at P.O. Box 49449 in Wycherly, and inside that envelope was his personal check for $289.87. In the large outer envelope, there was a sheet of quality stationery with a GD SECURITY SYSTEMS letterhead including a phone number, with the brief typed message that Mellery had read over the phone to Gurney earlier. The letter was signed by Gregory Dermott, with no indication of his title.
“You haven’t spoken to Mr. Dermott?” asked Gurney.
“Why should I? I mean, if it’s the wrong address, it’s the wrong address. What’s it got to do with him?”
“Lord only knows,” said Gurney. “But it would make sense to talk to him. Do you have a phone handy?”
Mellery unclipped the latest-model BlackBerry from his belt and handed it over. Gurney entered the number from the letterhead. After two rings he was connected to a recording:
“Why I’m calling would be hard to explain in a message,” said Gurney. “I’m not your employee or legal representative or a licensed PI, and I’m not the police. Speaking of which, it’s the police you need-right here, right now.”
“But suppose that’s his goal-get me disturbed enough to call the cops, stir up a ruckus, embarrass my guests. Maybe having me call the cops and create a bunch of turmoil is what this sicko wants. Bring the bulls into the china shop and watch everything get smashed.”
“If that’s all he wants,” said Gurney, “be thankful.”
Mellery reacted as if he’d been slapped. “You really think he’s planning to… do something serious?”
“It’s quite possible.”
Mellery nodded slowly, as though the deliberateness of the gesture could keep a lid on his fear.
“I’ll talk to the police,” he said, “but not until we get the phone call tonight from Charybdis, or whatever he calls himself.”
Seeing Gurney’s skepticism, he went on, “Maybe the phone call will clear this thing up, let us know who we’re dealing with, what he wants. We may not have to involve the police after all, and even if we do, we’ll have more to tell them. Either way it makes sense to wait.”
Gurney knew that having the police present to monitor the actual call could be important, but he also knew that no rational argument at this point would budge Mellery. He decided to move on to a tactical detail.
“In the event that Charybdis does call tonight, it would be helpful to record the conversation. Do you have any kind of recording device-even a cassette player-that we could hook up to an extension phone?”
“We’ve got something better,” said Mellery. “All our phones have recording capability. You can record any call just by pushing a button.”
Gurney looked at him curiously.
“You’re wondering why we have such a system? We had a difficult guest a few years back. Some accusations were made, and we found ourselves being harassed by phone calls that were increasingly unhinged. To make a long story short, we were advised to tape the calls.” Something in Gurney’s expression stopped him. “Oh, no, I can see what you’re thinking! Believe me, that mess has nothing to do with what’s happening now. It was resolved long ago.”
“You sure of that?”
“The individual involved is dead. Suicide.”
“Remember the lists I asked you to work on? Lists of relationships involving serious conflicts or accusations?”
“I don’t have a single name I can write down in good conscience.”
“You just mentioned a conflict, at the end of which someone killed him- or herself. You don’t think that qualifies?”
“She was a troubled individual. There was no connection between her dispute with us, which was the product of her imagination, and her suicide.”
“How do you know that?”
“Look, it’s a complicated story. Not all of our guests are poster children for mental health. I’m not going to write down the name of every person who ever expressed a negative feeling in my presence. That’s crazy!”
Gurney leaned back in his chair and gently rubbed his eyes, which were starting to feel dry from the fire.
When Mellery spoke again, his voice seemed to come from a different place inside himself, a less guarded place. “There’s a word you used when you were describing the lists. You said I should write down the names of people with whom I had ‘unresolved’ problems. Well, I’ve been telling myself that the conflicts of the past have all been resolved. Maybe they haven’t. Maybe by ‘resolved’ I just mean I don’t think about them anymore.” He shook his head. “God, Davey, what’s the point of these lists, anyway? No offense, but what if some muscle-headed cop starts knocking on doors, stirring up old resentments? Christ! Did you ever feel the ground slipping from under your feet?”
“All we’re talking about is putting names on paper. It’s a way to get your feet
Mellery nodded in numb acquiescence.
“You said not all your guests are models of mental health.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that we’re running a psychiatric facility.”
“I understand that.”
“Or even that our guests have an unusual number of emotional problems.”
“So who
“People with money, looking for peace of mind.”
“Do they get it?”
“I believe they do.”
“In addition to
Mellery shrugged. “Insecure, despite the aggressive personality that goes with success. They don’t like themselves-that’s the main thing we deal with here.”
“Which of your current guests do you think is capable of physically harming you?”
“What?”
“How much do you know for certain about each of the people currently staying here? Or the people who have reservations for the coming month?”
“If you’re talking about background checks, we don’t do them. What we know is what they tell us, or what the people who refer them tell us. Some of it is sketchy, but we don’t pry. We deal with what they are willing to tell us.”
“What sorts of people are here right now?”
“A Long Island real-estate investor, a Santa Barbara housewife, a man who may be the son of a man who may be the head of an organized-crime family, a charming Hollywood chiropractor, an incognito rock star, a thirty- something retired investment banker, a dozen others.”
“These people are here for
“In one way or another, they’ve discovered the limitations of success. They still suffer from fears, obsessions, guilt, shame. They’ve found that all the Porsches and Prozac in the world won’t give them the peace they’re looking for.”
Gurney felt a little stab, being reminded of Kyle’s Porsche. “So your mission is to bring serenity to the rich and famous?”
