Fever Dream

The daughter died in an insane asylum after refusing to sleep for two weeks. The last to die was the father, shot by the town sheriff of Sunflower.'

'What happened?'

'He apparently took to wandering into town, accosting young women, threatening the townsfolk. There were reports of vandalism, destruction, babies gone missing. The people I spoke to hinted it might have been less of a killing and more of an execution--with the tacit approval of the Sunflower town fathers. The sheriff and his deputies shotgunned Mr. Doane in his house as he allegedly resisted arrest. There was no investigation.'

'Jesus,' D'Agosta replied. 'That would explain the waitress's reaction. As well as all the hostility around here.'

'Precisely.'

'What the hell do you think happened to them? Something in the water?'

'I have no idea. But I will tell you this: I'm convinced they were the object of Helen's visit.'

'That's a pretty big leap.'

Pendergast nodded. 'Consider this: they are the only unique element in an otherwise unremarkable town. There's nothing else here of interest. Somehow, they're the link we're searching for.'

The waitress hustled up to their table, took away their plates, and went off, even as D'Agosta began to order coffee. 'I wonder what it takes to get a cup of java around here,' D'Agosta said, trying to attract her attention.

'Somehow, Vincent, I doubt you'll be getting your 'java' or anything more in this establishment.'

D'Agosta sighed. 'So who lives in the house now?'

'Nobody. It was abandoned and shut up since the shooting of Mr. Doane.'

'We're going there,' D'Agosta said, more as a statement than a question.

'Exactly.'

'When?'

Pendergast raised his finger for the waitress. 'As soon as we can get the check from our reticent but nevertheless most eloquent waitress.'

25

THE WAITRESS DID NOT ARRIVE WITH THE check. Instead, it was the manager of the hotel. He placed the check on the table and then, without even a show of apology, informed them they would not be able to stay the night after all.

'What do you mean?' D'Agosta said. 'We booked the room; you took our credit card numbers.'

'There's a large party coming in,' the man replied. 'They had prior reservations the front desk overlooked--and as you can see, this is a small hotel.'

'Too bad for them,' D'Agosta said. 'We're already here.'

'You haven't unpacked yet,' the manager replied. 'In fact, I'm told your luggage isn't even in your rooms yet. I've already torn up your credit card voucher. I'm sorry.'

But he didn't sound sorry, and D'Agosta was about to rake the man over the coals when Pendergast laid a hand on his arm. 'Very well,' Pendergast said, reaching into his wallet and paying the dinner bill in cash. 'Good evening, then.'

The manager walked away, and D'Agosta turned to Pendergast. 'You're gonna let that prick walk all over us? It's obvious he's kicking us out because of the questions you're asking--and the ancient history we're stirring up.'

In response, Pendergast nodded out the window. Glancing through it, D'Agosta saw the hotel manager now crossing the street. As D'Agosta watched, the man walked past several store buildings, shuttered for the night, and then vanished into the sheriff's office.

'What the hell kind of town is this?' D'Agosta said. 'Next thing you know, it'll be villagers with pitchforks.'

'Our interest doesn't lie with the town,' Pendergast said. 'There's no point in complicating things. I suggest that we leave at once--before the local sheriff finds an excuse to run us out.'

They exited the restaurant and made their way to the back parking lot of the hotel. The storm that had been threatening was fast approaching: the wind raked the treetops, and thunder could be heard rumbling in the distance. Pendergast put up the Porsche's top as D'Agosta climbed in. Pendergast slipped in himself, turned on the engine, nosed the car into a back alley, then made his way through town via back streets, avoiding main thoroughfares.

The Doane house was located about two miles past town, up an unpaved drive that had once been well tended but was now little more than a rutted track. He drove cautiously, careful not to bottom out the Spyder in the hard- packed dirt. Dense stands of trees crowded in on both sides of the road, their skeletal branches lacing the night sky above their heads. D'Agosta, flung around in his seat until his teeth rattled, decided that even the Zambian Land Rover would have been preferable in these conditions.

Pendergast rounded a final bend and the house itself came into view in the headlights, the sky roiling with clouds above. D'Agosta stared at it in surprise. He had expected a large, elegant structure, as ornate as the rest of the town was plain. What he saw was large, all right, but it was hardly elegant. In fact, it looked more like a fort left over from the days of the Louisiana Purchase. Built out of huge, rough-edged beams, it sported tall towers at either end and a long, squat central facade with innumerable small windows. Atop this facade was the bizarre anachronism of a widow's walk, surrounded by spiked iron railings. It stood alone on a small rise of land. Beyond to the east lay forest, dense and dark, leading to the vast Black Brake swamp. As D'Agosta stared at the structure, a tongue of lightning struck the woods behind, briefly silhouetting it in spectral yellow light.

'Looks like somebody tried to cross a castle with a log cabin,' he said.

'The original owner was a timber baron, after all.' Pendergast nodded at the widow's walk. 'No doubt he used