a fate of decaying in silence.
I forced my way through a makeshift barrier of rotting boards that had been stacked in front of the porte - cochere. The house was at least a hundred and fifty feet long and it took me a while to check each window on the ground floor: All were sealed.
The rear property was another three acres of swamp. A four - car garage, designed as a miniature of the house, was inaccessible - nailed and fastened. A fifty - foot swimming pool was empty save for several inches of muddy water in which floated a host of organic debris. The remains of a grape arbor and trellised rose garden were evident only as a jumble of peeling wood and cracked stone supporting a bird's nest of lifeless twigs. Stone benches and statues slanted and pitched on broken bases, Pompeii in the wake of Vesuvius.
The rain began to come down harder and colder. I put my hands in the pocket of my raincoat, by now soaked through, and looked for shelter. It would take tools - hammer and crowbar - to get into the house or the garage, and there were no large trees that could be trusted not to topple at any moment. I was out in the open like a bum caught in a blitz.
I saw a flash of light and braced myself for an electric storm. None came and the light flashed again. The heavy downpour made it difficult to see but the third time the light appeared I was able to draw a bead on it and walk in its direction. Several squishy footsteps later I could see it had come from a glass greenhouse at the rear of the estate, just beyond the bombed - out arbor. The panes were opaque with dirt, some of which ran in brown trickles, but they appeared intact. I ran toward it, following the light that flickered, danced, disappeared, then flickered again.
The door to the greenhouse was closed but it opened silently to the prompting of my hand. Inside it was warm, steamy and sour with the aroma of decomposition. Waist - high wooden tables ran along both sides of the glass room; between them was a walkway floored with wood chips peat, mulch and topsoil. A collection of tools - pitchforks, rakes, spades, hoes - stood in one corner.
Upon the tables were pots of gorgeously flowering plants: orchids, bromeliads, blue hydrangea, begonias of every hue, scarlet and white impatiens - all in full bloom and spilling abundantly from their terra cotta houses. A wooden beam into which metal hooks had been embedded was suspended above the tables. Hanging from the hooks were fuchsias dripping purple, ferns, spider plants, creeping char lies more begonias. It was the Garden of Eden in the Great Void.
The room was dim, and it reverberated with the sound of the rain assaulting the glass roof. The light that had drawn me appeared again, brighter and closer. I made out a shape at the other end of the greenhouse, a figure in yellow slicker and hood holding a flashlight. The figure shone the flashlight on plants, picking up a leaf here, a flower there, examining the soil, pinching off a dry branch, setting aside a ripe blossom.
'Hello,' I said.
The figure whirled and the flashlight beam washed over my face. I squinted in the glare and brought my hand up to shield my eyes.
The figure came closer.
'Who are you?' demanded a voice, high and scared.
'Alex Delaware.'
The beam lowered. I started to take a step.
'Stay right there!'
I put my foot down.
The hood was pulled back. The face it revealed was round, pale, flat, utterly Asian, female but not feminine. The eyes were two razor cuts in the parchment skin, the mouth an unsmiling hyphen.
'Hello, Mrs. Hickle.'
'How do you know me - what do you want?' There was toughness diluted by fear in the voice, the toughness of the successful fugitive who knows vigilance must never cease.
'I just thought I'd pay you a visit.'
'I don't want visitors. I don't know you.'
'Don't you? Alex Delaware - doesn't the name mean anything to you?'
She didn't bother to lie, just said nothing.
'It was my office darling Stuart chose for his last big scene - or maybe it was chosen for him.'
'I don't know what you're talking about. I don't want your company.' Her English was clipped and slightly accented.
'Why don't you call the butler and have me ejected?'
Her jaws worked; white fingers tightened around the flashlight.
'You refuse to leave?'
'It's wet and cold outside. I'd appreciate the chance to dry off.'
'Then you'll go?'
'Then I stay and we talk awhile. About your late husband and some of his good buddies.'
'Stuart's dead. There's nothing to talk about.'
'I think there's plenty. Lots of questions.'
She put down the flashlight and folded her arms in front of her. There was defiance in the gesture. Any trace of fear had faded and her demeanor was one of irritation at being disturbed. It puzzled me - she was a lone woman accosted by a stranger in a deserted place but there was no panic.
'Last chance,' she said.
'I'm not interested in blowing your cover. Just let me - '
She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
A large shadow materialized into something living and breathing.
I saw what it was and my bowels went weak.
'This is Otto. He doesn't like strangers.'
He was the largest dog I'd ever seen, a Great Dane the size of a healthy pony, colored like a Dalmatian - white dappled with gray - black splotches. One ear was partially shredded. His maws were black and wet with saliva, hanging loose in that half - smile, half - snarl so characteristic of attack dogs, revealing pearly - white fangs and a tongue the size of a hot - water bag. His eyes were piggy and too small for his head. They reflected orange pinpoints of light as they scanned me.
I must have moved, because his ears perked. He panted and looked up at his mistress. She cooed at him. He panted faster and gave her hand a fast swipe with the pink slab of tongue.
'Hi there, big fella,' I said. The words came out strangled. His jaws opened wider in a growling yawn.
I backed away and the dog arched his neck forward. He was a muscular beast, from head to quivering haunch.
'Now maybe I don't want you to go,' said Kim Hickle.
I backed away further. Otto exhaled and made a sound that came from deep in his belly.
'I told you I won't give you away.'
'So you say.'
I took two more steps backward. Baby steps. Playing a deranged version of Simon Says. The dog moved closer.
'I just wanted to be alone,' she said. 'Nobody to bother me. Me and Otto.' She looked lovingly at the great brute. 'You found out. You bother me. How did you find me?'
'You left your name in a library file at Jedson College.'
She frowned, bothered by her carelessness.
'So you hunted me.'
'No. It was an accident, finding the card. It's not you I'm after.'
She clicked her tongue again and Otto came a few feet closer. His malevolent leer loomed larger. I could smell him, rank and eager.
'First you, now others will follow. Asking questions. Blaming me, saying I'm bad. I'm not bad. I'm a good woman, good for children. I was a good wife to a sick man, not a sick woman.'
'I know,' I soothed. 'It wasn't your fault.'
Another click. The dog moved within springing distance. She had him controlled, like a radio - operated toy. Start, Otto. Stop, Otto. Kill, Otto…
