“Here, this one’s loaded!” Bobo laughed. He dug out the water pistol and thrust it forward. Dennis eyed both men, wondering how they could be so calm.
“I’m really not sure about this. It’s been some time since I’ve fired a gun.”
There was a metallic click as Spinner snapped the gun’s cylinder back into place. “Take it anyway. If you need to, you can intimidate him.” Dennis slid the revolver into his jacket, thankful for the moderately deep pockets. Then, more as a pretense than anything else, he checked his watch.
“I’m going to head up.”
“Remember what we talked about,” Spinner said. “That goes for the gun, too.”
Bobo reached forward and cuffed Dennis’ shoulder. “Good luck, mate!”
Dennis nodded to both of them, and then climbed from the car. If the outside air was any indication, it was going to be a cold night.
It was a bad idea to waste time getting lost, especially with a gun in his pocket, but Dennis enacted a rushed version of the same meandering routine he went through every time he was in the building. Thankfully, a number of the offices seemed to have cleared out early, and he didn’t encounter anyone on his path to Harding’s practice. A lucky turn brought a familiar gold plaque into view.
Dennis squared his shoulders. This was it. He tried the door handle, found it unlocked, and stepped inside. The receptionist’s desk was empty, but that was hardly surprising. The door to the inner office was open, and the sounds of rustling papers came from within. Dennis approached cautiously, catching sight of Harding at his desk just as the psychiatrist looked up.
“Ah, Dennis. Lock the door, please.” Harding continued to shuffle through the documents on his desk, arranging them into piles which he then slid into folders. Dennis obliged the request, but he didn’t turn his back. “Thank you,” Harding said after the deadbolt had slid into place. “I trust you have what I asked for?”
“Maybe,” replied Dennis. Harding looked mildly annoyed.
“Really, Dennis, there’s no need for games. Do you have the key or don’t you?”
Dennis glanced at the desk. “Where’s Luke’s money?” As an answer, Harding pulled open a drawer and tossed a sealed envelope into view. “Let me see it.” Dennis nodded at the the parcel. “I’m familiar with the bait-and-switch.”
“This is growing tiresome,” Harding said, but he opened the envelope to display a neat stack of bills. “Now, if you’re satisfied, suppose you hand over my property.”
Dennis pulled out the key, but stayed standing where he was. “Explain to me why I should give it to you.” Harding’s face reddened.
“Need I remind you that your well-being is at stake? And that of your friends?”
“That’s not what I’m asking about.” Dennis gestured with the key, keeping a tight grip on it. “If you and Eric were working together, why should you get to keep all of the money?”
“I do not need to explain myself to you.”
Dennis continued to speak, pretending he hadn’t heard anything. “See, I know the two of you had an argument, and I know that Evy died during it. What I can’t figure out is why you didn’t try to make amends afterward. It would have been easier than waiting forty-six years. I figure that Eric had a reason to hate you.”
Harding slammed his hand onto the desk. “That man would have had nothing if it hadn’t been for me! He was a fugitive from England, and I helped him when he had nobody else to turn to! Then he spent all of his money on that damned house, and repaid me with a stab in the back!” He rose from his chair, shaking with fury. “I have waited too long and sacrificed too much to see this all go to waste!” He snatched a keychain from the desk and fumbled to open a locked drawer.
Dennis guessed at the man’s motive and pulled Spinner’s revolver from his pocket. “Hold it!” Harding froze, his eyes trained on the weapon. “I came here to give you what you wanted, Sam, but I deserve an explanation first. You were using me from the beginning, and I want to know why.” He motioned with the barrel of the gun. “Throw the keys over there.”
Harding glared icily, but threw the keychain away. It clattered against the wall and fell out of sight behind the psychiatrist’s couch. “There, are you happy?”
Dennis used his upper-handed moment to repeat the question that had been bothering him. “Why me, Sam? Why did you set me up for this?”
Harding sneered. “You’re a lousy con artist, Dennis. You’re too honest, and you get personally involved.” A loathsome smirk replaced the glower. “Does your wife know that your relationship started off as a scam?”
Damn Luke’s big mouth, Dennis thought. He was the only one who could have told Harding about that. The accusation was true, at least in part: Alena had been an unwitting player in a minor confidence scheme, but only because Dennis had wanted an excuse to see her. He had confessed to everything later on, but he was still unhappy that Harding knew about it.
“She knows,” Dennis said. His arm was getting tired from holding the gun outstretched, and he let it fall to rest beside his hip. “So, what was it? You figured that Elspeth and I would become friends, is that it? I know you placed the ad with her in mind.” Harding folded his arms. “Then what? I convince her to come to you, she sells you the house, and you spend your retirement looking for this?” He waved the key again.
Harding smiled, still standoffish. “I can see you have it all figured out.”
“Not quite,” Dennis said. “What happened to Evy?”
“Honestly, Dennis, why do you care so much about a dead tart?” Dennis cocked the hammer on the revolver. “It was Eric’s own
