«Come on,» Sam said. «Let’s get this done.» Myron managed to sit up. A basement, Myron realized. He was on the steps of a basement.
Sam walked toward him. He reached out a hand. Myron took it and pulled himself to his feet. The two men walked down the steps.
«This section of the basement is windowless and cement-lined,» Sam said. Like he was giving a house tour. «So the only way in or out is through that door. Understand?»
Myron nodded.
«I got two men at the top of the steps. They’re going to spread out now. And they’re pros, not like that Mario asswipe. So no one is getting through that door. Understand?»
Another nod.
Sam took out a cigarette and put it between his lips. «Lastly, we saw your buddy jump out of the trunk. I got two marine sharpshooters hidden out there. Persian Gulf War vets. Your friend comes anywhere near the house, he’s toast. The windows are all alarmed. The motion detectors are set. I’m in radio contact with all four of my men under four different frequencies.» He showed Myron a walkie-talkie of some kind with a digital readout.
«Different frequencies,» Myron repeated. «Wow.»
«I say all this not to impress you but to stress how dumb a flight attempt would be. Do you understand?»
One more nod.
They were in a wine cellar now. It smelled as robust and oaky as, well, a perfectly aged chardonnay. Arthur was there. His face was skull-like, his skin drawn up tautly against his cheekbones. Chance was there too. He was sipping red wine, studying the color, trying very hard to look casual.
Myron glanced about the wine cellar. Lots of bottles in criss-crossed shelves, all tilted slightly forward so the corks would remain properly moist. A giant thermometer. A few wooden barrels, mostly for show. There were no windows. No doors. No other visible entranceways. In the center of the room was a hefty mahogany table.
The table was bare except for a gleaming set of pruning shears.
Myron looked back at Sam. Sam smiled, still holding a gun.
«Label me intimidated,» Myron said.
Sam shrugged.
«Where is Brenda?» Arthur demanded.
«I don’t know,» Myron said.
«And Anita? Where is she?»
«Why don’t you ask Chance?» Myron said.
«What?»
Chance sat up. «He’s crazy.»
Arthur stood. «You’re not leaving here until I’m satisfied that you’re not holding out on me.»
«Fine,» Myron said. «Then let’s get to it, Arthur. You see, I’ve been dumb about this whole thing. I mean, the clues were all there. The old phone taps. Your keen interest in all this. The earlier assault on Anita. Ransacking Horace’s apartment and taking Anita’s letters. The cryptic calls telling Brenda to contact her mother. Sam cutting those kids’ Achilles tendons. The scholarship money. But you know what finally gave it away?»
Chance was about to say something, but Arthur waved him into silence. He strummed his chin with his index finger. «What?» he asked.
«The timing of Elizabeth ’s suicide,» Myron said.
T don’t understand.»
«The timing of the suicide,» Myron repeated, «and more important, your family’s attempt to alter it. Why would Elizabeth kill herself at six in the morning – at the exact moment Anita Slaughter was coming to work? Coincidence? Possibly. But then why did you all work so hard to change the time? Elizabeth could have just as easily had her accident at six a.m. as midnight. So why the change?»
Arthur kept his back straight. «You tell me.»
«Because the timing was not incidental,» Myron said. «Your wife committed suicide when she did and how she did for a reason. She wanted Anita Slaughter to see her jump.»
Chance made a noise. «That’s ridiculous.»
«Elizabeth was depressed,» Myron continued, looking straight at Arthur. «I don’t doubt that. And I don’t doubt that you once loved her. But that was a long time ago. You said she hadn’t been herself for years. I don’t doubt that either. But three weeks before her suicide Anita was assaulted. I thought one of you beat her. Then I thought that maybe Horace did it. But the most noticeable injuries were scratches. Deep scratches. Like a cat, Wickner said.» Myron looked at Arthur. Arthur seemed to be shrinking in front of him, being sucked dry by his own memories.
«Your wife was the one who attacked Anita,» Myron said. «First she attacked her, and then three weeks later, still despondent, she committed suicide in front of her -because Anita was having an affair with her husband. It was the final mental straw that broke her, wasn’t it, Arthur? So how did it happen? Did Elizabeth walk in on you two? Did she seem so far gone that you got careless?»
Arthur cleared his throat. «As a matter of fact, yes. That’s pretty much how it happened. But so what? What does that have to do with the present?».
«Your affair with Anita. How long did it last?»
«I don’t see the relevance of that.»
Myron looked at him for a long moment. «You’re an evil man,» he said. «You were raised by an evil man, and you have much of him in you. You’ve caused great suffering. You’ve even had people killed. But this wasn’t a fling, was it? You loved her, didn’t you, Arthur?»
He said nothing. But something behind the facade began to cave in.
«I don’t know how it happened,» Myron continued. «Maybe Anita wanted to leave Horace. Or maybe you encouraged her. It doesn’t matter. Anita decided to run away and start new. Tell me what the plan was, Arthur. Were you going to set her up in an apartment? A house out of town? Surely no Bradford was going to marry a black maid from Newark.»
Arthur made a noise. Half scoff. Half groan. «Surely,» he said.
«So what happened?»
Sam kept several steps back, his gaze moving from the basement door to Myron. He whispered into his walkie-talkie every once in a while. Chance sat frozen, both nervous and comforted; nervous about what was being unearthed; comforted because he believed it would never leave this cellar. Perhaps he was right.
«Anita was my last hope,» Arthur said. He bounced two fingers off his lips and forced up a smile. «It’s ironic, don’t you think? If you come from a disadvantaged home, you can blame the environment for your sinful ways. But what about an omnipotent household? What about those who are raised to dominate others, to take what they want? What about those who are raised to believe that they are special and that other people are little more than window dressing? What about those children?»
Myron nodded. «Next time I’m alone,» he said, «I’ll weep for them.»
Arthur chuckled. «Fair enough,» he said. «But you have it wrong. I was the one who wanted to run away. Not Anita. Yes, I loved her. When I was with her, every part of me soared. I can’t explain it any other way.»
He didn’t have to. Myron thought of Brenda. And he understood.
«I was going to leave Bradford Farms,» he continued. «Anita and I were going to run away together. Start on our own. Escape this prison.» He smiled again. «Naive, wouldn’t you say?»
«So what happened?» Myron asked.
«Anita changed her mind.»
«Why?»
«There was someone else.»
«Who?»
T don’t know. We were supposed to meet up in the morning, but Anita never showed. I thought maybe her husband had done something to her. I kept an eye on him. And then I got a note from her. She said she needed to start new. Without me. And she sent back the ring.»
«What ring?»
«The one I gave her. An unofficial engagement ring.»
Myron looked over at Chance. Chance said nothing. Myron kept his eyes on him for a few more seconds. Then
