“Maybe he’s already downstairs,” Schanno suggested.
I poked my head in the room. The old Mide lay on his bed, fully clothed, not dead-I could tell from the slow rise and fall of his chest and his soft snoring-but dead tired and dead to the world. I closed the door softly.
We found Wellington in the dining room, pouring mineral water into the glasses on the table. He’d changed back into his loose-fitting white clothing and sandals. A meat loaf sat on a platter in the middle of the table. An hour earlier, it had probably been perfect. Now it looked overcooked and dry. There was a big bowl of fresh green beans mixed with crisp bacon bits, roasted red potatoes, a tossed salad, and a good-looking dark bread.
“I don’t have beer,” Wellington said. “I can offer you wine, however. I still keep some good vintages on hand for when my family visits.”
Schanno and I both settled for the water.
“And Mr. Meloux?” Wellington asked.
“He’s sleeping,” I said. “It’s been a long, hard day.”
We sat down to the meal. Once you got past the crust from the additional cooking time, the meat loaf was delicious, quite savory, as were the beans and the roasted potatoes. The salad contained pears and had a refreshing lime dressing. The bread was homemade, substantial and tasty.
“Benning usually does your cooking?” I asked.
“I live here alone most of the time, so generally I do my own.”
I figured that was enough small talk. “You employed Edward Morrissey, Mr. Wellington, and Morrissey tried to murder Henry Meloux.”
Wellington carefully dabbed his lips with his napkin. “So I understand.”
“Why?”
“I really have no idea. Ed Morrissey worked for me on occasion, but he was what you might call a freelance security consultant. When Rupert telephoned and told me about the watch and your request for an interview, I contacted Morrissey to arrange for him to oversee your visit to Manitou Island. I wanted to know what you were up to, and I didn’t want Ellsworth handling you alone. After your visit, Morrissey phoned in his report. He indicated you were simply working a con, trying to squeeze some money out of me. He told me he’d taken care of the situation discreetly, as he had on other occasions in the past. I was surprised when Rupert called to tell me the police were investigating the incident in Minnesota.”
“Surprised but not troubled?”
“I didn’t know Henry Meloux or his story.”
“Morrissey never reported that part to you?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
“Of course it does, now.”
“Why wouldn’t he tell you everything?”
“That’s a question for which I have no answer.”
“What about Rupert?”
He shook his head. “Rupert’s only part has been to pass along requests that seem to have some merit. Those have been blessedly few. He made it clear from the beginning that he wanted no part in my charade, and he’s done his best to keep Northern Mining distanced.”
“You don’t care about Northern Mining?”
“I gave the company the best I could for most of my adult life. When I stepped away and secluded myself here, I severed myself from any worries about Northern Mining. It was an amicable divorce. I have no desire to renew the relationship.”
“And you don’t mind that Preston Ellsworth has played you as pretty much a lunatic?”
“My family knows the truth, Mr. O’Connor. What the rest of the world thinks of me is a concern I left behind a long time ago.”
Benning came from the kitchen. “Would you care for dessert or coffee?”
“Gentlemen?” Wellington asked. “I have fresh strawberries and sweet cream.”
My stomach was full, and I was tired, so I said no. Schanno did the same.
“We’re fine, Sandy,” Wellington said to Benning. “Why don’t you call it a night? I’ll clean up.”
“You’re sure, sir? It’s no trouble.”
“It was a good meal. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Very good, sir.” Benning vanished the way he’d come.
“I’d be glad to help,” I said.
Wellington set his napkin on the table and waved off my offer. “I won’t hear of it. You’re my guests. I’m just going to fill the dish-washer anyway.”
It felt as if the evening had been drawn to a close, but there were still many questions unanswered. Most of them didn’t involve me. They were between Wellington and the man I was certain was his real father. I couldn’t imagine Wellington not wanting to talk with Meloux, but I saw no sign of eagerness on his part.
I went upstairs to my room still at a loss to understand what kind of man he was and what kind of son.
FORTY-SEVEN
I was tired, but I tossed and turned in a restless sleep. I didn’t think Wellington would have us all murdered in the night; still, there were a lot of unanswered questions flapping around in my brain. Why had Morrissey followed me to Meloux’s and tried to kill the old man? Was he acting on his own or under orders? Orders from whom? The Wellingtons had something to lose, maybe, if the truth of Meloux’s story was ever made public, but I figured a lot of fortunes had been built on the graves of innocent people. It wasn’t that startling, and Leonard Wellington’s treachery had happened a long time ago. Both sons-Rupert and Henry-seemed civilized, if a little on the chilly side. On the other hand, a lot of civilized people have convinced themselves that in the right cause it’s acceptable-noble, even-to bloody your hands. If neither of the Wellingtons was responsible, then who? If it was all Morrissey’s idea, then why?
I wasn’t thinking only about Meloux, however. Jenny was heavy on my mind.
Sure, we would help her make a life for herself and her baby, but it wouldn’t be the life we’d dreamed of for her or that she’d dreamed of for herself. That made me sad. I had no doubt she would love her child fiercely and be a great mother, but I knew that there would always be the demon of if only harping away in the back of her mind. Every life lived fully is going to have some regrets, because every risk is not worth taking, but you don’t always see that in time. Or if you do, you convince yourself that you’ll be the one to beat the odds. Jenny and Sean had gambled, and it wasn’t that they’d lost exactly. The dealer had simply swept all the chips off the table and placed them in the hands of an unborn child.
The tyranny of love. Love demands all, everything. Jenny was up to the challenge. Sean, it seemed, was not. I wasn’t angry with him. I didn’t think any of us were. We were just disappointed. I figured that in his own life, no matter how he played it, when Sean looked back, Jenny and his child would be one of his regrets. And that made me sad, too.
I slept off and on. Every time I woke, the pattern of moonlight on the floor of my room had shifted. I looked at the clock on the stand next to my bed. Three A.M. I got up, used the toilet, and went to check on Meloux. His room was empty. I slipped my pants on and went downstairs. The house was dark, except for a light under the door of the study where, earlier that day, Wellington had greeted us and Meloux had told his story. I listened at the door and heard the rustle of a page being turned. I considered knocking, but decided against it. I didn’t think Meloux would be reading.
I had another idea. I went out onto the rear deck where I could see the lake, a great pool of silver poured out from the moon. I also saw what I thought I might see: the silhouette of Meloux standing alone on the dock. I walked across the yard, carefully because I was barefoot. The ground was cool against the soles of my feet. I coughed as I approached so that I wouldn’t startle the old man. His head half-turned, but he didn’t speak.
“Mind if I join you, Henry?”
“Your company is always welcome, Corcoran O’Connor.”
