A Stillness in Bethlehem(77)
“Which is supposed to mean what?” Bennis asked from the back seat.
“Which is supposed to mean the flatlanders have moved in.” Franklin sounded grim. “It’s like Colorado up here now, that’s what it’s like. We’ve got all these people from Boston and New York. We’ve got movie stars. We’ve got guys went to jail for financial hanky-panky and came out with a couple of million bucks. And we’ve got what follows them, of course. We’ve got all these people who aren’t anybody yet but they want to be hip.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Bennis said, in a way that made it impossible for Gregor to decide if she was being sarcastic or not.
“It’s a pain in the ass,” Franklin told her. He was doing about twenty miles an hour, but even at twenty miles an hour a car will get where it’s going eventually, and apparently they had. Franklin turned on his right-turn signal and began to buck off the comfortable blacktop of the Delaford Road onto what Gregor thought must have been dirt down there underneath all the packed snow and ice. It was a road whose name might or might not have been “Ketchum.” It was impossible to tell. There was a sign that said KETCHUM at the place where the dirt road met the asphalted one, but that could have been a way to indicate that to get to the Ketchum farm you had to go this way. Gregor looked around and realized that Franklin Morrison had been right. The distances weren’t what you would expect them to be, if you were a man from the city, like Gregor, and thrown off-kilter by the trees and isolation. Just ahead along the Delaford Road, Gregor could see the tall stone spire of what had to be the Episcopal Church. Almost every one of the Episcopal churches in New England had been built from that kind of stone. A little beyond the church there was a house, built high on a hill. Its position made it look even bigger than it was, and it was very big. Gregor decided that must be the rectory. Where was the Verek house? Franklin Morrison had stalled out. Gregor leaned toward him, straining against his seat belt, and asked. “Go over the distances with me again,” he said. “How far is the Verek house from here?”
“How do you want to get there?”
“By the road.”
Franklin Morrison did some quick calculations in his head. “The Episcopal Church has got fifteen hundred feet of frontage on the road, and most of that’s down this end. Then the Vereks have about twelve hundred feet on the road, but that’s mostly down the other end. They built the house right down here near the stone wall, only place they could fit it without having to blast through granite. I don’t know. Lot less than a mile.”
“Less than a mile,” Gregor repeated.
“Maybe I could drive,” Bennis suggested. “I’m really very good with standard transmissions.”
“It’s less than a mile to Stu’s place, too,” Franklin put in. “It’s maybe, I don’t know, four, five thousand feet on this road. Less than that if you go behind on the walls.”
“I want to get out and walk it,” Gregor said.
“Whatever the hell for?” Franklin Morrison demanded.
“You never want to go out and walk anywhere,” Bennis said. “You take to exercise the way dogs take to cats. What’s got into you?”
“Give the woman your keys,” Gregor said to Franklin. “We’ll walk and you’ll show me the way, and she can take the car down to Stuart Ketchum’s farm.”
“How are we going to get to Stuart Ketchum’s farm?” Franklin demanded.
“You’re the one who said it was no big deal to walk on the walls,” Gregor told him. Gregor was already out of the car and onto the hard-packed snow. He had the seat pushed forward to let Bennis out. Bennis climbed out obediently and looked at the sky, which was dark. Franklin climbed out disgruntled and tossed over his keys.
“I’m an old man,” he said, “and you’re not much better. This is nuts.”
“Maybe. But I like to see for myself.” Gregor turned to Bennis. “Tell Mr. Ketchum we’re on our way. Try not to flirt too much. And don’t touch any guns.”
“It’s touching, the sort of faith you have in my common sense.” Bennis stomped around the car, climbed into the driver’s seat under Franklin Morrison’s arm and had the engine roaring in no time at all. Franklin Morrison looked startled.
They had not gone very far on the dirt road before Franklin stalled. It was only a few steps back to the asphalt. Gregor took them immediately, to keep his city shoes from sinking into snow. If he was going to go tramping around the countryside, he ought to have the proper attire to do it in, but he never believed he was going to go tramping around the countryside. It wasn’t the sort of thing he used to do much of when he was head of the Behavioral Sciences department for the FBI. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d ever imagined himself doing much of. If he had to pick one of Bennis’s fictional detectives to be, it would definitely come down to Nero Wolfe, who sat in a chair all day and ate.