Act of Darkness(30)

“Well, I can’t believe Victoria Harte had these things made up just for fun. It would have been too expensive. And they’re new, too. You can still smell the ink on them.”

“New,” Gregor said thoughtfully.

“There’s a whole section in the middle somewhere about the pillows they use, if you can believe that. All about the special fiber they’re made of that was developed by the space program and how they hold your head up or mold to your body or something. Contouring, I think they call it. And then—”

“How new?” Gregor asked her.

Bennis stopped in midsentence, rolled over on her back, and looked at him. “What do you mean exactly, how new?”

“You said you could smell the ink on them. How long would that last? Days? Weeks? Months?”

“It would depend on how often they were handled. If they weren’t handled at all and the ink was good, you could get traces of the smell for a year or more.”

“Is what you smell just traces?”

“No. It’s stronger than that.”

“So?”

Bennis shrugged. “If you want my guess, I’d say this one isn’t more than a couple of months old. If that. But it’s not evidence you could take to court, Gregor. There are a lot of factors and my nose isn’t exactly licensed as a weapon, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m surprised you can smell anything with all the cigarettes you smoke. But maybe we should take the easy way out of this. Maybe we should just ask somebody when they were done and what they were for.”

“Brilliant,” Bennis said. “I’d never have thought of it. Is all this important? I know it’s weird, but I can’t see it’s sinister.”

“I didn’t say it was. It just bothers me. And I was wondering if we’d gotten it all backward when we were talking about it in the beginning.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning it doesn’t make much sense for Victoria Harte to have had this printed, unless she was trying to sell the house. But it would make sense if Stephen Fox or Dan Chester had had it printed. It would be the perfect kind of thing to hand out to the people who came to these seminars. Something they could take home, if you see what I mean.”

Bennis brightened. “Also something to help them get around in the house. That paper clip thing at the back is holding down a floor plan. Upstairs and down. Not that there’s much to get around, with practically no walls, but you know what I mean. The place is big.”

“It’s that that bothers me. I can see Dan Chester having the brochures made up. I can’t see him using a heart-shaped paper clip.”

“Maybe it was some kind of deal. Maybe Dan Chester wanted the brochures made up and the only way Victoria would let him do it was if he used the paper clip.”

“Maybe.”

Bennis jumped up, tightening the belt on her robe. “You’re using that tone of voice again. Like I’m some sort of flake.”

“I don’t think you’re—”

“When you start treating me like a flake, it’s time for me to go”

“Bennis—”

“Bye.”

She marched over to the connecting door, and disappeared behind it, a flutter of faint perfume and terry cloth that seemed to make its own wind. Gregor stared after her for a while, thinking, and then picked up the folder she had left him.





[3]


Half an hour later, having ingested a monumental amount of information he couldn’t imagine ever finding a use for—the pillows were made of a special material, as were the bedspreads, but not of the same special material; the window shades were abstractions of Incan and Aztec symbols for all kinds of things and meant to bring good luck to a house; the kitchen was fully electronic and could produce food processors and pasta makers from special openings in its seemingly seamless tile counters with the press of a button—he decided it was time to go downstairs. He wanted to be a little early, the person waiting and not the person waited for. It was the kind of thing he knew would put the man he imagined Dan Chester to be off balance. He got off the bed and stood in front of the mirrored wall, straightening his suit, straightening his tie, and making ineffectual swipes at his still-thick hair.

When he had himself in what he could think of as reasonable order, he let himself out of his room onto the balcony and headed for the stairs. It was odd, he thought, how quiet this place was.

Getting to the stairs, he felt his shoelace come loose, and stopped to fix it. He was standing there like that, bent over, when he realized the atmosphere around him had changed. It was a small thing, but it was there: one of the double doors to the room at the east end of the hall had opened slightly, and stayed open, as if there was someone behind it who wanted to come out but didn’t dare as long as he was there. He finished with his shoelace, straightened up, and started down the stairs.