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The Laughing Corpse :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 152 из 213Freud isso often at work in our lives. Out loud I said, "What family?"
"He never said. I think he thought I'd blackmail them or go to them with his dirty little secrets. He desperately wants them to regret not welcoming him into the family. I think he only made his money so he could be as rich as they were."
"If he never gave you a name, how do you know he wasn't lying?"
"You wouldn't ask if you could hear him. His voice was so intense. He hates them. And he wants his birthright. Their money is his birthright."
"How does he plan to get their money?" I asked.
"Just before I left him, Harold had found where some of his ancestors were buried. He talked about treasure. Buried treasure, can you believe it?"
"In the graves?"
"No, his father's people got their first fortune from being river pirates. They sailed the Mississippi and robbed people. Gaynor was proud of that and angry about it. He said that the whole bunch of them were descended from thieves and whores. Where did they get off being so high and mighty to him?" She was watching my face as she spoke the last. Maybe she saw the beginnings of an idea.
"How would knowing the graves of his ancestors help him get their treasure?"
"He said he'd find some voodoo priest to raise them. He'd force them to give him their treasure that had been lost for centuries."
"Ah," I said.
"What? Did that help?"
I nodded. My role in Gaynor's little scheme had become clear. Painfully clear. The only question left was why me? Why didn't he go to someone thoroughly disreputable like Dominga Salvador? Someone who would take his money and kill his hornless goat and not lose any sleep over it. Why me, with my reputation for morality?
"Did he ever mention any names of voodoo priests?"
Wanda shook her head. "No, no names. He was always careful about names. There's a look on your face. How could what I have told you just now help you?"
"I think the less you know about that, the better, don't you?"
She stared at me for a long time but finally nodded. "I guess so."
"Is there any place … " I let it trail off. I was going to offer her a plane ticket or a bus ticket to anywhere. Anywhere where she wouldn't have to sell herself. Anywhere where she could heal.
Maybe she read it in my face or my silence. She laughed, and it was a rich sound. Shouldn't whores have cynical cackles?
"You are a social worker type after all.
"He never said. I think he thought I'd blackmail them or go to them with his dirty little secrets. He desperately wants them to regret not welcoming him into the family. I think he only made his money so he could be as rich as they were."
"If he never gave you a name, how do you know he wasn't lying?"
"You wouldn't ask if you could hear him. His voice was so intense. He hates them. And he wants his birthright. Their money is his birthright."
"How does he plan to get their money?" I asked.
"Just before I left him, Harold had found where some of his ancestors were buried. He talked about treasure. Buried treasure, can you believe it?"
"In the graves?"
"No, his father's people got their first fortune from being river pirates. They sailed the Mississippi and robbed people. Gaynor was proud of that and angry about it. He said that the whole bunch of them were descended from thieves and whores. Where did they get off being so high and mighty to him?" She was watching my face as she spoke the last. Maybe she saw the beginnings of an idea.
"How would knowing the graves of his ancestors help him get their treasure?"
"He said he'd find some voodoo priest to raise them. He'd force them to give him their treasure that had been lost for centuries."
"Ah," I said.
"What? Did that help?"
I nodded. My role in Gaynor's little scheme had become clear. Painfully clear. The only question left was why me? Why didn't he go to someone thoroughly disreputable like Dominga Salvador? Someone who would take his money and kill his hornless goat and not lose any sleep over it. Why me, with my reputation for morality?
"Did he ever mention any names of voodoo priests?"
Wanda shook her head. "No, no names. He was always careful about names. There's a look on your face. How could what I have told you just now help you?"
"I think the less you know about that, the better, don't you?"
She stared at me for a long time but finally nodded. "I guess so."
"Is there any place … " I let it trail off. I was going to offer her a plane ticket or a bus ticket to anywhere. Anywhere where she wouldn't have to sell herself. Anywhere where she could heal.
Maybe she read it in my face or my silence. She laughed, and it was a rich sound. Shouldn't whores have cynical cackles?
"You are a social worker type after all.