The Gate House   ::   Demille Nelson

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT



S usan and I had decided that she’d meet with Lucifer and the Wicked Witch of the South in the living room, and I would stay behind closed doors in the office so she could consult with me, or call me into the discussion, if appropriate.

I’d negotiated a lot of tax settlements this way, as well as some nasty family disputes about inheritances; different rooms for different people so that the parties could not get ugly or physical with each other. It usually works.

I checked my e-mail, and there were some messages from friends in London, inquiring about what they’d heard, either from Samantha or from my law colleagues. Well, I couldn’t reply to any of these e-mails until the jury came in from the living room with the verdict. So I played poker with the computer, and I was on a winning streak – lucky at cards, unlucky at love?

About fifteen minutes after the Stanhopes arrived, there was a knock on my door, and I said, “Come in.”

Sophie appeared and informed me, “I go now.”

“Well, thank you for all you did.”

The door was still open, and I could hear voices in the living room, and the tone and the cadence was distinctly somber and grave.

Sophie handed me a piece of paper, and I thought it was a note from Susan, or Sophie’s bill, but a quick glance showed me it was a list, written in Polish.

She said, “You give to food store.”

“Huh…? Oh, right.” During my romantic month in Warsaw. Why do I have to be such a wiseass? Well, maybe I could pick this stuff up in Glen Cove, or Brooklyn.

Sophie hesitated, then said, “Missus is sad. Maybe you go…” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder.

I replied, “All right. Thank you. You’re a very nice lady. We’ll see you when we return.”

“Yes.” She left and I closed the door behind her.

I heard her leave through the front door, and saw her get into her car and drive off.

Well, I suppose I could go in and resolve the matter by putting William in a choke hold and making him sign a blank sheet of paper that I’d fill in later. There is a legal basis for that – necessitasnonhabetlegem – necessity knows no law.

But I did promise Susan I’d sit tight and not interfere with this family business, and she promised me she’d speak to me before they left.

So, to kill time, I pulled up a few online news sources and read about Salvatore D’Alessio’s last supper.