Deader Homes and Gardens Part 15

I nodded. "Of course not. The Patriot Act should not override our right to privacy. Still, surely you pa.s.s along amusing little anecdotes about techno-idiots like me. It must drive you crazy to put up with us. We can barely turn on the computers."

"I did think it was kind of funny that you spent so long reading about yourself," she admitted with a giggle. "You looked like you were posing for paparazzi. You practically patted yourself on the back a couple of times. I looked you up after you left. You've got a reputation for meddling, Ms. Malloy."

"Is that what you told Danny?"

"He didn't know who you were, either. He was more interested when I said that you were a middle-aged skateboard groupie. The idea of someone like you in a helmet, balancing on a skateboard, your arms flapping-I laughed so hard that I fell off the couch. Then Danny got this idea about putting a walker on two skateboards, and-"

"It must have been a delightful conversation," I interrupted before I said something uncouth. "What did Danny say when you told him about my struggles with the county clerk's site?"

"I, uh, don't remember exactly. It's really easy for him because he does it all the time." Nanette glanced over my shoulder. "Mrs. Mendlehoff is waiting for me to help her find a law book. She was arrested for picketing at the federal courthouse, and she wants to sue the government for violating some const.i.tutional amendment."

I sat on a bench beside the library's small flower bed, once again mired in guilt. Danny might have believed that disposing of Angela on Tuesday would sour any chance of a deal involving Winston's house, but Wednesday I'd gone to the library and, under Nanette's tutelage, searched for Terry Kennedy. Unless Danny sorely underestimated me, he could have guessed that I'd head for the courthouse for more information. I might as well have called him after I spoke to Terry.

Now all I had to do was prove that he'd spiked the vodka.

13.

I looked at my watch. Proving that Danny had murdered Winston, Angela, and Terry (in that order) would have to wait until I picked up Jordan. Peter may have believed that I wouldn't dream of setting foot anywhere in Hollow Valley, but I had a hall pa.s.s from Jorgeson. The turnoff to HVN was lined with TV vans and vehicles. Reporters shouted questions at me, but I merely waved as I drove past them. I handed the note to a uniformed officer, who read it with a skeptical expression. He conferred with his partner, who made a call from inside the police car. The random roar of the crowd increased to the point that I felt sorry for the wildlife. Those with camera crews primped in preparation for "live breaking news." It was nice to be recognized.

I continued up the road to the Old Tavern. The Mustang and the Mercedes were parked in the shade. I wanted to talk to Nattie but decided to hold off until I fetched Jordan, who might gnaw off her leg at any moment. No one answered the door at the mill. I retraced my route and knocked on the door of the Old Tavern. I waited for several minutes, knocked again, and finally went to look in the backyard. It was unoccupied. It was challenging to come up with a reason why Nattie, Margaret Louise, and Jordan would be at the nursery, and impossible to come up with one that included Charles Finnelly's house.

As I came back around the corner, Nattie opened the door. "Claire," she said in a chilly voice. "I thought I heard a knock, but we were in the kitchen. Can I help you?"

I had no idea why she was regarding me as if I were an aphid out to ravage her vegetable garden. "I came to pick up Jordan. Margaret Louise isn't home. Are she and Jordan here?"

Nattie came out to the stoop and closed the door behind her. "Yes, but there's a problem. Because of everything that's happened, Margaret Louise prefers that Jordan remain under her supervision for the time being. Why don't you come back next week? I'm sure Margaret Louise will relent once the police have concluded their investigation."

"You're okay with that?" I asked incredulously.

"Margaret Louise is taking her responsibility seriously. What if Jordan were to shoplift or attempt to run away? You must admit that she's not trustworthy, no matter what she says."

I couldn't deny that Jordan was capable of most anything, but it didn't seem fair that she had been judged and found guilty at the tender age of fourteen. "My daughter and her friend will keep an eye on her. They'll make sure that she doesn't do anything to disgrace the family name." At least I hoped they would, as long as I persuaded them that it was in their best interest. Bribery and threats, in a proper ratio, can accomplish miracles.

"Maybe next week." Nattie put her hand on the doork.n.o.b.

When it suits me, I have a strong sense of social justice. I ducked under Nattie's arm and went inside. I took no notice of her protests as I hurried down the hallway to the kitchen. Margaret Louise sat at the table, a cup of coffee in her hand. Jordan was slouched in a chair, radiating fury. I'd missed the meltdown, but I was definitely in the contamination zone.

Margaret Louise was at her dowdiest, dressed in a print housedress, her spectacles perched on her nose. Her expression was far from dowdy, however. She raised her eyebrows. "What part of 'no way' has you baffled? The spitfire stays here. She may believe she ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more, but she's a minor and I'm her custodial guardian. Isn't that right, Jordan? Running away is a status offense. No one wants you to spend the next four years in a juvenile detention facility."

"Shut up," Jordan muttered.

"I called her parents last night," Margaret Louise continued, "and they a.s.sured me that they will support any decisions I make about Jordan's immediate future. I decided that she's staying right here for the rest of the summer."

I looked at Nattie, who shrugged in response. Margaret Louise was slurping coffee and humming an unrecognizable melody. I was afraid to so much as glance at Jordan, who was undoubtedly harboring some unflattering opinions of me. I rallied all my dignity and said, "We'll just see about this, won't we?"

Nattie did not offer to show me out. I left briskly, as though I were on my way to the governor's mansion to tattle on them. Since he didn't owe me any favors (or know me), he might not overturn the parole board's decision. I stopped under Colonel Moses Ambrose Hollow's outstretched arm to concoct a wily scheme that did not include kidnapping, abetting a runaway, or grinding a blackberry pie in Margaret Louise's face. I reminded myself that I was a mild-mannered bookseller with an unblemished reputation for sense and sensibility.

I called Jorgeson, was put on hold to twiddle my toes, and was getting testy when he finally said, "Ms. Malloy."

"Have you taken Jordan Hollow's formal statement yet? In case it slipped your mind, she is the one who showed me the pot patch. She's a material witness. I'm concerned that she may be under the influence of certain members of the Hollow family who are attempting to taint her perception of the events."

There was a silence. "Who might they be, these members of the Hollow family?"

I was so irate that I had no compunctions about throwing Nattie and Margaret Louise to the wolves. I explained the situation, perhaps embellishing the story with references to dark stares and whispered conversations. "They're brainwashing her," I continued earnestly, if a shade mendaciously. "She's only fourteen."

"With a Mohawk, a tattoo, body piercings, and a juvenile rap sheet. She's not fragile, Ms. Malloy. I appreciate your concern, but I'm busy."

I needed to stall. "Did you get the lab report about the poison used to kill Terry Kennedy?"

"The ME has ruled out food poisoning, prescription drugs, and garden-variety poisons like cyanide, a.r.s.enic, strychnine, aconitine, and atropine. Now it's up to the state lab. If you're bored, may I suggest you call Deputy Chief Rosen? He'll be interested to hear about this purported brainwashing. He may have been trained in the techniques being used as we speak. He might even send a black helicopter to rescue the young lady."

I closed my cell phone. Jorgeson was obviously under a lot of pressure, since he rarely resorted to sarcasm. He needed help. Since Peter was out of pocket, I had a moral obligation to ease poor Jorgeson's anxiety. It could not be a coincidence that I was in Hollow Valley. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos had best be on alert, since I was preparing to tempt fate.

Danny Delmond had an alibi for the evening that Angela had disappeared, but his alibi for the weekend was as squishy as an overripe melon. Nanette hadn't canceled their plans. He'd left her at the curb. Conveniently alone at the lake house, he could come and go with impunity, but he still required an accomplice-someone clever enough to lure Angela away in a panic, bash her on the head, conceal the body, and ultimately help him bury it. The workers at the nursery were apt to be muscular. Jordan had mentioned one named Rudy, but there were others.

I didn't want to leave my car in sight of the Old Tavern. I drove to the perfect house and parked away from the gravel driveway. This might be the last time I saw it, I thought sadly. I wanted to grind a dozen blackberry pies in Danny's face. Slowly and thoroughly, until every one of his orifices was clogged with purple pulp.

Getting inside the house did not seem to pose a challenge to anyone. I walked around to the French doors and jiggled a handle. The door opened. Having solved one mystery, I went inside and wandered around, looking for clues that someone had been there since yesterday afternoon. The police investigators had left a fine mist of black dust here and there, and they'd probably come up with scores of prints left from parties. It occurred to me that Loretta, aka Esther, might have attended some of them. Her parents were a mere hoot away, whining about the noise and d.a.m.ning the miscreants.

The thought gave me great satisfaction, as it surely did for her. It did not, however, move me an inch closer to the solution, and I had limited time before the police officers at the gate began to wonder where I was. I remembered that I'd wanted to talk to Felicia without Charles's presence. I sat down at the kitchen island and took out my cell phone. I called information and asked for a number for Charles Finnelly. A computer obliged. If Charles answered, I would hang up. My heart was thumping uncomfortably when Felicia said, "h.e.l.lo?"

"Don't say a word," I said. "This is Claire Malloy, and I have information about Esther. I'm at Winston's house. Now I want you to say, 'We're not interested,' and hang up. I'll wait for fifteen minutes."

I dropped my cell phone in my purse and resumed prowling around the house, looking for something the police had overlooked. The carton of cigarettes was still in the bottom desk drawer. No one had scrawled any b.l.o.o.d.y messages on the walls or left a written confession on a bedside table. I returned to the kitchen. Felicia's time was running out. If she didn't show up, which was a distinct possibility, I was going to have to decide on my next move. If she'd told Charles what I'd said, I could expect a police officer at the front door.

I admit I was somewhat nervous. I did not want to face Charles, Jorgeson, or Peter. I went out to the terrace and forced myself to breathe deeply. I was nearly hyperventilating when Felicia came out of the orchard and made her way to the pool area. She eyed me for a moment, then came around the pool and stood in front of me.

"Well?" she asked.

"Why don't you sit down," I suggested. "This will take a few minutes. Did you have any problems with Charles?"

Her expression thawed. "Yes, I had a problem with Charles. Luckily, he was going to the nursery to talk to Ethan, so I had to wait. He demands to know where I am every blasted minute of the day. If I visit Margaret Louise, he wants to know what we talked about. If I go shopping, he checks the receipts to make sure I didn't buy myself a treat." She glanced inside. "Is it possible to have a gla.s.s of wine? I'm terrified of what you're going to tell me. I can't face any more bad news."

I tried to conceal my astonishment. "Certainly. Do you have a preference?"

"Anything."

I found an unopened bottle in the cabinet and attacked it with a corkscrew, trying all the while to readjust my opinion of her. She was not the woman who'd referred to me as "your kind." She appeared to be warm-blooded, unlike her reptilian mate. I filled a winegla.s.s and went back to the terrace. I handed her a gla.s.s and said, "My news isn't bad, Felicia. Your daughter is fine, and she currently lives in Farberville."

Her face turned pale. "Oh, my G.o.d. Are you sure that it's really Esther? Can I see her?"

"I'm sure as I can be," I said gently. "She told me about her childhood and where she went after she ran away. I can't tell you anything more about her without her consent. Shall I let her know that you want to meet with her?"

"Of course I do. She's my daughter." She hesitated. "Tell her that I'll come alone. Charles will never know. When will you see her?"

"I'll give her your message tomorrow."

She covered her face with her hands and began to cry. I would have felt more sympathy had I not known that she allowed Charles to abuse their daughter. If she hadn't allowed it, she had let it happen. She'd had options. She could have called the police or taken Esther to a shelter. Instead, she'd played the role of a meek, obedient wife.

"What happened to you?" I asked in a somewhat angry voice. "Why didn't you protect your daughter?"

She looked up at me, her face wet. I can't explain. When I met Charles, he was kind and polite. My parents were delighted with him and pressured me into marrying him. He owned a drugstore, and we lived in an apartment upstairs. Everything was fine until he joined that ... that church. They're bigots and hate-mongers. They distort the Bible to suit themselves. I fought as hard as I could, but Charles dragged me into their quagmire. I had no choice. You believe me, don't you?"

She looked so pathetic that I eased off, although I doubted that she had no choice. "Okay."

"It's the family," she said, gripping the arms of the chair. "You don't understand about the family. I was taught from infancy that the family comes first. When my father died, we moved here to Hollow Valley. Charles took over his duties at the nursery, and I cared for my mother until her death. He became more of a Hollow than I ever was. The wealth and power corrupted what was left of him. I shrank until I was a shadowy presence."

"Hollow Valley doesn't seem to be overflowing with wealth or power. Sure, everyone has a big house and an expensive car, and I gather the nursery business is good. n.o.body seems to be jetting off to luxurious resorts or floating their yachts in the stream. Does the family own a vast corporation or a senator?"

Felicia downed the wine and held out her gla.s.s. I went inside and brought out the wine bottle. She was likely to be unaccustomed to alcohol, and I had no reservations about exploiting her weakness. I refilled her gla.s.s and waited.

"Not that kind of power," she said with a ladylike snort. "One can have the power to flaunt authority. And just because we don't wear mink coats and diamonds doesn't mean we're not richer than a corporate law firm. Charles's watch cost six thousand dollars. He never wears it to church, but you can bet he wears it to chamber of commerce meetings. He's a nasty old hypocrite." She finished the wine in her gla.s.s and, with some fumbling, managed to pour herself a very full gla.s.s. "It was a d.a.m.n shame about Winston. I felt sorry for him when he was a kid. He taught Esther how to use watercolors, and they would sneak off whenever they could. Charles was furious, of course. The first painting that Esther brought home so incensed him that he ripped it into shreds and made her put in an extra ten hours at the nursery."

"Do you believe that Winston committed suicide?" I asked.

"About as far as I can fart," she replied with a giggle. "Want a demonstration?"

"Not really. What do you think happened to him?"

Wine dribbled down her blouse as she took a drink. "I'd like to think that Charles murdered him and that you can prove it. Drag the b.a.s.t.a.r.d off to jail! Unfortunately, that's only in my dreams. Charles had the flu and could barely haul his sorry a.s.s out of bed for a week. He complained the entire time. I should have held a pillow over his face."

"If Charles didn't murder Winston, who did?"

"How should I know? I was home making chicken soup and rice pudding. Charles was the only one out here who was upset about Winston and Terry's relationship. I thought Terry was a sn.o.b, but I liked Winston. Don't tell a soul, but I used to come here every now and then while Charles was away at a church meeting and Terry was out of town. Winston and I drank wine and talked about the old days. I'd go home, gargle with mouthwash, and be asleep when Charles got back." She hiccuped with delight. "The good old days, when I still had Esther. How is she? Does she need money? I have some in a box in the closet. Her toys, too. She had a doll named Heloise and a stuffed monkey with one eye. What was his name?"

She was way too close to slipping into a maudlin reverie. She had the wine bottle in her lap, and retrieving it might send her over the edge. "She's doing fine," I said, "and she didn't appear to need money. Do you know anything about a real estate deal that involves Hollow Valley?"

After a few misses, she managed to put her finger to her lips. "Can't talk about it. Big secret."

"Did someone named Danny Delmond ever come here to meet with Charles?"

Felicia gave me a lopsided grin. "Hairy Danny. Whenever business is discussed, Charles orders me to stay in the kitchen. Mostly church business. Once they heard gossip that the choir director was having private sessions with underaged girls from the congregation. You should have heard them carrying on like a flock of biddy hens. Cluck, cluck, cluck! They finally decided to punish the girls for telling sordid lies. The choir director quietly resigned and left town."

"Danny Delmond is a developer."

"Good for him. I'm the great-great-great-granddaughter of Colonel Moses Ambrose Hollow. I live in the middle of nowhere and am married to an evil-tempered dictator. My own daughter despises me. You despise me. Everyone else just feels sorry for me-humorless, spineless Felicia Hollow Finnelly." She began to cry again, this time embellished with noisy gulps, moans, and whimpers.

I realized that I would hear nothing more from her that was remotely coherent. She presented a dilemma. If I left her alone, she might stumble into the pool and drown. I had opened the wine bottle, and I hadn't wrested it away from her. I didn't want to carry her home, where Charles might notice that she was drunk. He would not be amused.

I was sitting there, watching her for any indication that she might stop crying in the foreseeable future, when the shriek of a siren grew closer. I went to the front yard in time to see flashing lights streaking toward the Old Tavern. My throat tightened. Jordan had been furious. Had she done something outrageous that resulted in injury? Margaret Louise was at the top of her hit list, with Nattie in the second slot. I was a contender for third, but I wasn't easily available. I wanted to chase the ambulance, but I couldn't leave Felicia. I returned to check on the dilemma. The wine bottle was on its side, also empty.

"Is Esther here?" she bleated. "I want to see Esther. Will she forgive me? Oh, Esther, I'm so sorry!"

I grasped her arm and encouraged her to stand. "Let's go inside, Felicia. You can rest while I look for Esther." She sagged as if she'd been punched. I put my arm around her back and tried to keep her moving. "A nice nap is what you need. When you feel better, we can talk about Esther's one-eyed monkey."

We made it to the master bedroom. I gave a tiny shove that sent her sprawling facedown across the bed, then rolled her over and took off her shoes. She wiggled until her head b.u.mped a pillow, fluttered her fingers at me, and pa.s.sed out. I closed the blinds and made sure the French doors were locked. The rhythm of her breathing became slower and deeper. When she began to snore like an asthmatic dog, I tiptoed out of the room and went to the front porch.

Either the ambulance had departed without fanfare or it was still at the Old Tavern. I walked to the blacktop road. After a moment of deliberation, I went down the driveway that led to Pandora and Ethan's house. Rainbow and Weevil were in the garden, pulverizing tomatoes with a hammer. They were too engrossed in destruction to look up as I took the path to the nursery. My plan was to skirt the greenhouses and approach the Old Tavern with the stealth of a ferret.

Two delivery trucks were parked near an outbuilding. I heard voices, but the words were indecipherable. Several men emerged from the back of a truck and headed in my direction, talking and laughing among themselves. I'd seen some of them when Ethan had given me the grand tour, but I most certainly did not want them to see me. I checked the ground for errant snakes, then scrunched behind a clump of scrub trees and brush. The men came within twenty feet of me but continued to the rows of ornamental trees and began to carry them back to the trucks. I was stuck between a rock (under my knee) and a hard place (an oak tree), and I had no idea how long it would take them to load the trees. A man with a clipboard periodically shouted instructions about flowering pears, hollies, redbuds, and whatever. The workmen cursed as they staggered under the weight of the trees with burlap root b.a.l.l.s. Leaves rustled nearby. I bit down on my lip to hold in a squeak of terror. The only weapon at hand was a spindly branch no thicker than my thumb. I antic.i.p.ated a snake with the diameter of a fire hose. Although I knew that anacondas and pythons were indigenous to South America, I wasn't sure they hadn't acquired the proper visas to grant them temporary residency in Hollow Valley.

The rustling noise seemed closer-and louder. No one had reported seeing an alligator within three hundred miles, but that did little to rea.s.sure me. I'd never seen a purple cow, but I could not swear under oath that purple cows did not exist. The workmen chose that moment to take a break. Their alarming proximity overpowered my nebulous fear of skunks, racc.o.o.ns, and rabid possums. The men sat in the dirt or leaned against the truck, some of them smoking. A bearish man with a red face said something that the others found hysterically funny, then walked straight at me. His hands fumbled with the zipper of his jeans.

I tucked myself into the smallest ball possible and gritted my teeth. The splatter on the leaves echoed like a deluge. The smell caused me to gag. I closed my eyes and did what I could to distract myself until the last droplets. .h.i.t the dust and I heard the sound of a zipper being restored to its proper place. Only then did I risk a breath. The men resumed talking. I opened one eye and peered around the tree. Most of them had their backs to me, including the one whose mother had failed to instill in him a sense of decorum.

I was trapped for a quarter of an hour before the man with the clipboard announced that they were finished. As they headed for the office, the bearish man looked over his shoulder and winked at me. I was so astonished that I would have fallen back on my derriere if I hadn't been concerned about spiders. He might have a.s.sumed that we were compatriots, but he was wrong. I do not make alliances with men who expose themselves to Mother Nature.

I finally stood up. My knees were embedded with dirt and flecks of composted debris, and my back had tread marks from the bark of the tree. All I'd learned was that the woods were more dangerous than I'd ever imagined. One of the workmen was likely to be Danny's accomplice. None of them was likely to admit it to me. I still had no idea what had transpired at the Old Tavern, which had been my goal when I took the devious route. I was about to plunge back into the woods when Ethan came out of his office. Charles stalked behind him, as if he were the Grand Inquisitor of his petty bishopric.

Ethan began to designate drivers and crews for the trucks. The trucks were going south and east in Arkansas. He rattled off a list of stops, some in cities and some in unfamiliar towns. I was surprised that landscaping was prevalent in places called "County Line Liquor" and "the Redbird Bar and Grill." I recognized the name of a town in Maxwell County, only because one of my customers at the Book Depot had described it in unflattering terms. "Beerbelly's" would soon be surrounded by flowering pear trees and crepe myrtles.

Another truck appeared from the road that crossed the bridge. A woman in jeans and a T-shirt slid out of the driver's seat. She stretched her muscular arms above her head and arched her back. "Drove straight through," she said. "Gotta use the can." She entered the appropriate outbuilding.

"Rudy, you and Wayne get this unloaded," Ethan said. He stopped to consult with Charles. "We'll use it for the county run later today. Miguel, make sure you get a good variety of healthy plants this time. I don't want to send out a single spider mite, so hand check every leaf."

This was not the time to congratulate Ethan on his beautification project. I crept behind the buildings until I came to the path to the Old Tavern. I made it to the fringe of the gra.s.s without raising an alarm. The ambulance was parked near the door. I dashed across the open s.p.a.ce and hid behind the Mercedes. A white van with an official decal on the door was parked behind the Mustang; presumably the medical examiner was present. A police car was nearby. People moved in the living room, but they were indistinguishable in the dim light.

When the front door opened, I risked poking my head up far enough to watch the exodus. The two police officers who were stationed at the gate went to their car. The medical examiner, Nattie, and Margaret Louise came out, their expressions subdued. Following them were two paramedics pushing a gurney. The body bag was zipped. A jolt of fear stabbed my gut. I curled my fingers and waited for Jordan to appear in the doorway. Surely no one would be unruffled by the death of a fourteen-year-old, I told myself. The body was loaded into the van. The medical examiner spoke to the police officers, who then drove away. The paramedics left in the ambulance. I heard Nattie thank the medical examiner for his promptness. Margaret Louise simpered at him and clutched his hand. He said something that made them smile.

I had only a few seconds before he drove away, the body bag secured in the back of his van. I took a deep breath, stood up, and called, "Hey, Nattie! Did you find my cell phone in your kitchen? I was sure I had it with me, but I've searched my car and my purse." I approached them rapidly. "Aren't you the medical examiner? We met at a banquet last year, one of those obligatory police department banquets. Such a bore! I'm Claire Malloy, and my husband is Peter Rosen."

"Ah, yes, of course," the poor man stammered, having never even seen me before that moment. "Peter Rosen, good man. Those banquets are ghastly, so I avoid them when I can. Rubber chicken, green beans. Gives me indigestion for days. It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Rosen."

Nattie and Margaret Louise resembled a couple of goldfish in a gla.s.s bowl. Their eyes were round, and their lips moved silently. I rewarded each of them with a warm smile and turned back to the medical examiner. "I gather that you're here in your official capacity. Who died?"

"The old gentleman died in his sleep," the medical examiner said with proper gravity. "Based on what I've been told about his health problems and advanced age, I'll notify his doctor for confirmation and then rule it death by natural causes. Have the funeral home director call my office tomorrow. My condolences, ladies." He got in the van and drove down the blacktop road to the gate.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Margaret Louise.

"Offering my condolences, obviously. Moses died in his sleep. I guess that's the most serene way to go. I'm very sorry for your loss."

Nattie frowned. "I thought you left Hollow Valley after our previous conversation more than an hour ago. You're not lingering to give Jordan a chance to conceal herself in your car, are you? I'm disappointed in you, Claire."

I refrained from pointing out which of us was more disappointed in the other. Maybe I didn't appreciate how much thicker blood was than water. "Where's Jordan?"

Margaret Louise shook her head. "She claimed that she was too upset to be here while the body was removed. That does not concern you, since she is not to leave with you under any circ.u.mstances. The police officers at the gate have been advised to search your car."

"Rats," I said. "They'll find the Pica.s.so, the Matisse, and the Modigliani I stole from the Museum of Modern Art in Paris a couple of years ago. Do you know how difficult it is to get a fair price on the black market? The best offer I've had to date was a measly hundred million."

They backed away from me. I advanced, taking credit for the theft of a Corot and a Degas from the Louvre, King Tut's golden death mask from the Egyptian Museum, and a neighborhood kid's basketball from his front yard. I kept it up until they reached the door, went inside, and locked it. The manic verbal attack had exhilarated me, but the adrenaline ebbed as I thought about Moses's death. He'd annoyed and frustrated me. The majority of his babbling had made no sense. I felt sad, but I was not enveloped with grief. If he hadn't died from system failure, cirrhosis would have caught up with him soon.