From Chapter One of Greased Wheels:
I had no trouble finding my way
down the hallway past the dining room and back into the study. The
only light came from a reading lamp next to a leather recliner. I
stopped in front of the display cases again to admire Lodge’s
collection. This time it was the firearms that caught my attention
because one of the cards read ‘M1 Carbine’. I’d heard of an M1 - who
hadn’t - but had never actually seen one. I listened intently and
when I didn’t hear any voices, I succumbed to temptation and opened
the door, then lifted out the rifle. It was heavy and I held it up
to my shoulder, trying to imagine actually slogging through hostile
countryside, taking aim on another human being and pulling the
trigger. I lowered the weapon and carefully put it back in its
place, setting the history card back against the stock. The rifle
wasn’t that heavy but my arm ached. According to the specs listed on
the card, I had just lifted slightly more than 5.5 pounds but I
couldn’t imagine carrying it around all day and having the strength
to use it. I needed to lift heavier weights, I decided.
The mantle clock chimed the
quarter hour and I jumped. Now consumed with guilt from touching a
piece of Dr. Lodge’s collection, I quickly closed the gun case door.
Until I released my breath, I wasn’t aware I’d been holding it. This
was the behavior of a child who’d been caught in a forbidden place
and I was embarrassed. Fortunately, no one knew about my infraction
but me. I hurried outside. The sound of distant voices floated past
me as I stepped down into the grass on the south side of the house,
several yards from the edge of the patio. After a few strides, I
came around the corner of the house and found myself in front of the
wall of arbor vitae.
The evergreen sentries looked
ominous against the black blanket of night. A splash of buttermilk
light spilled from the study windows onto the dark lawn. I stood
still on the spongy sod, letting my eyes adjust.
The night air was filled with
scent and I inhaled deeply, letting the sweet perfume of roses
conjure up romantic fantasies of lovers meeting secretly in walled
gardens. Somewhere in the distance, I heard an owl hoot and I
shivered. The temperature must have dropped because my blazer was no
longer warm enough. I needed to work my way around to the front of
the house and find that valet before I was thoroughly chilled.
The sound of voices drew me along
a stone path that I hoped would lead to the circular driveway at the
front of the house. As I neared the edge of the garden, they became
louder and I could tell that whoever was talking was no longer in a
partying mood. Although I couldn’t make out the exact words, the
tone was strident and caustic. After a few more forward steps, I
made out human shapes tucked into the shadows, undoubtedly the
source of the voices I heard. One was saying, "It was always money,
you idiot. Not paperwork."
I didn't want to meet whoever was
so angry and debated going back to the study but I thought if I was
caught retreating, they would suspect I had heard what had been
said. I coughed purposely and the conversation halted immediately.
"Hello," I said, trying to sound
innocent. "Is there anyone out here?"
One of the figures retreated to
the other side of the hedge while another approached me.
"Can I help you?"
The man looked at me but in the
dim light, I couldn’t make out his expression. I was quite sure I’d
seen him in the study during Lodge’s pre-dinner dissertation but I
didn’t know if he had been one of those speaking. Judging by the
contour of the shape that had left, I thought it might have been
Matthew Ellison. I hoped I was wrong. He seemed like such a quiet,
gentle man that I didn’t want him to be on the receiving end of the
anger I had just overheard. Of course, it was possible he had been
dishing it out. I shuddered.
"I’m escaping the party and I’m
trying to get to the front of the house."
"That way." He pointed in the
direction I was heading and turned back toward the study without
another word. As he moved away, a third person appeared from the
shadows and continued walking toward the house with him.
Wondering at the venom I had
heard in that voice in the garden, I stood on the asphalt and
watched as they reached the light from the study window to see if I
would recognize anyone from earlier in the evening. Neither
individual turned around so I saw only a stooped, broad-shouldered,
lumbering silhouette against the window before the pair went through
the doors. I couldn’t absolutely, positively confirm that it was
Marvin Alltop, but I thought it was. There were a lot of people at
this party but I hadn’t seen anyone that resembled the spheroid I
knew as the big wheel of Lake County.
Finally, I made my way to the
valet, retrieved my car and headed south to the city, the bright
lights of the Hancock building pointing the way home.
