day so he’d have a private burial site.”
Mr. Abernathy, who loved ghost stories, added, “And didn’t you say once that people hear strange howlings there every once in a while?”
Mr. Waterhouse, who didn’t believe in ghosts but who liked to keep his audience happy, said, “That’s right, Mr. Abernathy. That’s exactly right. Strange howlings every once in a while.”
“My Lord,” said Mr. Abernathy, absolutely thrilled. “My Lord.” Les muttered a “Good evening” to everyone and then went inside the vestibule.
Mrs. Smythe had the sliding parlor doors open so she could look up from the chair where she did her knitting and see who came in and out. “Les,” she called when she saw him, “could you come in here a minute, please?”
He sighed, afraid she was going to ask him how it had gone with Susan. Right now, he didn’t feel like talking.
“Good evening, Mrs. Smythe.”
She nodded. “There’s somebody in your room. Waiting.”
“Who?”
“He didn’t say. Just said it would be all right with you.”
Still dazed from his time with Susan, all Les could do was shrug and say, “All right, Mrs. Smythe. Thanks for telling me.”
He nodded, grateful that they hadn’t talked about Susan, and then made his way back to the stairs. He was exhausted. First all the hoopla earlier today about the game and then tonight with Susan and-
He pushed open the door and looked in his room. He did not think that anything could shock him anymore today.
Yet now he stood there absolutely stunned.
“Hello,” T.Z. said, standing up from the reading chair and putting out his arms. “I’ll bet you’re surprised to see me now, aren’t you, boy?”
There was no doubt about that.
All Les could do was stand there gape-mouthed and stare.
It had been years since he’d seen his older brother, T. Z. Graves. He had been hoping it would be years more before that dubious privilege came again.
He closed the door and went inside, and then T.Z. said, “Why don’t you and me go for a walk, brother? Neely’s waiting for us a few blocks down at a tavern."
Neely, Les thought. The coldest and most brutal man he’d ever known.
He looked with pity and contempt at his older brother-still dashing and handsome and slick. And still, as always, a criminal.
“Come on, Les. Me and Neely want to talk to you about something.”
“About what?” Les said.
“Well, we just kind of want to see how you’re doing, for one thing, in a nice little burg like Cedar Rapids. And for another, we want to talk to you about your job.”
“What about my job?”
T.Z. smiled. “You got to admit, Les, it gives a couple bank robbers a pretty good edge when one of their brothers works in a bank.” T.Z. didn’t stop laughing for a full minute about that one.
Then he said, “But you don’t look too happy to see me.”
“I’m not.”
T.Z. glanced around the room. “You sure have gone respectable, Les.”
“That was my intention.”
“And I s’pect that’s how most people in Cedar Rapids see you.”
“How’s that?”
“Respectable.”
“Yes, I suppose they do.”
“Good, then I won’t spoil their impression of you unless you force me to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
T.Z., in his riverboat gambler outfit, stood there and shook his head ironically. “Well, sir, I don’t imagine folks around here would much take to the idea of somebody working in a bank if they knew he used to stick up banks himself.”
T.Z. watched Les’s face fall even lower and then said, “If you catch my meaning, Les. If you catch my meaning.”
Half a minute later, they went to meet Neely.
CHAPTER
Mr. Abernathy, who loved ghost stories, added, “And didn’t you say once that people hear strange howlings there every once in a while?”
Mr. Waterhouse, who didn’t believe in ghosts but who liked to keep his audience happy, said, “That’s right, Mr. Abernathy. That’s exactly right. Strange howlings every once in a while.”
“My Lord,” said Mr. Abernathy, absolutely thrilled. “My Lord.” Les muttered a “Good evening” to everyone and then went inside the vestibule.
Mrs. Smythe had the sliding parlor doors open so she could look up from the chair where she did her knitting and see who came in and out. “Les,” she called when she saw him, “could you come in here a minute, please?”
He sighed, afraid she was going to ask him how it had gone with Susan. Right now, he didn’t feel like talking.
“Good evening, Mrs. Smythe.”
She nodded. “There’s somebody in your room. Waiting.”
“Who?”
“He didn’t say. Just said it would be all right with you.”
Still dazed from his time with Susan, all Les could do was shrug and say, “All right, Mrs. Smythe. Thanks for telling me.”
He nodded, grateful that they hadn’t talked about Susan, and then made his way back to the stairs. He was exhausted. First all the hoopla earlier today about the game and then tonight with Susan and-
He pushed open the door and looked in his room. He did not think that anything could shock him anymore today.
Yet now he stood there absolutely stunned.
“Hello,” T.Z. said, standing up from the reading chair and putting out his arms. “I’ll bet you’re surprised to see me now, aren’t you, boy?”
There was no doubt about that.
All Les could do was stand there gape-mouthed and stare.
It had been years since he’d seen his older brother, T. Z. Graves. He had been hoping it would be years more before that dubious privilege came again.
He closed the door and went inside, and then T.Z. said, “Why don’t you and me go for a walk, brother? Neely’s waiting for us a few blocks down at a tavern."
Neely, Les thought. The coldest and most brutal man he’d ever known.
He looked with pity and contempt at his older brother-still dashing and handsome and slick. And still, as always, a criminal.
“Come on, Les. Me and Neely want to talk to you about something.”
“About what?” Les said.
“Well, we just kind of want to see how you’re doing, for one thing, in a nice little burg like Cedar Rapids. And for another, we want to talk to you about your job.”
“What about my job?”
T.Z. smiled. “You got to admit, Les, it gives a couple bank robbers a pretty good edge when one of their brothers works in a bank.” T.Z. didn’t stop laughing for a full minute about that one.
Then he said, “But you don’t look too happy to see me.”
“I’m not.”
T.Z. glanced around the room. “You sure have gone respectable, Les.”
“That was my intention.”
“And I s’pect that’s how most people in Cedar Rapids see you.”
“How’s that?”
“Respectable.”
“Yes, I suppose they do.”
“Good, then I won’t spoil their impression of you unless you force me to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
T.Z., in his riverboat gambler outfit, stood there and shook his head ironically. “Well, sir, I don’t imagine folks around here would much take to the idea of somebody working in a bank if they knew he used to stick up banks himself.”
T.Z. watched Les’s face fall even lower and then said, “If you catch my meaning, Les. If you catch my meaning.”
Half a minute later, they went to meet Neely.
CHAPTER
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