attention to him to spare herself the humiliation of letting the others know that she was aware her lover was flirting with another, younger woman. Anton was polite enough to look up now and then and pretend he was listening, but it was clear that his mind was miles away.
And Everson, who had started it all, was staring into space—oblivious to Ernie, his guests, and just about everything else.
The worst thing was that no one interrupted Ernest with questions or flip remarks the way they had at the dinner table—it was as if he were giving a lecture. Those that were bothering to listen looked so serious, too. Any minute he expected one of them to raise a hand and ask if he or she could go to the bathroom. He paused a few times, hoping someone would speak up or change the subject, but instead everyone just sat there staring, waiting for him to resume.
So he told them how the island had been claimed by Charles Lammerty in 1625, who returned to England after selling it to Ezekial Pauling. Pauling then built the original mansion for his daughter and son-in-law, both of whom were killed during the Indian Wars. He reminded them that Edmund Burrows’s victims had been killed in different places all over the island, including the very room they were sitting in. And he talked about Winthrop North III, who had owned the island before Lynn’s aunt, and who had killed himself by jumping onto the rocks and smashing his body to pieces.
Finally Ernie stopped, got up, and said pleasantly, “I don’t really think we’re in the mood for a history lesson, are we? I know I’m not. I’m going to get myself a drink.” He smiled at everyone, then headed towards the dining room and that wonderful table of liquor. A nice strong scotch on the rocks would go perfectly just now.
Gloria let out a yawn so huge, long, and loud that it was almost vulgar. Ernie chuckled.
As he stood making his drink, he heard some scattered conversation begin in the living room. Good. He was plunking ice into the glass when Andrea came up to him, holding an empty goblet. Even better.
“Felt like you were in front of a classroom, didn’t you?” she said. He smiled and nodded, and she gave him an understanding grin. “Make me a gin and tonic, will you?”
He grabbed another glass and looked around for the gin. She was giving him the opportunity to get to know her better, to make suave, sophisticated small talk, and he was blowing it. She could have made her own drink, let him walk back into the living room alone; instead she had given him an excuse to stay for awhile and chat. So chat, he told himself. But as he picked up the gin and poured two ounces into her glass, absolutely nothing came to mind except for “there we go.” Suave, sophisticated small talk was simply not his strong point. “Do you like a lot of ice?” he asked. “Or just a little bit?”
“Lots,” Andrea said. “I like my drinks good and cold.”
“Me, too.” He grabbed up some ice cubes with the handy metal tongs and dropped a few into her gin and tonic. Why not pursue the topic she had already opened, his impromptu “lecture”? he asked himself. Handing her the drink, he said, “I’m afraid I’m not the greatest public speaker. John sort of roped me into giving that history lesson back there. I think most of us know all there is to know about the island anyway.”
“You’re probably the resident expert,” Andrea replied. “The rest of us seem to know Lammerty Island for its occult legends and old-wives’ tales rather than for its place in history. Oh sure, everyone knows about the murders, the deaths and shipwrecks. But I think you have a better, larger perspective of things. Sometime I’d like to find out more about this place from you.”
“Thanks. Anytime you’re interested. Just let me know.”
“Relax. I won’t ask for any more history lessons tonight.”
“Okay.” He thought that he really wouldn’t have minded giving Andrea private tutoring that
And Everson, who had started it all, was staring into space—oblivious to Ernie, his guests, and just about everything else.
The worst thing was that no one interrupted Ernest with questions or flip remarks the way they had at the dinner table—it was as if he were giving a lecture. Those that were bothering to listen looked so serious, too. Any minute he expected one of them to raise a hand and ask if he or she could go to the bathroom. He paused a few times, hoping someone would speak up or change the subject, but instead everyone just sat there staring, waiting for him to resume.
So he told them how the island had been claimed by Charles Lammerty in 1625, who returned to England after selling it to Ezekial Pauling. Pauling then built the original mansion for his daughter and son-in-law, both of whom were killed during the Indian Wars. He reminded them that Edmund Burrows’s victims had been killed in different places all over the island, including the very room they were sitting in. And he talked about Winthrop North III, who had owned the island before Lynn’s aunt, and who had killed himself by jumping onto the rocks and smashing his body to pieces.
Finally Ernie stopped, got up, and said pleasantly, “I don’t really think we’re in the mood for a history lesson, are we? I know I’m not. I’m going to get myself a drink.” He smiled at everyone, then headed towards the dining room and that wonderful table of liquor. A nice strong scotch on the rocks would go perfectly just now.
Gloria let out a yawn so huge, long, and loud that it was almost vulgar. Ernie chuckled.
As he stood making his drink, he heard some scattered conversation begin in the living room. Good. He was plunking ice into the glass when Andrea came up to him, holding an empty goblet. Even better.
“Felt like you were in front of a classroom, didn’t you?” she said. He smiled and nodded, and she gave him an understanding grin. “Make me a gin and tonic, will you?”
He grabbed another glass and looked around for the gin. She was giving him the opportunity to get to know her better, to make suave, sophisticated small talk, and he was blowing it. She could have made her own drink, let him walk back into the living room alone; instead she had given him an excuse to stay for awhile and chat. So chat, he told himself. But as he picked up the gin and poured two ounces into her glass, absolutely nothing came to mind except for “there we go.” Suave, sophisticated small talk was simply not his strong point. “Do you like a lot of ice?” he asked. “Or just a little bit?”
“Lots,” Andrea said. “I like my drinks good and cold.”
“Me, too.” He grabbed up some ice cubes with the handy metal tongs and dropped a few into her gin and tonic. Why not pursue the topic she had already opened, his impromptu “lecture”? he asked himself. Handing her the drink, he said, “I’m afraid I’m not the greatest public speaker. John sort of roped me into giving that history lesson back there. I think most of us know all there is to know about the island anyway.”
“You’re probably the resident expert,” Andrea replied. “The rest of us seem to know Lammerty Island for its occult legends and old-wives’ tales rather than for its place in history. Oh sure, everyone knows about the murders, the deaths and shipwrecks. But I think you have a better, larger perspective of things. Sometime I’d like to find out more about this place from you.”
“Thanks. Anytime you’re interested. Just let me know.”
“Relax. I won’t ask for any more history lessons tonight.”
“Okay.” He thought that he really wouldn’t have minded giving Andrea private tutoring that
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