The party had been under way for an hour when Howell and Scotty arrived, and it was clear that everybody who was anybody in Sutherland was there. The lord of the manor had summoned, and all had responded. Eric Sutherland spotted them almost immediately and came over with the butler, Alfred, in tow, bearing a tray of champagne glasses.
“Why, Mr. Howell, I’m so glad you could come.”
“Thank you, sir. Have you met Scotty Miller?”
“Of course, but only briefly. I understand you’ve made Sheriff Scully’s life easier down at his office, young lady.”
“Well, that’s nice to hear,” Scotty replied, turning on her best smile. “I’d better ask for more money.”
Sutherland chuckled appreciatively. Howell marveled at the difference between the man now and the first time they had met. Sutherland, the host, was an improvement on Sutherland, the town father. “Please wander as you like,” he said. “There’s food here and there, and Alfred will keep you in drink.” As if on cue, Alfred materialized and topped up their glasses. Sutherland moved off to greet another arrival.
They wandered among local merchants and businessmen and their wives, dressed in their Sunday best. A couple approached them.
“I’m Doctor Joe McGinn,” the man said, extending his hand, “and this is my wife Maeve.” They were both short and plump, and the woman was wearing a bit too much jewelry. “We’re both old fans of your column.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Howell replied, and introduced Scotty. “Beautiful place Mr. Sutherland has here, isn’t it?”
“Ah, yes,” the doctor replied, “and made all the more beautiful by his crowning achievement,” He waved a hand toward the lake.
“Have you lived in Sutherland long, Doctor McGinn?”
“Oh, yes, ever since the lake. Maeve and I both grew up in the valley, and we married right after I got out of the army. That was just after the lake was built, and we knew Sutherland would need a doctor.”
“You must have known the O’Coineen family, then,” Howell said.
The two people froze for a moment, then the wife, expressionless, said, “Yes.”
“Tell me,” Howell said, taking care to sound only pleasantly curious, “in what part of the lake… or rather, the valley, was their farm?”
They both seemed frozen again, then the doctor managed to shape his face into a regretful frown. “That was a very unfortunate thing, and it’s not something I’d care to discuss, especially in Mr. Sutherland’s house.”
He took his wife’s arm. “Would you excuse us, please?” The couple did not wait for a reply, but fled.
“I don’t think you’d better bring up that subject again at Eric Sutherland’s party,” Scotty said.
“Tactical error,” Howell agreed.
They wandered through the house for half an hour, rubbing elbows with the prosperous-looking group, exchanging a few banalities here and there, peeking into the dining room and into Sutherland’s study, with its leather-bound volumes and rack of custom-made English shotguns. Howell received an admirer here and there. He waved at Bo Scully across the living room. The sheriff waved back, but his ear was being held by Doctor McGinn and his wife, who looked grim. Alfred materialized whenever a glass was half empty, and they got a little drunk.
Scotty excused herself to look for the powder room, and Howell wandered onto the broad rear terrace, which overlooked a long, gently inclined lawn, rolling down to the lake. There Howell encountered Enda McCauliffe, looking oddly well groomed in a new suit.
“The Fourth Estate,” McCauliffe cried, raising his glass.
Howell thought the lawyer must have been drinking awhile, as well. “Justice,” he replied, raising his own glass.
“You seem remarkably ambulatory, my lad, considering your posture the last time we met,” McCauliffe said.
“Indeed, I am.” Howell replied. “I could run the high hurdles on short notice. Well, the low ones, anyway.”
“Medical Science,” McCauliffe intoned, raising his glass again.
“Not a bit of it,” Howell said, clinking glasses. “Faith Healing.”
“Y’didn’t,” McCauliffe said, looking astonished.
“I did, and I owe you a large drink for your guidance in these matters,” Howell, said, thinking he owed the lawyer a case of the stuff, at least.
“Jesus, John, I never thought you’d go up there. I was just having you on. It really worked?”
“Believe your eyes,” Howell replied, affecting a golf swing. “I am whole.”
“Mother of God. What was it like up there?”
“Pleasant enough place, I guess. No goblins. Mama Kelly looks like going soon, though.”
“So I hear. You met the lovely Leonie, then?”
“I did.”
“Ah, the lads used to howl after her, when their folks weren’t looking. Some of them got in her pants, but none of them got close to her. A pity, but what with her family history and all, nobody would go calling, proper-like.”
Howell was immediately uncomfortable. “You’re looking very prosperous, I must say, Counselor.”
“Oh, I’ve a new client,” McCauliffe replied, nodding toward Eric Sutherland across the terrace.
Howell was astonished. “I thought you were the only game in town if somebody had a beef with him. What’s happened to your principles?” Howell had meant it as a joke, but the lawyer took him seriously.
“They got tired of eating Bubba’s chicken-fried steak,” he shot back. “The old boy popped up with a plum of work, and I took it.” He knocked back the rest of his glass, and Alfred zoomed in to refill it. “I’ve decided instead of fighting him, I’ll break him with my fees. Altogether, a more satisfactory method, don’t you think?”
“I can’t argue with that.” Howell searched for a way of changing the subject. “Say, do you know where I can lay my hands on a map of the area before the lake was built?”
McCauliffe looked at him sharply. “I doubt if one exists, and if I were you, I wouldn’t go around asking about one.”
“Why not?” Howell asked, innocently. “Why would anybody be touchy about that? This neck of the woods interests me; I’d just like to know more about it.”
McCauliffe lowered his voice and spoke earnestly, nearly soberly. “Now, listen, John, you’re getting into things that shouldn’t concern you, and I suppose it’s my fault, telling you stories and sending you up to the Kellys‘, so I want to give you the best advice I can muster. Go up to that cabin and write your book, and then go back to Atlanta. Stay away from the Kellys and don’t tell anyone else about that seance nonsense of yours, and for Christ’s sake, don’t go blundering around asking a lot of stupid questions about maps and before the lake and all that. It doesn’t concern you – it doesn’t concern anybody, anymore. Just leave it alone, all right?”
Howell was stunned for a moment. “It seems to me you had a different attitude about all this before Eric Sutherland became your client,” he was finally able to say.
A flash of anger crossed Enda McCauliffe’s face, then passed. He put his hand on How-ell’s arm and squeezed. “John, you’re a good fellow and a bright one, and I’ve enjoyed your company. But I’ve no more to say to you.” The lawyer turned and walked into the house, upending his glass on the way.
Howell looked after him, puzzled, and worse, intrigued. He thought himself good at reading people, and he had read McCauliffe as tough, stubborn, and unlikely to yield to pressure, let alone money. If the lawyer had suddenly got into bed with Eric Sutherland, there must be a better reason than Howell knew about. Mac, he thought, if you wanted me to forget this, you couldn’t have gone about it in a worse way. He walked down the steps to the grass and strolled down the hill toward the lake.
He had gone only about halfway to the water, fifty yards or so, when he noticed a small building to his right, in the trees. It looked like a guest house, and Howell wandered in its direction. He stopped outside a set of french doors and put his hands up to shield his eyes from the reflection in the glass. There was one large room, and it was furnished as an office, with a steel desk and furniture and, in a corner, a drawing table. He tried the door; it was locked.