“Why not Malcolm?”

“Oh dear.”

“You used to call me Malcolm.”

“There has been a change in circumstances, and one does hesitate to employ a Christian name when addressing one’s employer.”

“I’m not your employer.”

“I am distressed to hear it. One had hoped to be compensated for one’s services.”

“Okay, I guess I will be paying you, now that you mention it. At least until I can sort out this inheritance thing. But that doesn’t make me your employer. Not really. And even if it did, we’re not in England, Simon. Butlers don’t say ‘sir’ all the time over here.”

“Alas, I believe the practice is falling from favor even in the United Kingdom.”

“One must adapt.”

“Just so. However, one suspects certain standards should still be maintained.”

Teru looked back and forth between us, grinning.

I said, “I have standards too, you know. I have a typical American’s sense of egalitarianism. And if you keep insisting on this ‘sir’ business, then my sense of egalitarianism will require me to do the same to you. Then we would be ‘siring’ each other at every opportunity, and that would be ridiculous.”

“And yet one really does feel there would be a certain impropriety in using your Christian name. One feels quite uncomfortable at the prospect. Perhaps in the spirit of egalitarianism, as a personal favor if one may be so bold, ‘Mr. Cutter’ might be used instead?”

I sighed. “Oh, all right.”

An hour or two later, Teru said, “How much longer are you going to let us hang around?”

“Until the Scotch is gone, I guess.”

“You know what I mean.”

I nodded. “As far as I’m concerned you can stay indefinitely. It depends on who gets the property. Maybe you can work something out with them.”

“You’re really sure that’s what you want to do?”

“I already explained that. There’s no other choice. It’s too much money. People would notice. They’d find out where I got it and hate Haley for marrying me. I won’t let that happen.”

“Haley wouldn’t mind.”

I looked at Teru. “I’d mind.”

He finished off his drink, then poured himself another. He said, “How are you going to get rid of the estate without people knowing?”

“I asked that New York lawyer to handle the arrangements. Give the money to an orphan.”

“What about her other houses? You gonna sell them, too?”

“I am.”

“What about her cars? The helicopter? The jets?”

“The limo was mine already. I’ll get rid of the rest.”

“Seriously?” said Teru. “You’re seriously going to just give it all away?”

Simon interrupted. “Perhaps one should not inquire too closely about Mr. Cutter’s plans.”

Teru drew himself up a bit and said, “Sorry.”

“Look,” I said, “it’s going to be a good thing. Just today I was thinking about all the people the Salvation Army helps. Simon, you gave the sunroom furniture to them because you thought Haley would have wanted you to, right?”

“That is correct,” replied Simon. “Miss Haley often offered them support.”

I nodded, staring down into my glass. “So I was thinking…maybe the Salvation Army. For the furniture and little things like that.”

Eventually the Scotch was gone, and everything we could think to say had been said several times.

Simon stood up and said to Teru, “We should let him rest.”

“You going to be able to sleep?” Teru asked me, slurring just a little.

“I’m going to try,” I said.

“I will be in my quarters if you desire some company,” said Simon. “Please call me at any time.”

“Or we could stay with you here tonight,” said Teru. “I could take the couch.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Thanks, but I’m okay.”

They walked together to the door. Simon went on out into the night, but Teru paused and looked back. He said, “About Laui Kalay. I know there’s more to the story. Something you’re not telling us.”

I stared at him.

He said, “Well? Isn’t that right?”

I couldn’t answer him, so I said nothing.

Teru smiled and said, “I knew it.” Then he walked out and closed the door.

13

I sat there at the table for a long time, thinking. Earlier in the evening, Simon had said something that reminded me of something else, which I should have already remembered. Only the fact that I might still be a little crazy could explain why it hadn’t come to mind before.

Haley had been working on an idea for a motion picture when she died. It was going to be set in Guatemala, based loosely on some of the stories I had told her of my time down there. I hadn’t been able to discuss much of that time with her, but she had been fascinated by the few details I could reveal. She believed they would make a great beginning for a screenplay. She had planned to produce and direct the film herself, and because she was Haley Lane, she had easily attached some A-list talent. The project had still been mostly in the idea phase, but it was far enough along to issue a press release. She had even mentioned it in an interview with People magazine. And she’d mentioned that the film would be set in Guatemala.

Guatemala. I thought about that for a long time, finishing the single malt, and then I went into the bedroom, stripped down to my underwear, and got in bed.

It was a funny thing. On every other night since my release from the hospital, I had welcomed the escape of sleep, but that night, even after all the Scotch, sleep wouldn’t come. I lay awake, my thoughts swinging relentlessly back and forth between memories of Haley and memories of my encounter with Castro earlier that day. I had nearly murdered the man for disrespecting her, but I knew if I had done that, nothing could have been more disrespectful to her.

I got up and went to the bookcase in the living room. I pulled a Graham Greene novel from the shelf, then got back into bed. I read the opening paragraph three times and still had no idea what it said. I put the novel on the bedside table and turned off the light.

Lying there alone in bed, I stared into the darkness and thought of Haley examining my hand on the night she had proposed to me. Stroking my hand, talking about how strong and hard it was. We were over in the mansion. She had dismissed Simon for the evening, and we were alone, drinking a very good pinot and listening to Diana Krall and cuddling on a sofa in a room lit only by the flames in the fireplace.

“Where did this one come from?” she had asked, touching the scar below my thumb.

“A jealous husband in Manila,” I said.

She giggled, then replied, “No, seriously.”

“Well, let’s see. That one was a piece of rock that got chipped off when a round hit a wall I was standing beside in Iraq.”

She pushed my shirtsleeve farther up, then touched the scar on my forearm. “And this one?”

“Same thing.”

“How about this?” She traced her finger over the short white line along my neck.

“That was a bullet in a battle in a place I can’t mention.”

“Oh, so you’re a mystery man, eh? Do you have any more?”

“I do. But they’re in other places I can’t mention.”

“Private places?”

“Very.”

“Can I see them when we’re married?”

I pulled away and looked at her. “What?”

“Marry me,” she said. “Stay with me forever.”

I touched her face. I said, “Haley…”

“Oh no,” she said. “I’m sorry. Forget I said that.”

“Haley.”

“It’s the wine talking. The fire. The music. I’m really sorry. Have I ruined things?”