Gaines told them he had come to visit with Mr. Wade, and yet they did not ask which one. Gaines was shown into a small library to the right of the reception hall, and here he waited for Matthias Wade to appear.

He waited a good fifteen minutes, and then the door opened, and through that door—pushed in a bamboo and wicker wheelchair—came Earl Wade, smartly dressed, a cream-colored three-piece suit, an open-necked shirt with a neatly tied cravat, the expression on his face one of curiosity, interest, a slight degree of concern, perhaps.

Gaines rose from where he had been seated.

Earl Wade, all of seventy-six years old, smiled at Gaines and said, “Excuse me, sir, for not rising to greet you, but my legs refuse to cooperate this morning.”

Gaines walked toward him, extended his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wade.”

They shook. Wade’s grip was firm and resolute.

“They came and told me a sheriff was here, someone asking for Mr. Wade. I imagine you came to visit with Matthias, but Matthias is not here.”

“I did come to see Matthias, sir, but I do appreciate your courtesy.”

“Well, I understand that he will not be long, that he is attending to some small matter at one of the factories. Meanwhile, you and I shall keep company, and he will be here momentarily.”

Wade turned to the elderly woman who had pushed him into the room. “I will have tea, Martha,” he said. He turned back to Gaines. “Coffee, Sheriff, or will you join me in some tea?”

“Tea would be fine,” Gaines said.

“Tea, Martha, for two, and I will have lemon.”

Martha acknowledged the request and left the room.

Gaines watched the old man. He was smiling, but not at Gaines. His attention was directed toward something in the middle of the room, though Gaines could not determine what he might have been looking at.

For a short while, it was as if Gaines were not there at all.

“There are moments, are there not?” Earl Wade said, and yet he did not turn his attention to Gaines until he had asked the question.

“Moments, sir?”

Wade smiled. “I remember when we had dinner with Ron Richardson. You remember that?”

Gaines opened his mouth to speak, to suggest that Wade might have mistaken Gaines for someone else, but Wade went on as if Gaines were not present.

“He was a drinker, no question about it. Never known a man who could drink so much and still stand up.” Wade laughed. “Remember what he said about his wife? Said she set a mattress down on the garage floor for when he stumbled home drunk. She didn’t want to be woken by his noise or his stink or his crude advances. ‘Need my beauty sleep.’ That’s what she said. ‘Hell,’ Ron said, ‘she could sleep straight through till Judgment Day; ain’t gonna make a mite of difference.’ You remember when he said that?”

Gaines said nothing.

“One time he shot that dog. Shot it clean through the head. Thought it was deer, he said. I asked him how the hell he could mistake a dog for a deer. I mean the damn thing was some sort of spaniel, some sort of little thing, you know? ‘I was drunk,’ he said. ‘I was just drunk.’ ‘And that’s your get-out clause?’ I asked him. ‘You were drunk?’ ”

Wade’s laughter at this recollection was interrupted only by Martha returning with tea. She served them both without a word, and then she left the room and silently closed the door behind her.

“Matthias isn’t here?” Wade said.

“So I understand,” Gaines said.

“I don’t know where he is and I don’t know what he’s doing. That boy is a law unto himself. All of them are. Useless, the lot of them. Useless children.”

“I think he is attending to some business matters at one of the factories,” Gaines said.

“Yes, I think you’re right, sir,” Wade replied. “And what has he done now? Is he in trouble with the law again?”

“Again?”

“Oh, you know Matthias. He’s always in some sort of difficulty, always having to explain his way out of some hole he’s dug for himself. Only two weeks ago he decided it would be a good idea to urinate in the fish pond. I mean, seriously, what possible purpose could be served by urinating on the fish? Unfortunately, his mother has banned me from beating him.”

Earl Wade sipped his tea. His attention drifted again.

Gaines’s attention was distracted by the sound of footsteps above their heads.

“Do you have cigarettes?” Wade suddenly asked.

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Oh, let me have one. They don’t let me have cigarettes anymore. Treat me like a goddamned child.”

Gaines fetched the packet out from his shirt pocket. Wade took the cigarette excitedly, his hands trembling as Gaines lit it for him, and then he greedily inhaled, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

Wade turned back to Gaines, but his eyes were closed. “It is a sad state of affairs when you start to despise your own children,” he said. His voice was measured and precise, as if he were giving a sworn statement. “Matthias is a son of a bitch; Della is a whore, Eugene is a churchgoing Bible-quoting queer who thinks he can sing, and Catherine thinks she’s too damned good to have anything to do with us anymore. I hate them all.”

Wade took another draw on the cigarette and smiled. “A bastard, a whore, a queer, and a bitch. Those are the fruits of my loins. They say that friends are the family you choose. If I had the choice, I’d see all of them off with nothing, and I’d give all my money to my friends.”

“Marvin Wallace,” Gaines said. “He is one of your friends, isn’t he?”

“Marvin. Marvin Wallace. Yes, Marvin Wallace is a good man. Marvin sorted out that terrible business, you know?”

“Terrible business?”

Wade reached for his tea. It seemed for a moment that the cup would slip from his fingers, but he regained control of it.

“What terrible business, Mr. Wade?”

“My wife was beautiful, you know?” Wade said. “Did you ever meet my wife?”

“No, sir, I didn’t.” Gaines edged forward on his chair. He wanted to rewind the conversation before it drifted even further. “I was wondering what you meant when you said that Marvin Wallace helped you sort out some terrible business.”

“Yes, he did, God bless him. Lillian never really liked Marvin, you know, but then a man’s friends and a man’s family are better kept apart, wouldn’t you say?”

“Lillian was your wife—”

“Lillian is my wife, yes. She’s been gone for quite a while now, and I don’t know what she thinks she’s doing. She was supposed to be back hours ago.” Wade dropped the smoked cigarette into his teacup and asked for another.

Gaines gave it to him, helped him light it.

“You, sir, will be in the deepest trouble imaginable when they find out that you have been giving me cigarettes.”

“I think they might have more serious things to concern themselves with, sir.”

“Serious, yes. Why do they always have to be so serious? When did everyone become so damned serious?”

Gaines hesitated. He let Wade’s words hang in the air for moment, and then he said, “Marvin Wallace said that there was some trouble that needed sorting out.”

“Marvin Wallace needs to learn how to keep his mouth damned well shut. Man needs to get some backbone.”

“He’s been saying things, you understand.”

Wade frowned, leaned forward out of the chair. “There are things that you talk about and things that you don’t. Marvin Wallace needs to learn the difference, or we’re all going to pay the price.”

Gaines didn’t understand what was happening. It was like listening to Webster again. What was Wade talking about? Pay the price for what?

Gaines knew there was no way to force Wade to speak, but questions—gently directed questions—could perhaps prompt him to say more.

“Wallace said that Matthias—”

“You spoke to Wallace?” Wade asked suddenly.

“Yes, I did.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“Did you go and see him, or did he come to you?”