Susan bent closer. “What, darling?”

“Is it dark yet?”

“Yes.”

“Want you to go see…”

“Matt?”

He nodded. “Tell him…I said for you to be told everything. Ask him if he…knows Father Callahan. He’ll understand.”

“Okay,” Susan said. “I’ll give him the message. You sleep now. Sleep well, Ben.”

“’Kay. Love you.” He muttered something else, twice, and then his eyes closed. His breathing deepened.

“What did he say?” the doctor asked.

Susan was frowning. “It sounded like ‘Lock the windows,’” she said.

THREE

Eva Miller and Weasel Craig were in the waiting room when she went back to get her coat. Eva was wearing an old fall coat with a rusty fur collar, obviously kept for best, and Weasel was floating in an outsized motorcycle jacket. Susan warmed at the sight of both of them.

“How is he?” Eva asked.

“Going to be all right, I think.” She repeated the doctor’s diagnosis, and Eva’s face relaxed.

“I’m so glad. Mr Mears seems like a very nice man. Nothing like this has ever happened at my place. And Parkins Gillespie had to lock Floyd up in the drunk tank. He didn’t act drunk, though. Just sort of…dopey and confused.”

Susan shook her head. “It doesn’t sound like Floyd at all.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Ben’s a lovely fella,” Weasel said, and patted Susan’s hand. “He’ll be up and about in no time. You wait and see.”

“I’m sure he will be,” Susan said, and squeezed his hand in both of hers. “Eva, isn’t Father Callahan the priest at St Andrew’s?”

“Yes, why?”

“Oh…curious. Listen, thank you both for coming. If you could come back tomorrow—”

“We’ll do that,” Weasel said. “Sure we will, won’t we, Eva?” He slipped an arm about her waist. It was a long reach, but he got there eventually.

“Yes, we will.”

Susan walked out to the parking lot with them and then drove back to Jerusalem’s Lot.

FOUR

Matt did not answer at her knock or yell Come in!as he usually did. Instead, a very careful voice which she hardly recognized said, “Who is it?” very quietly from the other side.

“Susie Norton, Mr Burke.”

He opened the door and she felt real shock at the change in him. He looked old and haggard. A moment after that, she saw that he was wearing a heavy gold crucifix. There was something so strange and ludicrous about that ornate five-and-dime corpus lying against his checked flannel shirt that she almost laughed—but didn’t.

“Come in. Where’s Ben?”

She told him and his face grew long. “So Floyd Tibbits of all people decides to play wronged lover, is that it? Well, it couldn’t have happened at a more inopportune time. Mike Ryerson was brought back from Portland late this afternoon for burial preparations at Foreman’s. And I suppose our trip up to the Marsten House will have to be put off—”

“What trip? What’s this about Mike?”

“Would you like coffee?” he asked absently.

“No. I want to find out what’s going on. Ben said you know.”

“That,” he said, “is a very tall order. Easy for Ben to say I’m to tell you everything. Harder to do. But I will try.”

“What—”

He held up one hand. “One thing first, Susan. You and your mother went down to the new shop the other day.”

Susan’s brow furrowed. “Sure. Why?”

“Can you give me your impressions of the place, and more specifically, of the man who runs it?”

“Mr Straker?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he’s quite charming,” she said. “Courtly might be an even better word. He complimented Glynis Mayberry on her dress and she blushed like a schoolgirl. And asked Mrs Boddin about the bandage on her arm…she spilled some hot fat on it, you know. He gave her a recipe for a poultice. Wrote it right down. And when Mabel came in…” She laughed a bit at the memory.

“Yes?”

“He got her a chair,” Susan said. “Not a chair, actually, but a chair. More like a throne. A great carved mahogany thing. He brought it out of the back room all by himself, smiling and chatting with the other ladies all the time. But it must have weighed at least three hundred pounds. He plonked it down in the middle of the floor and escorted Mabel to it. Took her arm, you know. And she was giggling. If you’ve seen Mabel giggling, you’ve seen everything. And he served coffee. Very strong but very good.”

“Did you like him?” Matt asked, watching her closely.

“This is all a part of it, isn’t it?” she asked.

“It might be, yes.”

“All right, then. I’ll give you a woman’s reaction. I did and I didn’t. I was attracted to him in a mildly sexual way, I guess. Older man, very urbane, very charming, very courtly. You know looking at him that he could order from a French menu and know what wine would go with what, not just red or white but the year and even the vineyard. Very definitely not the run of fellow you see around here. But not effeminate in the least. Lithe, like a dancer. And of course there’s something attractive about a man who is so unabashedly bald.” She smiled a little defensively, knowing there was color in her cheeks, wondering if she had said more than she intended.

“But then you didn’t,” Matt said.

She shrugged. “That’s harder to put my finger on. I think…I think I sensed a certain contempt under the surface. A cynicism. As if he were playing a certain part, and playing it well, but as if he knew he wouldn’t have to pull out all the stops to fool us. A touch of condescension.” She looked at him uncertainly. “And there seemed to be something a little bit cruel about him. I don’t really know why.”

“Did anyone buy anything?”

“Not much, but he didn’t seem to mind. Mom bought a little knick-knack shelf from Yugoslavia, and that Mrs Petrie bought a lovely little drop-leaf table, but that was all I saw. He didn’t seem to mind. Just urged people to tell their friends he was open, to come back by and not be strangers. Very Old World charming.”

“And do you think people were charmed?”

“By and large, yes,” Susan said, mentally comparing her mother’s enthusiastic impression of R.T. Straker to her immediate dislike of Ben.

“You didn’t see his partner?”

“Mr Barlow? No, he’s in New York, on a buying trip.”

“Is he?” Matt said, speaking to himself. “I wonder. The elusive Mr Barlow.”

“Mr Burke, don’t you think you better tell me what all this is about?”

He sighed heavily.

“I suppose I must try. What you’ve just told me is disturbing. Very disturbing. It all fits so well…”

“What? What does?”

“I have to start,” he began, “with meeting Mike Ryerson in Dell’s tavern last night…which already seems a century ago.”

FIVE

It was twenty after eight by the time he had finished, and they had both drunk two cups of coffee.

“I believe that’s everything,” Matt said. “And now shall I do my Napoleon imitation? Tell you about my astral conversations with Toulouse-Lautrec?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “There’s something going on, but not what you think. You must knowthat.”

“I did until last night.”

“If no one has it in for you, as Ben suggested, then maybe Mike did it himself. In a delirium or something.” That sounded thin, but she pushed ahead anyway. “Or maybe you fell asleep without knowing and dreamed the whole thing. I’ve dozed off without knowing it before and lost a whole fifteen or twenty minutes.”

He shrugged tiredly. “How does a person defend testimony no rational mind will accept at face value? I heard what I heard. I was not asleep. And something has me worried…rather badly worried. According to the old literature, a vampire cannot simply walk into a man’s house and suck his blood. No. He has to be invited. But Mike Ryerson invited Danny Glick in last night. And I invited Mike myself!”

“Matt, has Ben told you about his new book?”