The Viper

“Plus chestnuts and sausage,” replied Madeleine happily. “Shall we go into the house? Everything will be ready soon.”

The cherrywood fire that Gurney had started an hour earlier was blazing in the stone fireplace. Cheeses, olives, and glasses of cider were laid out on the coffee table in front of the hearth. Madeleine headed for the kitchen end of the big open room to check the stove, while the others took seats around the coffee table. Kim pointed to a crystal vase of beige hydrangeas on the mantel.

“Are they real?”

Madeleine answered from the kitchen. “Real, but dried out. When I cut them from the bushes by the pond, they were pink. When they dry out they lose their color, but the petals last for months.”

“Lovely,” said Kim with fading interest.

Kyle was gazing up at the mantel. Next to the hydrangeas, there was a photograph of the house in the state of neglect when Dave and Madeleine purchased it.

“You look deep in thought,” said Gurney.

“The photo up there just reminded me—I brought something for you. It’s in the car. I’ll be right back.” He went out through the French doors, which had been left open to let in the soft Indian summer air.

Gerry Mirkle, whose expression suggested an attitude of mild amusement, leaned over the table and cut herself a small wedge of Irish cheddar.

Kim was leaning back in her chair, holding her cider glass in front of her chin with both hands. She was studying Gurney’s face. “You haven’t changed. Not even a little.”

But you have, he thought, without replying.

“Murder cases must be your fountain of youth.”

Again, he said nothing.

“Considering what happened on Blackmore Mountain and the awful way the media are treating it, I expected you to be radiating anger, tension, something. But I don’t see anything at all.” Her quizzical tone turned her comment into a request for an explanation. Even if he had one ready, he wouldn’t have been moved to provide it. He responded only with a shrug and a vague smile.

The awkward silence that followed was interrupted by Kyle’s return. Smiling, he handed Gurney a flat gift-wrapped box.

“For you.”

Gurney was surprised and mildly baffled. “Thank you.”

“Before Mom moved to her new condo, she was clearing out some old stuff, and she told me to take whatever I wanted. I found two old photos that I really liked, especially side by side.”

Undoing the wrapping paper, Gurney found a double picture frame, the two sides hinged together. The photo on the left was of his own father, shockingly young, smiling, with a toddler, also smiling, on his shoulders. It took Gurney a couple of seconds to realize the toddler was himself.

“I think your mother gave that to Mom ages ago,” said Kyle, “when you and Mom were still married.”

Gurney’s attention moved to the photo on the right. It was of himself in his mid-twenties, and there was a little boy on his shoulders. The little boy was Kyle.

“It’s a long time since I’ve seen these pictures.” He felt the pressure of a nameless emotion in his chest. “I think maybe . . . maybe we can put this right up here.” He got out of his chair and placed the hinged frame on the mantel, angling the sides carefully to avoid glare from the nearby window.

“Thank you,” he said again, at a loss for what else to say. An open expression of feelings, especially strong ones, never came naturally to him.

“Turkey time!”

Madeleine’s cheery announcement from the kitchen end of the room dissipated the odd mood created by the photographs, and everyone headed enthusiastically for the dinner table.

49

“I WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE ALPACAS,” SAID Gerry Mirkle, as Madeleine was passing her a dish of cranberry sauce.

“The most important thing about them is the hardest to describe. It’s the expression in their eyes. It’s like they’re sizing you up, but in a friendly way. I can’t wait for them to arrive.”

“Do you have names for them?”

“I want to wait until they’re here, so I can match the names to their personalities.”

Gerry glanced over at Kim. “How about you—any favorite pets?”

Kim wrinkled up her nose, as though she’d been asked if she was fond of any unpleasant odors. “Only a least favorite. When I was little, my father had an iguana. Horrible thing.” She punctuated the statement with a little shudder.

“No furry friends in your life?”

“Investigative reporting doesn’t leave a lot of time for dog-walking.”

“Sounds like the kind of work that could take over your life.”

“Only if you love it.”

“And you do?”

“Absolutely.”

“What’s the best thing about it?”

“Ripping the mask off a creep who’s pretending to be what he’s not.”

Kyle spoke up for the first time at the table. “Exposing the bad guys—that’s what you do, Dad, just from a different angle, right?”