Chapter 9: What She Recorded

Suzette came down the stairs in my shirt and stopped at the bottom step.

Camille stood on the doormat with mascara down to her chin.

"Can I come in?" she asked.

"No," I said. "Say it from there."

She looked at Suzette, and then at the recorder in her hand.

"Preston's study has a locked drawer," she said.

"He keeps scotch in it, and a recorder he thinks I don't know about."

She held up the little black recorder.

"I took it tonight, before the party.

"He tapes every meeting he holds, so he can keep people honest."

"What's on it?"

"Your uncle."

My stomach went tight.

She pressed the button.

The speaker crackled.

Then Desmond's voice came out of it, flat and unmistakable.

"The old man goes to the cemetery every first Tuesday of the month. He sends the car away. He walks to the wall alone."

"And the boy?" That was Preston.

"The boy takes the girl to a place on Walnut Street after a hard day. She likes the window table.

"I will have it reserved for the next one."

"And you want the boy hurt."

"I want the boy gone. A scare will do.

"A scare in public, so the captains watch him run."

"And in return?"

"The chair. The docks. Your father gets the Delaware route, and I get the house."

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