Chapter 11: Retired

"Say something rude," I said again. "Something you would've said before you knew I could see."

The stars in his face turned slowly.

"Your hair," Ambrose said, "looks like a bird tried to live in it."

I burst out laughing.

It came out of me in a hiccup, then a roar.

I bent over with my hands on my knees in the wet grass.

"There he is," I said. "Rude and rich."

"I have been both for a very long time."

"Don't leave the lawn."

"I will not."

"I mean it. If I look up and you're on the roof again, I'll throw a shoe."

"Understood."

I straightened.

My heart was still pounding, but it had changed its tune.

"Okay," I said. "I'm scared of you."

"Yes."

"I'm also not going anywhere."

The whole night seemed to draw in a breath around him.

"Winnie..." he began.

Headlights swept the oak tree.

Four black vans rolled up the drive in the gray dawn.

Men poured out of them in dark jackets, sixteen at least.

They carried long silver rods and folded nets with metal weights in the corners.

The deputy walked at the head of them, holding the clipboard.

Mr. Roake stepped out of the last van in a perfect navy coat.

He smiled when he saw the two of us under the tree.

"Miss Garrick," he called. "I'm sorry to see you haven't signed."

"I'm sorry to see you're up so early."

"The incident was logged at 6:14 last evening. Under the terms of the Trust, the household is retired at dawn."

"Retired means what?"

"Sedated, sealed and declared incapacitated," Mr. Roake said, pleasantly. "A very comfortable wing. Permanent."

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