Chapter 4: The Offer

Clifford's workshop sat behind the carriage house, a long shed that smelled of machine oil and pipe tobacco.

He was bent over a bench with a clock movement in pieces under a lamp.

He didn't look up when I came in.

"You're early," he said. "Shut the door, please. The draft gets into the springs."

I shut it.

"Clifford, you put two million dollars in my account."

"Did I?" He picked up a tiny screw with tweezers. "How nice of me."

"I didn't ask for it. Meredith has a form with my signature on it that says I did."

"Forgery's a terrible thing," he said mildly. "Sit down, Floyd."

I stayed standing.

"Why did you tell me to sign yesterday?"

"Because you'd have said no, and then my son would have dragged it out for a year."

He set the tweezers down and finally looked at me.

His blue eyes were bright, and under them the skin was the color of paper.

"Keep the money or burn it," he said. "It's a retainer. I'd like to hire you."

"For what?"

"To drive me. And to stand next to me when my son and grandson come to visit."

I almost laughed.

"You have a driver."

"I have a very old man with a bad hip who mostly sleeps in the Buick." He smiled. "I need someone who doesn't work for Gerald."

"Gerald signed my eviction notice at seven this morning."

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