Arkwright Read Free

acquaintance. Instead, the pastor spoke of his novels and stories and how they’d entertained and inspired generations of readers. He said that Nathan had preferred solitude, particularly after his wife, Judith’s, death, but he added that his correspondents had included scientists, authors, astronauts, and celebrities who’d been inspired by his books. He read bits from messages he’d received from famous people: a former NASA chief administrator, an Apollo moonwalker, the actor who’d portrayed Hak Tallus in the Galaxy Patrol movies. He ended the service by reading a passage from Grandpapa’s last novel, Through the Event Horizon —a book that had made the New York Times Best Seller List and stayed there for nearly three months—which once again provoked sighs and tears from the congregation.
    Before the service ended, the pastor announced that a private reception—“for family members and close friends only, please”—would be held at the deceased’s residence. Only those who’d received invitations would be allowed to attend; another reception for members of the public would be held that afternoon at the local library.
    Kate hadn’t received an invitation, so it appeared that she’d be having fruit punch and cookies with Hak Tallus look-alikes if she decided not to drive home at once. The prospect wasn’t particularly appealing. She’d just risen from her seat, though, when Mr. Sterling handed her an engraved invitation. Directions were printed on the back, just in case she’d forgotten how to get there.
    Kate was still indecisive about going to the private reception; it was a three-hour drive from Lenox to Cambridge, probably longer now that it was leaf-peeping season and the Mass Pike was jammed with tour buses. But as she followed Mr. Sterling and the three old people up the aisle, the woman stopped and turned to her.
    â€œYou’re Kate, yes?” She offered a hand. “I’m Margaret Krough, your grandfather’s literary agent.”
    â€œOh, yes.” Kate recognized her name from the acknowledgments pages of Grandpapa’s books. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Krough.”
    â€œMaggie.” A faint, almost enigmatic smile. “This is Harry”—she gestured to the man in the wheelchair—“and George.” The tall man nodded, favoring her with an elfin grin. “Will you be at the reception?”
    â€œUmm…”
    â€œPlease come. I’d like to have a little chat with you.” Maggie turned back to Harry and George, who waited for her with the polite impatience of the elderly. “All right, gentlemen,” she said, “let’s be off.”
    Mr. Sterling continued pushing the wheelchair, but not before Harry raised a gnarled fist. “Forward the Legion!” he exclaimed.
    The others laughed out loud. Kate had no idea what was so funny.

 
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    Nathan Arkwright’s home was located just outside Lenox on a twenty-acre spread at the foot of the mountains. It was a sprawling, single-story manor built in a ’70s-modernistic style that was sort of a cross between traditional New England saltbox and midwestern ranch house, with cedar siding and a steep, slate-shingle roof. Once past a front gate marked with a No Trespassing—Private Property sign, Kate followed the gravel driveway as it wound through maple-shaded meadows glowing with autumn wildflowers until she reached a circular turnaround surrounding an abstract iron sculpture.
    Several cars were already parked off to the side of the driveway, and she’d barely pulled into the turnaround when a valet in a black windbreaker walked out to open the door for her and ask for the keys. She watched her eight-year-old Subaru with missing hubcaps go away to be parked next to a Lexus and a BMW and knew at once that she was the poor relation both literally and figuratively.
    Mr. Sterling had already returned from the