Fixed in Fear Read Free Page B

a bottle of cold water from the minifridge behind his desk and carried it to his friend.
    Larry stared straight ahead. “Carlton Smydon is dead.”
    It took Mort a moment to place the name. “Your uncle? I guess I should say Helen’s uncle. Is that who you mean?”
    “I had dinner with him last week.” Larry pulled the bottle of water from Mort’s hand and unscrewed the cap. “The man knew enough about world religions to sit on the faculty of any university. We spent the evening discussing how the various sects of Shinto view communal responsibility.” Larry’s voice sounded distant, as if he was focused on a memory he wanted to trace before it disappeared. “There were times I heard the lilt of Helen’s voice in him. After all these years.”
    Mort let him linger in the moment. Their friendship had begun with a mutual passion for
New York Times
crossword puzzles and grew over two decades. They’d celebrated and shared successes and acted as each other’s confidant and adviser during troubling times. But despite the challenges and joys, it was the shared experience of widowhood that bonded them as brothers.
    “Was it a heart attack?” Mort asked. “He wasn’t much older than you, was he?”
    Larry stayed in that faraway place. “Carlton was only ten years older than Helen. She would have been fifty this year.” A smile came to him. “Imagine that. Helen at fifty. I wonder how the years would have changed her. My hunch is her eyes would still flash with that mischievous dare that was always twinkling in them.” He looked up toward his friend. “She’s been dead as long as she was alive. That hardly seems possible.”
    Mort nodded. Larry was respected around the world for his writings. He advised kings and presidents. He attended Hollywood premieres, royal weddings, and had the pope’s personal cellphone number listed in his contacts as “Yeah, That Guy.” But Mort knew Larry would trade it all in a heartbeat to have the lifetime of memories Mort had shared with Edie. “How’d he die, Larry? When?”
    Larry blinked his eyes rapidly, as though forcing himself into the present moment. “Yesterday. Or maybe Saturday. The bodies were found Sunday morning. That sweat lodge mayhem in Enumclaw. I read about it in the paper, of course, but I had no idea Carlton…” Larry drifted away again. “There was a fire. All of them dead…burned. The news reports say it’s being handled as a mass murder. Abraham called me this morning. Apparently the authorities contacted him looking to verify identification.”
    “Abraham Smydon has never been one of your favorite people.”
    Larry shrugged. “He was Helen’s father. Pissed beyond description when his darling daughter announced she’d fallen in love with a lowly assistant professor. He never forgave me for proposing marriage.” The black man’s face hardened. “And I suppose I’ve never forgiven him for insisting Helen be at that damned blowout he had for his fiftieth. If she hadn’t gone she…she might…”
    Mort didn’t need him to finish his thought. He knew the history. Helen had kissed her young husband goodbye and boarded a ferry to Orcas Island twenty-five years ago to attend the weekend celebration of her father’s birthday. That was the last time he saw her alive.
    All those years ago Abraham had asked his secretary to call Larry to tell him Helen had been killed.
    This time was different. Abraham called personally, asking Larry to tend to his murdered brother.
    “From what I’ve read, those bodies were badly burned,” Mort said. “What led anyone to think Carlton was there?”
    Larry took a sip of water. “He was registered at the lodge. He’d signed up for the activity. Carlton was spiritually hungry. He traveled nonstop seeking experiences he thought might get him closer to the Ultimate.”
    Mort knew that appetite was what connected Carlton to Larry. “How’s Abraham doing?”
    “He’s seventy-five. Strong as a moose and still