The 56th Man Read Free Page A

responded
with a muted, hollow echo. He was drawn to a humming sound from
behind a pinewood door. Opening it, he discovered a water heater,
its PVC piping disappearing into the wall. There was also a washer
and dryer.
    Returning to the center of the basement, he
reflected on its emptiness. This must have been the rec room. Four
indentations in the tiles suggested a pool table. Perhaps there had
been a dart board at that wood-pasted hole in the walnut paneling.
This would have been an ideal place for children during winter
days, isolated as it was from the rest of the house, from
parents.
    He found the stairs. Swinging open the door
at the top, he found himself in a short hall leading to the
kitchen. The stove was set against the wall, underneath a row of
cabinets. Pots and cooking utensils dangled from a wide brass ring
overhead. Plastic shopping bags were strewn across the counter. Ari
glanced into several of them, frowned, then turned his back on the
counter. He opened the refrigerator. The top shelf was stocked, the
lower shelves were empty.
    He toured the rest of the first floor. No
carpets, not a single stick of furniture beyond the kitchen’s small
round table and its two ladderback chairs. Nothing but dark olive
window curtains to absorb the hollow echoes of his footsteps. In
the front room he pulled back the curtain on the picture window for
an unobstructed view of the gazebo and the river.
    Upstairs was a little more interesting. The
bedrooms were without beds, but there was a computer in what Ari
presumed had been the home office, or perhaps some kind of studio.
Although the windows here were covered with the same thick fabric,
a skylight removed the somber darkness. The computer table and
chair was the only furniture he had seen outside the kitchen. A
cable ran from the wall to the mini tower. Nothing wireless. He sat
in the chair and switched on the computer. It booted up quickly,
opening onto a screen requesting the user name and password. Ari
took out his wallet and removed a slip of paper. He studied the
paper, brooded a moment, then returned it to the wallet. He
switched off the computer.
    A closet in the upstairs hall contained
towels and wash cloths. In the bathroom was a bottle of shampoo, a
can of shaving cream, a disposable razor and a bar of soap still in
its wrapper.
    He was back downstairs, looking out the
picture window, when he heard a car door slam shut. Leaning
forward, he could just make out the road and the entrance to the
driveway. A police cruiser had pulled up behind his Scion. An
officer had gotten out on the passenger side and was approaching
the box-shaped car. He peered inside. Ari clearly heard his
one-word shout:
    "Suitcase!"
    The driver of the prowl car got out and
looked up at the house. Ari did not move away from the window. He
was certain he could not be seen from that angle, with the sun
reflecting off the glass. Without thinking, he reached across his
stomach with his right arm and gripped the left side of his belt.
When he noticed what he had done he smiled grimly.
    The driver studied the SOLD sticker, then
said something to his partner, who shrugged and shook his head, Ari
thought, in disgust. He came back to the cruiser and removed a
small wreath from the rear seat. He came around and placed it
against the mailbox post. The driver seemed to find something
aesthetically awkward about the placement and crouched down to
align the two bouquets on either side of the wreath. Then he stood
and returned his gaze up the hill. His partner said something and
he shook his head. Sorrowfully, perhaps.
    Both officers got back into the cruiser.
Slowly, they circled the turnaround and were out of sight as soon
as they passed the driveway.
    Reaching into his pocket, Ari took out a pack
of Winstons. He was about to light up when he remembered there was
no ash tray on the premises. He doubted there ever had been. There
was no hint of tobacco smoke beneath the prevailing atmosphere of
pine-scented