Under the Lake Read Free Page B

because of whom he had married. He reached the table, and a black waiter was there to hold his chair.
    Denham White was dressed in a gray three-piece suit that said “successful lawyer.” Howell knew that Denham was dressed by Ham Stockton, the city’s premier clothier, who each year chose for him a range of suits, shirts, and ties in basic hues of blue and gray that were entirely compatible. All Denham had to do was to choose any suit, any shirt, and any necktie, in the certain knowledge that they would complement each other beautifully. He could do it with his eyes closed, and he probably did. Denham had already started on the bread. “Well?” he asked, his mouth full.
    “Well, what?”
    Denham waved at a waiter and ordered them both a martini. “Are you going to do it?”
    “You mean you knew what Pitts wanted? And you set me up for that?”
    “I only had an inkling. Did he offer you sixty grand?”
    “How did you know that?”
    “It’s what you made on the book, isn’t it?”
    “You sonofabitch. If you knew he was going to offer me what I made on the book, why didn’t you tell me? I would have told him I made a hundred thousand on the book.”
    Denham spread his hands. “John, the man is my client, after all. He pays me a hundred and fifty bucks an hour to look after his interests.”
    “I’m your client, too.”
    “Yeah, but you’re family; you don’t pay. Anyway, where else are you going to make sixty grand in three months? Since this is on the quiet, I can probably get him to pay you in cash. He deals a lot in cash.”
    “So now my lawyer is advising me to evade income tax?”
    “I’m giving you no such advice, boy, I just thought you might find cash more . . . convenient.”
    A waiter brought menus. “How come you’re being so nice to me, Denham?” Howell asked. “I’m not exactly your favorite brother-in-law.”
    “Sure you are. You’re my only brother-in-law. Oh, come on, John, you know I’ve always liked you. It’s made me sad to see you screwing up your life the way you have. You had such a flying start.”
    “Screwing up my life, huh? I’m doing what I want to do, buddy. How many people you know do that?”
    “Almost none, granted, but you’re making my sister unhappy, sport, and I can’t have that, not if I can help it.” Denham was looking serious now.
    “And you think my earning a few bucks might fix things up at home, huh?”
    Denham looked away from him. “I think your earning a few bucks somewhere else might give you both a breathing spell to figure things out,” he said uncomfortably.
    Howell looked at him, surprised. “Somewhere else?”
    “Well, you don’t seem to get a hell of a lot done over that garage, do you? What you need is someplace quiet, out of the way, a place with no distractions.” Lunch arrived.
    Howell swallowed an oyster. “I have a feeling you have some place in mind.”
    Denham fished a key out of a vest pocket and slid it across the tablecloth. “How about a cabin in the mountains? Nice view over the lake, total privacy, a writer’s paradise.”
    “I didn’t know you had a cabin in the mountains.”
    “Well, ‘cabin’ may be stretching it a bit. ‘Shack’ might fit better.” Denham leaned back from his oysters and assumed a faraway expression. “It’s up on Lake Sutherland; you know it?”
    “No.”
    “Up in the very prettiest part of the north Georgia mountains. A local power company built it after World War Two; they didn’t sell any of the lakefront lots. Instead, they leased them out to friends and other suitables, cheap, on long leases. Kept out the riffraff. I got a lot for a hundred years at ten bucks a year back when I was in law school. My old man knew Eric Sutherland, who built the dam and modestly named both the lake and the town next to it after himself.”
    “Ten bucks a year? Not bad.”
    “You know it. I’d go up there on weekends and buy aload of green lumber at a sawmill and have it delivered to a