Where Serpents Lie (Revised March 2013) Read Free

on his visor and up went the garage door. We parked inside, next to a Chevy, and the door closed behind us. Coming in from the sharp optics of springtime, it was a little hard to see. In the corner stood a set of golf clubs in a red and white bag with red-knit head covers. Chet had met Danny in the country club bar. There were five large cardboard boxes, neatly stacked beside the clubs. A few garden tools on wall hangers. This garage was not full of junk at all, I thought: the privacy of pulling his car in and out is much too important.
    We went into the house. The living room was newly carpeted in light blue and had plump, oak-accented furniture that was heavy and graceless. The couch was beige. There was a tin vase on the coffee table with silk or paper daisies inside. There were brass-framed prints of flowers on the wall. The wall was papered in wide vertical bands of white with little flowers in it, separated by narrower stripes of dark blue. Homey and trite, cheaply cheerful.

    A sliding glass door opened to a backyard charged with sunlight. A woman with yellow hair and two men reclined on chaise longues with drinks in their hands. A low table beside the woman had bottles and an ice bucket on it. The pool glittered light blue and silver. A woman’s laugh, uncannily piercing, bounced off the water and through the screen door to us. The men chuckled. When Chet slid open the door, all three heads were already turned our way.
    Chet introduced us. Danny, an associate professor of mathematics at a local private college, was fifty and distinguished looking, slender from a diet of cigarettes and gin. He gave no sign of knowing me. Marlon was sad faced, big shouldered and slow. A bright green and yellow Hawaiian shirt with parrots on it hung over him. Late twenties. Beneath his lugubrious eyebrows, his blue eyes were fast and anxious. We didn’t shake hands: sex criminals generally don’t like to touch or be touched by strangers. Neither do I. Caryn was mid-thirties. Her yellow hair was cut big—blown and sprayed back from her face like the Cosmo models of some years ago. She had smooth skin and a receding chin made worse by big teeth. After she smiled she closed her mouth down pretty quick, like her teeth might get away. She was short legged and full in the chest, and all the hair made her look top-heavy. Her voice was a rasp, vaguely southern.
    “Well, nice to finally meet you, Art. Chet here’s been telling me all about you.” Her voice was friendly and open while her dark brown eyes narrowed to study me hard. “Whatcha drinkin’?”
    “Scotch and soda, if you have it.”
    “We can handle that.” She started making the drink. “Chet tells me you’re an investor?”
    “I do have a few investments. Conservative stuff, mostly just mutual funds. Some munis, so long as the Fed rates stay down. Some company stock.”
    “Like it strong?”
    “Please.”
    “She’s going to like you.”
    “I’m still a little—”
    She handed me a clear highball glass with a silhouette of the Manhattan skyline on it.
    “—Drink up, Art. It’s a good way to get yourself comfortable. Drink all you want, just so’s it doesn’t make you mean.”
    “Thanks, Caryn.”
    Her dark little eyes bore into me suddenly. “No rough stuff, Art. I mean none.”
    “Chet told me.”
    “Now I’m telling you again.”
    “That’s not me.”
    Her eyes stayed hard but her teeth escaped into a smile. “I’m not gonna win any mom-of-the-year award, but I keep a close eye on my girl.”
    “That’s the way it should be.”
    “That’s the way it is here.”
    Caryn’s hard gaze dissolved as she looked over at Danny. He nodded and lifted his drink.
    “You know, Art,” she said, “you’re going to have to give me some tips on investing. I want to make some good money. I got to thinking about starting an emu ranch. They’re worth a lot of money. You know, those big birds they got out now?”
    “Steer clear of that, Caryn. It’s more like