The Doctor and the Dead Man's Chest Read Online Free Page A

She hesitated, staring out the window behind the little group. “Ah … where was I?”
    â€œHe asked Penn for help,” prompted the dapper man in white ducks.
    â€œOh, yes,” she continued. “Penn promised Jonathan enough land in the colonies to start a farm and raise some cattle. Jonathan jumped at the opportunity and …” She paused again, as if listening for something.
    The group shifted restlessly. Fenimore began to grow nervous for her, as if she were a child in a school play instead of a docent with years of experience guiding historic tours.
    Lydia was pointing out an unusual carving in the moulding of the hallway—a tiny heart left by a German carpenter—when they heard a car drive up, a door slam, and rapid footsteps.
    â€œGrandmother!” A slender girl appeared in the doorway, her blond hair drawn back in a long braid. Close behind her came a blond young man. The girl drew up short. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot.”
    â€œNo, no. That’s quite all right, dear,” Lydia said. “You all know my granddaughter, Susan. And this is her friend, Peter Jordan.”
    The young man smiled briefly.
    Everyone nodded and Susan’s first blush receded. Fenimore caught her eye. His reward was a radiant smile. Good Lord, the last time he had seen Susan, she was a gawky thirteen-year-old.
She had come to Fenimore for a school physical exam. Where were those skinny arms and knobby knees now?
    Fenimore heard Horatio murmur, “Cool.”
    As the young couple made their escape upstairs, Fenimore was shocked by the sullen young man’s expression as he looked after them. If looks could kill … His thoughts were interrupted by the man in the blue blazer who had been eyeing the doctor surreptitiously. He seemed vaguely familiar.
    â€œAndy Fenimore. Penn. Seventy-five!” His face was alight with recognition.
    Fenimore smiled politely.
    â€œYou don’t remember Ol’ ‘Tap-a-Keg’?”
    â€œOhmygod, Percy! What are you doing here?”
    He put his finger to his lips and shook his head. “Not ‘Percy’ down here. I’m the Reverend Osborne and Head at St. Stephen’s, the boys’ academy. If they ever found out my real name, I’d never hear the end of it.”
    â€œWell, what do I call you?”
    â€œOliver.”
    Fenimore laughed.
    â€œI know, it’s not much better, but …”
    â€œBut you used to be much heavier,” Fenimore said, attempting to excuse his failure to recognize him.
    â€œYeah. Overdid the beer. The doctor took me off it and I went down like a balloon. Didn’t take me off Scotch though.” He winked.
    Suddenly, they were both aware of an awkward silence.
    â€œWhen you’re quite finished, we’ll go on with the tour,” Lydia said.
    Feeling like two schoolboys who had been reprimanded, Fenimore and Oliver fell silent and looked attentive.
    Well, well, imagine Ol’ Tap-a-Keg settling down in the boondocks. And a “Reverend” at that. His most vivid memory of Percy—ah—Oliver, was after a football game with Princeton (or was it Yale? One of the big ones). Percy was lying on his back in
the grass at Ben Franklin’s feet, one hand precariously balancing a paper cup full of beer on his ample stomach. Ol’ Tap-a-Keg hadn’t acquired his nickname for nothing.
    Fenimore looked around for Horatio. He was nowhere to be seen.
    As Lydia led them toward the back of the house, they were met by fragrant odors. In the kitchen, a huge table was spread with colonial fare—johnnycake, gingerbread, and corn muffins, with plenty of fresh butter and jam. A large pot of tea steamed beside them with an array of blue and white china cups. Next to the teapot sat Horatio. But he wasn’t serving. He was absorbed in coating a muffin liberally with jam. Presiding over the refreshments was a stout, smiling woman.
    â€œThought you might need