A Dance at the Slaughterhouse Read Online Free Page A

prefers men. Sexually. And dislikes openly gay men because he fears we're sisters under the skin."
    THE waitress came over and poured me more coffee. She asked Warriner if he wanted more hot water for his tea. He told her he would indeed like more hot water, and a fresh tea bag to go with it.
    "A pet peeve," he told me. "Coffee drinkers get free refills. Tea drinkers get free hot water, but if you want another tea bag they charge you for a second cup. Tea costs them less than coffee anyway." He sighed. "If I were a lawyer," he said, "I might mount a class-action suit. I'm joking, of course, but somewhere in our litigious society, someone is probably doing just that."
    "I wouldn't be surprised."
    "She was pregnant, you know. Almost two months. She'd been to the doctor."
    "It was in the papers."
    "She's my only sibling. So the bloodline dies out when I go. I keep thinking that should trouble me, but I don't know that it does. What does trouble me is the idea of Amanda dying at the hands of her husband, and of him getting away with it. And of not knowing for sure. If I knew for sure-"
    "What?"
    "It would trouble me less."
    The waitress brought his tea. He dunked the fresh tea bag. I asked him what might have motivated Thurman to kill Amanda.
    "Money," he said. "She had some."
    "How much?"
    "Our father made a lot of money. In real estate. Mother found ways to piss away a good deal of it, but there was still some left when she died."
    "When was that?"
    "Eight years ago. When the will cleared probate Amanda and I each inherited slightly in excess of six hundred thousand dollars. I rather doubt that she spent it all."
    BY the time we were through it was getting close to five o'clock and the bar business was beginning to pick up as the first of the Happy Hour set arrived. I had filled several pages in my pocket notebook and had begun turning down coffee refills. Lyman Warriner had switched from tea to beer and was halfway through a tall glass of Prior dark.
    It was time to set a fee, and as always I didn't know how much to ask for. I gathered that he could afford whatever I charged him but that didn't really enter into my calculations. The number I settled on was $2500, and he didn't ask me how I'd arrived there, just took out a checkbook and uncapped a fountain pen. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen one.
    He said, "Matthew Scudder? Two t's, two d's?" I nodded and he wrote out the check and waved it to dry the ink. I told him that he might have a refund coming if things went faster than I expected, or that I might ask for more money if it seemed appropriate. He nodded. He didn't seem terribly concerned about this.
    I took the check, and he said, "I just want to know, that's all."
    "That might be the most you can hope for. Finding out that he did it and turning up something that'll stand up in court are two different things. You could wind up with your suspicions confirmed and your brother-in-law still getting away with it."
    "You don't have to prove anything to a jury, Matthew. Just prove it to me."
    I didn't feel that I could let that go. I said, "It sounds as though you're thinking of taking matters into your own hands."
    "I've already done that, haven't I? Hiring a private detective. Not letting matters take their own course, not allowing the mills of God to grind in their traditionally slow fashion."
    "I wouldn't want to be part of something that winds up with you on trial for Richard Thurman's murder."
    He was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I won't pretend it hasn't occurred to me. But I honestly don't think I would do it. I don't think it's my style."
    "That's just as well."
    "Is it? I wonder." He motioned for the waitress, gave her twenty dollars and waved away change. Our check couldn't have come to more than a quarter of that, but we'd taken up a table for three hours. He said, "If he killed her, he was exceedingly stupid."
    "Murder is always stupid."
    "Do you really think so? I'm not sure I agree, but you're