Well Fed - 05 Read Online Free Page B

grabbed if needed.
    Autumn trees crowded the highway’s shoulders, streaking past in a blur of fire.
    On road trips such as these, Gus missed the smell of burning leaves. That took him back to his painting days and a dislike of clearing gutters.
    Cars, trucks, and long-haul trailers littered the road at times, forcing him to slow down and weave through broken mazes. Gus eyed a few cars lying on their sides in ditches. He’d seen similar collections of traffic before, every time he left his home and drove the trusted route down into the city of Annapolis.
    Shadowy, out-of-focus shapes rested behind the steering wheels of some vehicles. Heads gleamed yellow and white, their mouths cracked open in shouts. Some doors hung open, as though the drivers and passengers had abandoned their rides. Ruts and potholes jarred the SUV at times, rudely surprising Gus. Weeds rose through the pavement’s crumbling fissures, their lengths stung by the cold and slumped over at wilting angles.
    Exits for Middleton, Bridgetown, and Annapolis Royal came into view and flashed by. Anita Little had given him clear directions for this mysterious mansion, a remote home that wouldn’t be seen from the highway: “Stay on the 101, and upon your final approach to Digby, about two kilometers beyond an extra passing lane, watch for an ordinary gravel road, one that slinks off into a thick forest, where nothing can be seen beyond.”
    Mortimer.
    Anita, fidgeting in adorable self-consciousness of her gray hair, had told all she knew about the reclusive billionaire, her brown eyes moist and glistening. Once, she’d said, a limo pulled into a gas station just outside of Halifax, and out popped a couple of tanned dishes straight out of a swimwear competition, dressed in micro minis and tight tops—flown up from someplace tropical to Nova Scotia upon the invitation of Warren Mortimer. The driver did his best to corral the women, who might’ve been snorting something at the time, but one told the cashier they were headed to Digby for a private party.
    Word of that episode had gotten to the townspeople of Digby and fueled gossip for a year.
    Otherwise, not much was ever heard of that eccentric man living outside town.
    Hired servants came into Digby on a regular basis, polite, but every bit as elusive as Mortimer. They lived on the hundred or so acres of land Mortimer had purchased around 2004 to 2005. He flew in architects and work crews to build a home to be the envy of the Hamptons, or so a few of those hired hands drunkenly let slip while letting off steam at a local bar. Carpenters, plumbers, electricians and bricklayers, landscapers and gardeners, all had signed contracts swearing them to secrecy regarding the work they did. No one knew what went on there as a security gate, and guards prevented anyone venturing too far along the dirt road leading to the estate. One story told of a young, overly amorous couple actually parking within twenty feet of the checkpoint without knowing it, and flashlights were shined on them at the worst possible time.
    “White ass up and jiggling, I heard,” Anita giggled with a charm that prompted Gus to bare his hockey-player smile.
    Mortimer couldn’t keep out every prying eye in the years following the mansion’s enigmatic construction. Deliveries were made, and the drivers would later talk in local bars. Helicopters and small-engine planes would buzz over the property, and stories of a checkered tablecloth of immaculate greenery and glowing buildings flittered through Digby. Tennis courts, raceways, gardens, waterways, and false lagoons were all tastefully arranged within lines of apple trees and cultivated land.
    No one had ever laid eyes on the man, and with so much open space at his disposal, was it any wonder? Mortimer lived in a world of his own design.
    As time went on, Digby forgot about the man beyond the edge of society.
    Anita herself hadn’t thought about the man in years, until asked.
    Two wrong turnoffs