“Me, too,” he said, raking his teeth over his lower lip. “Real good day“
“This is Merle Corey. He’s visiting me.”
“Merle Corey,” George repeated, and he stuck out his hand. “Hi, Merle.”
I took it and shook it. It was a little clammy.
“Recognize the name?”
“Uh Merle Corey,” he said again.
“You knew his dad.”
“Yeah? Oh, sure!”
“Sam Corey,” Bill finished, and he shot me a glance over George’s shoulder.
“Sam Corey,” George repeated. “Son of a gun! Good to know you. You going to be here long?”
“A few days, I guess,” I replied. “I didn’t realize you’d known my father.”
“Fine man,” he said. “Where you from?”
“California, but it’s time for a change.”
“Where you headed?”
“Out of the country, actually.”
“Europe?”
“Farther.”
“Sounds great. I’d like to travel sometime.”
“Maybe you will.”
“Maybe. Well, I’Il be moving on. Let you guys enjoy your walk. Nice meeting you, Merle.”
“My pleasure.”
He backed away, waved, turned, and walked off.
I glanced at Bill then and noticed that he was shaking.
“What’s the matter?” I whispered.
“I’ve known that boy all his life,” he said. “Do you think he’s on drugs?”
“Not the kind you have to make holes in your arms for. I didn’t see any tracks. And he didn’t seem particularly spacey.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know him the way I do. He seemed very different. It was just on impulse that I used the name Sam for your dad, because something didn’t seem right. His speech patterns have changed, his posture, his gait. Intangibles. I was waiting for him to correct me, and then I could have made a joke about premature senility. But t didn’t. He picked up on it instead. Merle, this is scary! He knew your father real well-as Carl Corey. Your dad liked to keep his place nice, but he was never much for weeding and mowing or raking leaves. George did his yard work fog him for years while he was in school. He knew his name wasn’t Sam.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” he said, “and I don’t like it.”
“So he’s acting weird-and you think he was following us?”
“Now I do. This is too much of a coincidence, timed with your arrival.”
I turned.
“I’m going after him,” I said. “I’ll find out.”
“No. Don’t.”
“I won’t hurt him. There are other ways.”
“It might be better to let him think he’s got us fooled. It might encourage him to do something or say something later that could prove useful. On the other hand, anything you do-even something subtle or magical-might let him, or something, know that we’re on to him. Let it ride, be grateful you’re warned and be wary.”
“You’ve got a point there,” I agreed. “Okay “
“Let’s head on back and drive into town for lunch. I want to stop by the office and pick up some papers and make some phone calls. Then I have to see a client at two o’clock. You can take the car and knock around while I’ m doing that.”
“Fine.” As we strolled back I did some wondering. There were a number of things I had not told Bill. For instance, there had been no reason to tell him that I wore an invisible strangling cord possessed of some rather unusual virtues, woven about my left wrist. One of these virtues is that it generally warns me of nasty intentions aimed in my direction, as it had done in Luke’s presence for almost two years until we became friends. Whatever the reason for George Hansen’s unusual behavior, Frakir had not given me any indication that he meant me harm.
Funny, though . . . there was something about the way he talked, the way he said his words . . .
I went for a drive after lunch while Bill took care of his business. I headed out to the place where my father had lived years ago. I’d been by it a number of times in the past, but I’d never been inside. No real reason to, I guess, anyway. I parked up the road on a rise, off on the shoulder, and regarded it. A young couple lived there now, Bill had told me, with some kids-a thing I could see for myself from some scattered toys off to the side of the yard. I wondered what it would have been like, growing up in a place like that. I supposed that I could have. The house looked well kept, sprightly even. I imagined that the people were happy there.