WATCHERS by Dean R. Koontz

Dilworth, who had been her aunt’s attorney and now took care of Nora’s minor

legal business. “From what you’ve told me,” Travis said, “Dilworth knew your

aunt better than anyone, so I’d bet dollars to doughnuts he can tell you things

about her that will break this goddamn stranglehold she has on you even from the

grave.”

Nora said, “But there’re no great dark secrets about Aunt Violet. She was what

she appeared to be. She was a very simple woman, really. A sort of sad woman.”

“Sad my ass,” Travis said.

He persisted until she agreed to make the appointment with Garrison Dilworth.

Later, upstairs in her bedroom, when she tried to take off the Diane Freis, she

discovered she didn’t want to undress. All evening, she had been impatient to

get out of that costume, for it had seemed like a costume on her. But now, in

retrospect, the evening possessed a warm glow, and she wanted to prolong that

glow. Like a sentimental high school girl, she slept in the five-hundred-dollar

dress.

Garrison Dilworth’s office had been carefully decorated to convey

respectability, stability, and reliability. Beautifully detailed oak paneling.

Heavy royal-blue drapes hung from brass rods. Shelves full of leather-bound law

books. A massive oak desk.

The attorney himself was an intriguing cross between a personification of

Dignity and Probity—and Santa Claus. Tall, rather portly, with thick silver

hair, past seventy but still working a full week, Garrison favored three-piece

suits and subdued ties. In spite of his many years as a Californian, his deep

and smooth and cultured voice clearly marked him as a product of the upper-class

Eastern circles in which he had been born, raised, and educated. But there was

also a decidedly merry twinkle in his eyes, and his smile was quick, warm,

altogether Santalike.

He did not distance himself by staying behind his desk, but sat with Nora and

Travis in comfortable armchairs around a coffee table on which stood a large

Waterford bowl. “I don’t know what you came here expecting to learn. There are

no secrets about your aunt. No great dark revelations that will change your

life—”

“I knew as much,” Nora said. “I’m sorry we’ve bothered you.”

“Wait,” Travis said. “Let Mr. Dilworth finish.”

The attorney said, “Violet Devon was my client, and an attorney has a

responsibility to protect clients’ confidences even after their death. At least

that’s my view, though some in the profession might not feel such a lasting

obligation. Of course, as I’m speaking to Violet’s closest living relative and

heir, I suppose there’s little I would choose not to divulge—if in fact there

were any secrets to reveal. And I certainly see no moral constraint against my

expressing an honest opinion of your aunt. Even attorneys, priests, and doctors

are allowed to have opinions of people.” He took a deep breath and frowned. “I

never liked her, I thought she was a narrow-minded, totally self-involved woman

who was at least slightly . . . well, mentally unstable. And the way she raised

you was criminal, Nora. Not abusive in any legal sense that would interest the

authorities, but criminal nonetheless. And cruel.”

For as long as Nora could recall, a large knot had seemed to be tied tight

inside of her, pinching vital organs and vessels, leaving her tense, restricting

the flow of blood and making it necessary for her to live with all her senses

damped down, forcing her to struggle along as if she were a machine getting

insufficient power. Suddenly, Garrison Dilworth’s words untied that knot, and a

full, unrestricted current of life rushed through her for the first time.

She had known what Violet Devon had done to her, but knowing was not enough to

help her overcome that grim upbringing. She needed to hear her aunt condemned by

someone else. Travis had already denounced Violet, and Nora had felt some small

release at hearing what he said. But that had not been enough to free her

because Travis hadn’t known Violet and, therefore, spoke without complete

authority. Garrison knew Violet well, however, and his words released Nora from

bondage.

She was trembling violently, and tears were trickling down her face, but she was

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