The Gate House

She smiled and said, “You are going to be insufferable.”

“Yes.”

I gave her a kiss, and she said, “Don’t be too long. Do you want my cell phone?”

“I do.” She gave me her cell phone, and I said goodbye, took the carbine, and went downstairs. I placed the rifle in the umbrella stand, then went out the front door, which I locked.

I had the keys for both cars, and I decided to take my Taurus, which would be easier to park downtown.

I got in and drove down the driveway. When I got to the gatehouse, I used the remote and the gates swung inward. I had a thought, and I honked my horn, then got out of the car.

The gatehouse door opened, and a young security guard, whom I didn’t know, came out.

I said to him, “I’m Mr. Sutter and I live in the guest cottage.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you alone?”

“I am until eight P.M., then a second man comes on duty.”

“All right… well, what I need you to do, in about fifteen or twenty minutes, is to drive up to the guest cottage and just walk around to see that everything looks okay.”

“Well… I’m not supposed to leave my post.”

“That is part of your post tonight.” I gave him a twenty-dollar bill and said, “Mrs. Sutter is in the house, and we are expecting no visitors, so do not let anyone in, unless you call us and get an okay. I will be back in about half an hour.” Actually, it could be closer to an hour, but he didn’t need to know that.

He seemed happy with his tip and replied, “No problem,” whatever that means.

I got back in the car and headed toward Locust Valley.

Aside from Susan’s shopping list in my pocket, I had Ethel’s letter, which I needed to photocopy. In fact, I’d make twenty copies, and send one to William every month, plus Father’s Day, Christmas, and his birthday.

As I got to the edge of the village, I called Susan, and she answered. I said, “Traffic is heavy, and parking will be tight, so I’m not sure how long this will take.”

“Take your time.”

“Do you need onions?”

“No onions, sweetie.”

“Okay.” I told her, “I asked the guard at the gate to check out the house in about fifteen minutes.” I reminded her, “The carbine is in the umbrella stand in case you need to go downstairs. Leave the shotgun in the bedroom. I’ll call you later.”

The village was crowded with cars jockeying for parking spaces. I glanced at the dashboard clock: 5:39. Well, with any luck, I could be back within the hour.

What could happen in one hour?

CHAPTER SEVENTY

I bought everything on the list for our trip, and I also made a dozen copies of Ethel’s letter at a local print shop in case William needed monthly reminders of why we were negotiating a family financial agreement. I began the fifteen-minute drive back to Stanhope Hall. It was now 6:23 on the dashboard clock.

I used Susan’s cell phone to call the house, but she didn’t answer, so I left a message. “I’ll be home in ten or fifteen minutes. Call me when you get this.”

She was probably in the shower, or despite my advice to stay inside, maybe she was on the patio without her portable house phone. Another very likely possibility was that she was in the basement, looking for clothes to pack, and there was no phone down there.

When I was a few minutes from Grace Lane, I called the gatehouse to tell them to open the gates, but no one answered. Maybe the guard was on the other line, or he was outside, or using the bathroom.

I turned onto Grace Lane and pressed on the accelerator. Within three minutes, I was in front of the gates, and I used the remote control to open them.

I drove through the moving gates and glanced at the gatehouse as I passed by. No one stepped out the door, and I continued on faster than I would normally drive up the curving gravel driveway to the guest cottage. I wasn’t worried, but neither was I completely unconcerned.

I saw that Susan’s Lexus was gone, and I breathed a sigh of relief. At the same time, I was angry at her for not calling to let me know she was going out, and also angry at her for going out at all, especially without her cell phone. The woman just doesn’t listen.

I parked the Taurus, retrieved the shopping bags, unlocked the front door, and went inside.

Then I realized that this made no sense. I could imagine her just hopping in her car and ru

I glanced back at the umbrella stand and saw that the carbine was missing.

Then I smelled cigarette smoke.

I stood frozen, and my heart started beating quickly. I dropped the shopping bags, then took a step backwards toward the front door and started to dial 9-1-1 on the cell phone.

Anthony Bellarosa stepped out of my office and said, “Drop the fucking phone.”

I stared at him. He was wearing the blue uniform of All-Safe Security, and he had my M-1 carbine in his hands – aimed at me.

“Drop the fucking phone, or you’re dead.”

I couldn’t believe that he was actually standing there. Mancuso said he was out of town, and Mancuso also said Anthony would not do this himself. And I believed that… except I also believed that this was personal, and that Anthony had more on his mind than murder.

“Drop the fucking phone!”

He fired.

I could hear the bullet pass by my left ear and smack into the heavy oak door behind me.

He said, “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. Like my uncle. But don’t make me kill you.” He pointed the rifle at my chest and said, “Drop it.”

I dropped the phone.

He cradled the rifle in his right arm and said, “Yeah, good balls, but not much brains today, John.”

“Where is Susan?”

“She’s okay. I was saving her for when you got home.”

“Anthony-”

“Shut the fuck up.” He asked me, “Are you carrying?”

I shook my head.

“Take off your jacket.”

I took my jacket off, and he said, “Throw it down.”

I dropped it on the floor, and he said, “Okay, strip and let’s see what you got.”

I didn’t move, and he said, “Take your fucking clothes off, or I swear I’ll blow out your kneecaps.”

“Where is Susan?”

He smiled and said, “She’s naked, like you’re go

Again, I didn’t move. Anthony was about fifteen feet from me, and I couldn’t cover that distance before he got off a shot.

He pointed the rifle toward my legs, then fired two shots. I didn’t feel anything, then I realized he’d put both rounds into one of the shopping bags and fluids were leaking onto the floor.

“That was your last fucking warning. Get your clothes off. Slow.”

I took off my clothes and dropped them on the floor.

“Turn around.”

I turned around.

“Okay, pretty boy. No gun, no wire. You are totally fucked. Turn around.”

I turned facing him. My heart was pounding and my mouth was dry. I tried to think. What was he up to? Why wasn’t I dead? Was Susan all right? Well… I knew the answers to all that.

He was wearing a gun and holster, and he unhooked a pair of handcuffs from his gun belt and said, “Catch,” then threw them to me, but I let them hit my chest and fall to the ground.

“Put the cuffs on, asshole, or I blow your legs out from under you.” He swung the barrel of the rifle toward my legs again. “Come on, John. I don’t have all fucking night. You want to see Susan? Put the cuffs on, and we’ll go see Susan. I want you to see her.”

I lowered myself into a crouch and reached for the cuffs. I could possibly spring off from this position and get to him, but he knew that, so he took a step backwards as he brought the rifle up to his shoulder and aimed it at me. “Now!”