White Fire

“What are you doing?” Montebello snapped. “Put that down and leave at once, or I shall call the police!”

Ignoring this, the man plucked a nearby glass off the table, poured a measure of the wine, and made a huge production of swirling it about, sticking his nose in the glass, sipping, noisily drawing in air, puffing his cheeks, sipping again. He put the glass down. “Some good berry notes, but no body and a short finish. Dull, I’m afraid; very dull. What sort of wine is this to serve at a Christmas Eve di

“Lottie, call nine-one-one. Report a home invasion.”

“Ah, but I was invited in,” said Pendergast. He turned to the maid. “Wasn’t I, dear?”

“But I just opened the door—”

“And what is more,” Montebello said, his voice crackling with fury as the rest of the family looked on with blank consternation, “you are drunk!”

In that moment, as if on cue, a cook entered from the kitchen, flanked by attendants, carrying a huge flambé, the flames leaping up from the silver server.

“Cherries jubilee!” Pendergast cried, jumping to his feet. “How marvelous!” He surged forward. “It’s too heavy for you — let me help. That fire could be dangerous — especially here, in Roaring Fork!”

The cook, alarmed at the drunken man coming at her, took a step backward, but she was too slow. The FBI agent seized the great flaming platter; there was a sudden moment of imbalance; and then it overturned, the platter, cherries, ice cream, and burning brandy all crashing to the table and splattering over the remains of the pig.

“Fire! Fire!” Pendergast cried, aghast as the flames leapt up, his face a mixture of dismay and panic. “This is dreadful! Run! Everyone outside!”

A chorus of cries and shrieks went up around the table as everyone scrambled backward, knocking over chairs, spilling wine.

“Out, quickly!” shouted Pendergast. “Pull the alarm! The house is burning down! We’ll be burned alive just like the others!”

The sound of terror in his voice was infectious. There was instant pandemonium. A smoke alarm went off, which only increased the mindless panic to get out, to get away at all costs from the fire. In mere seconds the diners, cook, and wait staff had all cleared the room, some pushing others away in their panic, and stampeded down the hall and across the foyer. One after another, they burst out the front door and into the night. The man in black was left alone in the house.

With sudden calm, he reached out, picked up an enormous gravy boat, and poured it over the alcohol flames, which were largely sputtering out anyway due to the melting ice cream and juices of the roasted carcass. A dash of wine from the bottle of inferior Cabernet completed the fire suppression. And then, with great aplomb and rapid efficiency of movement, he strode through the dining room, into the living room, and through it to a series of formally decorated rooms in the back, where Henry Montebello maintained his home legal office. There, Pendergast went straight to a cluster of filing cabinets. Perusing the labels on the front of each, he chose one, jimmied it open with a swift, sure motion, flipped through the papers, removed a fat accordion file, shut the cabinet, and carried the file back through the house to the front hall, plucking his bottle of champagne from the dining table in the process. In the front hall, he retrieved his greatcoat, scarf, hat, and gloves from where the maid had dumped them on the floor in her panic, secreted the file in the bulk of his coat, and stepped outside.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he a

He strode off into the snowy afternoon, to his waiting car, and drove away.

59

Corrie felt Ted’s powerful arms around her, holding her tight. The tightness of it made her feel safe. Relief flooded through her. She relaxed and took the pressure off her broken ankle as he continued to hold her up. “I’m going to take care of you,” he said again, a little louder.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she sobbed. “That guy in the mine — he’s a goon, hired by Kermode to run me out of town. He’s the one who killed my dog, shot up my car…and now he’s trying to kill me.”

“Kermode,” Ted said, his voice taking on an edge. “Figures. That bitch. I’m going to take care of her as well. Oh, God, will I take care of that bitch.”

She was a little taken aback by his vehemence. “It’s okay,” she said. “God, I’m so light-headed. I think I need to lie down.”

He didn’t seem to have heard. The arms tightened even more.

“Ted, help me sit down…” She twisted a little because he was gripping her so hard it was begi

“Fucking bitch,” he said, louder.

“Forget Kermode…Please, Ted — you’re hurting me.”

“Not talking about Kermode,” he said. “Talking about you.”

Corrie was sure she hadn’t heard right. She was so dizzy. His arms tightened even more, to the point where she could hardly breathe. “Ted…That hurts. Please!”

“Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself, bitch?”

His voice was different now. Rough, hoarse.

“Ted…what?”

“What, Ted, what?” He mimicked her in a high, squeaky voice. “What a piece of work you are.”

“What are you talking about?”

He squeezed so hard she cried out. “You like that? ’Cause you know what I’m talking about. Don’t play the i

She struggled, but had almost no strength left. It was like a nightmare. Maybe it was a nightmare — maybe all of this was. “What are you saying?”

“What are you say-ing?” he mimicked.

She twisted, trying to break free, and he roughly spun her around, his face almost touching hers. The red, sweaty, misshapen, furious look that disfigured his face frightened her terribly. Both his eyes were bloodshot and leaking water. “Look at you,” he said, lowering his voice, his lips warped with anger. “Leading me on, always teasing, first promising and then saying no, making a fool of me.”

He gave her a sudden, violent squeeze with his powerful arms and she felt a rib crack under the pressure, pain lancing through her chest. She screamed, gasped, tried to speak, but he squeezed her again, forcing the air from her lungs. “The cocktease stops right here, right now.” Spittle splattered her face. His lips, covered with a white film, were now brushing hers, his strangely foul breath washing over her like fumes from a rotting carcass.

She tried to breathe but couldn’t. The combined pain of her ankle, her hand, and now her ribs was so excruciating she was unable to think straight. Fear and shock sent her heart, already racing from the pursuit through the mines, into overdrive. She had never seen a face so twisted and so terrifying. He was completely mad.

Mad. Mad…She didn’t want to think of the ramifications of that — she would not, could not, follow that thought to its natural conclusion.

“Please—” she managed to gasp.

“Isn’t this perfect? You just ru

With that he threw her to the ground. She fell sprawling, with a cry of pain. He followed up with a kick to her injured ribs. The pain was unbearable and she cried out again, gasping for air. She felt the world swirling around, a strange ethereal floating sensation, pain and fright and disbelief overpowering all rational thought. A mist passed before her eyes, and consciousness shut down.

A long, dark time seemed to pass before another searing lance of pain brought her back to herself. She was still in the dingy room. Mere moments must have ticked by. Ted stood over her, his face still grotesquely distorted, eyes watering, lips covered with a sticky bloom of white. He reached down, seized her leg, spun her around, and began dragging her over the rough floorboards. She tried to scream but couldn’t. Her head banged roughly against the floor and once again she felt herself on the verge of passing out.