Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,82
when he went down the stairs. And I guess Lawrence thought he could save him. Maybe it’s just something he really doesn’t want to remember,” Stacey said.
“If that’s the case, I’m sorry. But we have his home address, and we’ve come this far. We’re going to find him.”
Fourteen
One of the continual trials of living and working in the DC area was traffic. Any major city offered that kind of daily challenge, but getting out of DC had been a nightmare, even using some of the shortcuts Keenan knew, and he knew the area as well as one possibly could.
Then they had to deal with Richmond traffic.
But Keenan was more determined than ever that they weren’t heading back without talking to Dr. Henry Lawrence.
They got back into the car. Lawrence’s home was just north and west of the city. As they drove, Stacey murmured, “Beautiful country.”
“There are a lot of old Victorian plantation homes out here. Not the ultralavish kind. And despite the Civil War, many survived. Compared to the Blue Ridge, it’s flat land out here, but flat land that rolls in gorgeous blues and greens.” He grinned at her suddenly. “My parents almost bought out here once.”
“Oh? What stopped them? Certainly not ghosts!”
“Nope. Ticks. They walked in the beautiful little patch of forest land around the house and discovered they were covered in ticks!”
“Ah,” Stacey murmured. “We haven’t had much of a problem in Georgetown.”
“But this countryside is so beautiful. You have Richmond and the District of Columbia just ninety miles apart, big places, stone, concrete, woods, buildings. But here, it’s nice, huh?”
“As long as you can get a tick population under control,” she said. She straightened in the passenger’s seat. “I think that’s it ahead. Addresses aren’t that easy out here, but according to the GPS, that should be his house up ahead.”
At the end of a circular drive stood the house. It had a broad porch, soaring white columns and a white, two-person swing right on the porch.
“There’s a car in the drive,” he said. “Fancy!”
“Well, he is a surgeon, and a good one. And as beautiful as these houses are, it’s far more reasonable to get a house out here than in the heart of the city.”
Keenan pulled up behind a sleek sedan on the circular driveway. They got out of the car, looking at the house.
He shrugged to her, smiling.
“Ten to one, a housekeeper answers the door.”
“Maybe,” Stacey said, and then added, “Okay, probably.”
“Is he married? Does he have a family?” Keenan asked.
“You know, not back when I was a kid, but that was a while ago now. And Angela didn’t say. I should have tried to find out more. I mean, that would have been easy enough.”
“He’s not a suspect. We’re just anxious for his help.”
“But he was a transplant doctor,” Stacey said. “Working with the best.”
They walked up the steps to the porch, and he rang the bell.
It was answered by a housekeeper in uniform. She looked surprised; they probably didn’t get that many visitors.
Keenan glanced at Stacey. They smiled at one another.
“Yes?” the housekeeper said.
She appeared to be fiftysomething, a bit squat, with iron-gray hair swept severely back. Her eyes, however, were bright blue and friendly.
“Hello, may I help you?” she asked, her manner pleasant and easy.
“Hi, I’m Stacey Hanson, Special Agent Hanson, and this is my partner, Special Agent Keenan Wallace. I called Dr. Lawrence earlier today and asked if we might speak with him. We thought he’d be at the hospital, but he wasn’t, and we see his car—” she paused, sweeping an arm out to indicate the dark blue sedan in the driveway, though they really didn’t know if it was his or not “—and we’re just hoping for a few minutes with him. We drove down from DC. Not a terrible drive, but...”
“Come in, come in, yes, Dr. Lawrence is home. He’s playing one of his video games, can you imagine? The man works so hard! I’m always trying to get him to relax a bit, and I was delighted when he made it home early today. Please, if you’ll wait in the foyer for just a minute, I’ll get him for you.”
She opened the door wide and indicated that they should come in, and then hurried to whatever rooms lay to the left.
The house was nice: it wouldn’t have been owned by the ultrawealthy back in the day but by someone who had worked hard and was doing all right. The ceilings were high. A hand-carved stairway