you know, but I had a sense that her life was beginning to turn around, and I was glad for her. Terrible for a thing like this to happen to such a young person.”
“Yeah,” said Butts. “It’s a bitch, ain’t it?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lee and Butts decided to push on to Lumberville and drop in on Raymond Santiago at the Black Bass. They declined Sayeed El Naga’s invitation to dine at the Swan as his guests. It seemed inappropriate to take advantage of his hospitality at a time like this, especially after interviewing the staff about their murdered colleague.
Butts had his regrets, though. As they climbed into the dark green Saturn sedan, he said, “It sure smelled great in there. Sorry we couldn’t stay.”
“It just didn’t feel right to me,” Lee said as he started the engine. “Don’t you think it would have been uncomfortable?”
“Yeah,” Butts sighed, buckling his seat belt. “But it sure smelled great.”
Lee circled around the back of town before heading west over the bridge to Pennsylvania. Lambertville looked prosperous but relaxed on this Tuesday in late August. He saw children playing on the wide sidewalks, riding their bikes or Razor scooters, and others splashing in plastic pools on grassy side lawns. School would be starting in a week or so.
Lee remembered the feeling of wanting to fill the final glorious days of summer with as much activity as possible.
As he turned onto the bridge across the river, Butts said, “I wonder what that was we smelled cooking. God, it smelled great.”
“Look, I’m sorry,” Lee said. “But don’t you think it would have been weird to stay?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Butts agreed, but he didn’t sound convinced.
“I’ll tell you what,” Lee suggested. “If we can, we’ll eat at the Black Bass, okay?”
Lee turned north on the River Road, which would take them to Lumberville, to the Black Bass Hotel.
Lumberville was a hamlet tucked along a narrow strip of land on a section of the Delaware where the river lay far below sheer rocky cliffs on one side, while on the other side the wooded hills rose abruptly and steeply from the town. Settlers in the eighteenth century had managed to carve out a bit of town, which consisted of little more than a general store, a few houses, and of course the legendary Black Bass Hotel.
The Black Bass, built in 1745, had a very different history than its New Jersey cousin, the Swan. It was a renowned Tory stronghold during the Revolution, and the dusty Union Jack over the bar was supposedly from that era—though it was admittedly hard to separate legend from reality in some of the claims that were made about the hotel. There were glass cases displaying scores of objects and artifacts, allegedly from the British Royal Family, all the way from Queen Victoria to the present.
Lee had worked there one summer as a teenager and remembered the owner well. His name was Mr. Shelton, and he was an odd, elderly gentleman with a halo of white hair, a pink face, and an alarming way of biting off his consonants when he spoke. He was inordinately fond of Boston bull terriers, and when Lee knew him, he kept three of them, the oldest and meanest of which was a female named Samantha—Sam for short—who had a vendetta against children. Lee still remembered the delight the old gentleman took in introducing him to the dogs, and the strange little smile he had when he said, “This is Sam. Sam doesn’t like children.” Even though he had yet to learn about the concept of projection, Lee had an instinctive understanding that the dog was Mr. Shelton’s alter ego.
The front hall was deserted when they entered it. It smelled musty, of damp, ancient wood and slowly growing fungus. The wide floorboards creaked under their feet, and as always Lee had the feeling of being transported to the era when the building was constructed, over 250 years ago. He looked around. Not much had changed since his childhood—the entrance to the bar was still on the right, the narrow wooden stairs leading up to the rooms visible from the front entrance. The little sitting room where Mr. Shelton kept his dogs was on the left, covered by a thick brocade curtain with a blue-on-white design of fat naked angels cavorting, harps and roses in their plump little hands.
They heard a rustling sound from the sitting room and turned just as an exceptionally handsome young man emerged from it. He