Dance of Death by Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child Read Free Book Online Page B

went on for a long time. Dr. Ostrom, growing alarmed, frowned at D'Agosta and pointed to his watch.
    "When did you last see Diogenes?" D'Agosta asked quickly.
    "Two days after the fire," the old woman replied.
    "The fire," D'Agosta repeated, trying not to make it sound like a question.
    "Of course, the fire," Great-Aunt Cornelia said, her voice suddenly agitated. "When else? The dreadful, dreadful fire that destroyed the family and convinced my husband to bring me and the children up to this drafty mansion. Away from New Orleans, away from all that."
    "I think we're done here," Dr. Ostrom said. He nodded to the guards.
    "Tell me about the fire," D'Agosta pressed.
    The old woman's face, which had gone almost fierce, now took on a look of great sorrow. Her lower lip trembled, and her hands twitched beneath the restraints. Despite himself, D'Agosta couldn't help but marvel at the suddenness with which these changes overtook her.
    "Now, listen," Dr. Ostrom began.
    D'Agosta held up his hand. "One minute more. Please." When he looked back at Great-Aunt Cornelia, he found she was staring directly at him.
    "That superstitious, hateful, ignorant mob. They burned our ancestral home, may the curse of Lucifer be on them and their children for all eternity. By that time, Aloysius was twenty and away at Oxford. But Diogenes was home that night. He saw his own mother and father burned alive. The look on his face when the authorities pulled him from the basement, where he'd gone to hide..." She shuddered. "Two days later, Aloysius returned. We were staying with relatives by then, in Baton Rouge. I recall Diogenes taking his older brother into another room and closing the door. They were only inside for five minutes. When Aloysius came out, his face was dead white. And Diogenes immediately walked out the front door and disappeared. He didn't take anything, not even a change of clothing. I never saw him again. The few times we heard from him, it was either by letter or through family bankers or solicitors, and then nothing. Until, of course, the news of his death."
    There was a moment of tense silence. The sorrow had left the old woman's face, leaving it calm, composed.
    "I do believe it's time for that mint julep, Ambergris." She turned sharply. "John! Three mint juleps, well chilled, if you please. Use the icehouse ice, it's so much sweeter."
    Ostrom spoke sharply. "I'm sorry, your guests have to go."
    "A pity."
    An orderly arrived with a plastic cup of water. He handed it gingerly to the old woman, who took it in her withered hand. "That's enough, John. You are dismissed."
    She turned to D'Agosta. "Dear Ambergris, you're leaving an old woman to drink alone, shame on you."
    "It was nice seeing you," D'Agosta said.
    "I do hope you and your lovely bride will come again. It's always a pleasure to see you ... brother." Then she abruptly bared her teeth in what seemed half-smile, half-snarl; raised a spotted hand; and drew the black veil down over her face once again.
    SEVEN
    Somewhere, a clock chimed midnight, its deep, bell-like tones muted by the plush drapes and hanging tapestries of the library in the old mansion at 891 Riverside Drive.
    D'Agosta sat back from the table and stretched in the leather armchair, fingertips working the kinks out of the small of his back. This time the library felt a lot more cheery: a fire was crackling atop wrought-iron firedogs, and light from half a dozen lamps threw a mellow glow into the remotest corners. Constance was sitting beside the fire, sipping tisane from a china cup and reading Spenser's Faerie Queene. Proctor, who had not forgotten D'Agosta's own taste in beverages, had drifted in a few times, replacing warm, half-finished glasses of Budweiser with chilled ones.
    Constance had produced all the materials Pendergast saved concerning his brother, and D'Agosta had spent the evening poring over them. Here, in this familiar room, with its walls of books and its scent of leather and woodsmoke, D'Agosta