The Philanthropist's Danse by Paul Wornham Read Free Book Online Page A

there were some strangers at the mansion, and the Judge was one of them. He sighed and felt the loss of his friend as he answered. “Johnston and I were college buddies and he was the best friend a man could have wished for.” He looked at his shoes as he spoke, then up at the face of his companion, who reached down and placed a massive hand on MacLean’s shoulder.
    “Then I am sorry for your loss Larry, truly sorry.” Larry nodded, the Judge seemed sincere, and there was richness to his voice he found comforting.
    “How about you, Ron, how did you know Johnston?” The Judge paused and Larry thought he saw a flicker of annoyance, or embarrassment.

    “I had business with Mr. Thurwell in Georgia.” His deep baritone contained a quaver Larry had not noticed before. He waited for the rest of the story, but none came.
    “That’s it? You did a little business with Johnston, but you get to share his fortune? Hell, half the country did business with him, and they’re not here.” Larry’s voice had an edge to it, he was irritated. Who the hell does this guy think he’s holding out on, damned ‘business in Georgia.’ What the hell does that mean?
    The Judge looked at Larry and shook his head. “I don’t know what else I can say, I’m sorry. I think we had better not say anything else until the meeting starts. There might be some ground rules about what we can say, or not.” It was a weak excuse, and Freeman knew it.
    Larry was angry, he thought the other man was stalling, but there might be something in what he’d said, so he let it go. “Maybe. I guess I’ll take a shower and see you later.”
    The two men walked in uncomfortable silence until the Judge reached his room and disappeared. MacLean arrived at his own room and closed the door too hard. The slam broke his angry funk. It was time to get ready, so he started the shower and stepped into the stream of water, cursing as it scalded his back. He adjusted the temperature and angrily scrubbed himself. We’ll all need answers soon , he thought, or this meeting is going nowhere .
    $
    William entered the dining room precisely at 7.45am dressed immaculately in a dark suit with a subtle pin stripe. He wore a fresh white shirt but his cufflinks were the same as yesterday, they were the lucky set his wife had bought him the first day he addressed a jury as a young lawyer.
    He felt rested even though he had woken at 4.30 with nerves jangling and his stomach a mess of flutters. He had control of his emotions now as he looked around and saw Caroline Smith reading the New York Times.
    He took a warm plate from the rack and nodded a good morning to Jeremy who stood to the side of the long buffet table. He assembled a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, hash browns and a small dish of fresh fruit and carried it to Smith’s table. “Good morning, Caroline. I hope you were able to rest?”
    Smith looked up from her paper, the only evidence she had already eaten were a few crumbs on the table, but she had a fresh coffee in her hand. “William, good morning. I guess I got some sleep, but not much. It’s all so, well, sudden. For the rest of us.” She made certain William caught the slight that he was not considered one of the mourners. He took a seat opposite her, and she returned to her newspaper, leaving him to eat without her company.
    As Bird began his eggs, Betty Freah entered the dining room. She looked unsure what to do, but the attentive Jeremy expertly guided her to the buffet. He plated a meal for her and led her to sit with the others.
    Caroline had remembered everything about Betty in her room last night. She recalled Bethany’s reaction when Betty first appeared and realized the rumors that Thurwell kept a hooker on the payroll were true. She smiled but returned to her coffee and newspaper to let the whore and the lawyer chat. She hoped to curry favor with Bethany by attacking Betty, but would save her outrage for a larger audience when it would do her