Gates Of Hades

Chapter Forty-eight

Hillwood

4155 Linnean Avenue

Washington, D.C.

1530 EDT

Shirlee Atkins had been right.

Them mens hadn't given a shit whether they tracked dirt into the house or not. Chattering in some language she had never heard before, they went about their work in the rose garden and they would walk right cross the Chinese Oriental rug to go to the bathroom without so much as wiping their dirty boots. Mr. Jimson, he wouldn'ta let 'em do that, but this new fella, the one whose head look like an Easter egg, he didn't much seem to care.

Prolly wouldn'ta much cared 'bout what Shirlee done found in one of the silver drawers in the sideboard, either. The drawer stuck and she'd had to give it a real tug. Thing fell out on the floor, spillin' knives 'n' forks everwhere. But underneath them knives 'n' forks was some kinda false bottom, a place Shirlee reckoned Ms. Post used to hide real valuables. Like the curve-bladed knife with a golden handle. She 'spected there be no reason tell the new man she near done broke that drawer, jes' put it back like it was.

Ever since that man what call himself Rassavitch showed up this mornin' in that big ol' beat-up truck, the mens with the shovels, they workin' harder'n Shirlee had seen all week. They was sho' gonna finish this afternoon, git the place ready fo' that big meetin' tomorrow.

Stuff on that truck strange.

Some kinda spindly little plant. Downright ugly, and hadn't no flowers on it. Then they unloaded a bunch o' rocks. Big, round white-colored stone, look like they coulda weighed tons. But they didn't. One o' them scrawny little guys could pick one o' them rocks right up an' carry it to where they were planting those scraggly little bushes between them rocks in a line right outside the floor-to-ceiling doors of the dinin' room.

Not near as pretty as rosebushes.

But then, what did Shirlee know?

She wasn't nothin' but a cleanin' lady.