At one o’clock, Ted Cartwright rounded the corner of the Washington Valley Club House and headed to the stable. “Is Zach around?” he asked Manny Pagan, one of the grooms.
Manny was brushing a skittish mare that had been given a too-strenuous workout by its insensitive owner. “Easy, easy, girl,” he was muttering soothingly.
“Are you deaf? I asked if Zach is around,” Cartwright shouted.
An annoyed Manny was about to snap, “Find him yourself,” but when he looked up, he realized that Cartwright, whom he knew by sight, was trembling with fury. Instead, he said, “I’m pretty sure he’s eating his lunch at the picnic table over there,” and pointed to a grove of trees about a hundred yards away.
Ted Cartwright covered the ground with rapid strides in seconds. Zach was eating the second half of a baloney sandwich when he arrived. Ted sat down opposite him. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he asked, his voice now a menacing whisper.
Zach took another bite of the sandwich and a swig of soda before he replied. “Now that’s no way for a friend to talk to a friend,” he said mildly.
“What makes you think you can go over to my town houses and tell my sales rep that I am giving you the model unit?”
“Did she tell you that I called, and that I’m planning to move in over the weekend?” Zach asked. “I tell you, Ted, that place where I’m living has turned out to be sheer hell. The landlady’s kids are having parties every night, playing the drums till I think my ears are gonna bust, and here you have that nice place in the middle of all those other nice places, and I just know you want me to have it.”
“I’ll call the police if you try to set one foot inside it.”
“Now why do I think that won’t happen?” Zach asked, as he looked pensively past Cartwright.
“Zach, you’ve been bleeding me for over twenty years now. You’ve got to stop or you won’t be around to bleed me any more.”
“Ted, that constitutes a threat, and I’m sure you don’t mean it. Maybe I should be going to the police. The way I look at it, I’ve been keeping you out of prison for all these years. Of course, if I’d spoken up back then, you’d probably have served your time by now and would be starting all over—without your road and bridge construction company and your town-house developments and your business complexes and your string of gyms. You could be giving speeches to school kids as part of the Scared Straight program.”
“There is also a penalty for blackmail.” Cartwright spat out the words.
“Ted, that town house is a drop in the bucket to you, but it would be a comfort to me. These old bones are developing aches and pains. Much as I love taking care of my horses, they’re a lot of work. And then there’s the matter of my conscience. Suppose I were to wander down to the Mendham police station and say that I knew about an accident that wasn’t an accident at all, and tell them that I have proof, but before I say another word, I’ll have to be guaranteed immunity from prosecution. I think I mentioned this before.”
Ted Cartwright stood up. The veins in his temples were bulging. His hands were gripping the edge of the picnic table as if that was the only way he could keep them from flailing at the man he was facing. “Be careful, Zach. Be very careful.” His words were clipped, and sharp as a dagger.
“I am being careful,” Zach assured him cheerfully. “That’s why, if anything happens to me, the proof of what I’m saying will be found immediately. Well, gotta get back. I have a nice lady coming in for a riding lesson. She lives in your old house—you know, the one where you were shot? She’s kind of intriguing. Claims she had a ride on a pony only once in a while, but she’s fibbing. She’s a pretty good horsewoman. And what’s more, for some reason, she’s real interested in that accident you and I know about.”
“Have you been talking to her about it?”
“Oh, sure. Everything but the good stuff. Think it over, Ted. Maybe you’ll even want your sales rep, Amy, to have the refrigerator stocked for me when I move in on Saturday. That would be a nice welcoming gesture, don’t you think?”