The Secret of the Stones by Ernest Dempsey (good e books to read .txt) 📗

He looked through the windshield at the witness apparently finishing up with the sketch artist; the young man looked as though he were about to puke. “Poor kid,” he remarked. “Bet he’ll never get that vision out of his head.”

“Yep,” Will agreed. “Some people just aren’t built to handle that sort of thing.”

6

Atlanta

Sean reached up and clicked the remote to the front gate of his home a few seconds before they pulled in. From the street, it was difficult to see what lay beyond the huge brick wall and the spruce trees behind it, which was kind of the point of the wall. He swung the car into the driveway as the gate opened completely. Once the car passed through, it began closing again.

Allyson gazed, open-mouthed, at the property. She’d not said anything since leaving the coffee shop. He assumed her entire life had been spent far away from things like the shooting in the parking lot.

Vast collections of trees, shrubs, and flowers decorated the whole estate. Giant magnolias dotted the large yard with their dark, waxy leaves. Azaleas surrounded the unmanned gatehouse, along with a few of those long grassy plants common to golf courses and suburban neighborhoods. Poplars, Bradford pears, and even some coniferous spruce trees stood in rows in the enormous yard. More hardwoods lined the driveway on both sides.

“Are those maples?” Allyson broke the silence with the sound of awe at the beautiful landscaping.

“Good eye,” Sean responded, glad to see she wasn’t comatose. “I planted alternating varieties so when the fall colors peaked there would be a more contrasting display of color. There are silver, chalk, sugar, and my personal favorites, the crimson king maples.  The colors have started to change, but it will be another week or two before they really look amazing.”

“They’re beautiful.”  Allyson continued to look around as the car sped up the driveway.

“I’m kind of a plant lover. Worked my way through college doing landscaping for a local family.”

“I think it’s wonderful,” she said with a squinting glance. Even though she was talking, her voice was still distant. Her mind was probably still replaying the incident over and over.

“You’ve killed men before, haven’t you?”

He had anticipated this question and had been pondering what to tell and what not to tell. After all, she was a reporter.

“Yes. I’ve killed before. But only out of necessity—situations where it was either me or the other guy.”

“Do you think about it a lot? I mean, ending another human’s life is pretty heavy.”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t think about it too much. I just look at it like it was something that had to be done. It’s always been survival. Nothing more.  When I worked for the government, it was just part of the job.”

She didn’t pursue the government topic, though she was curious.

A beautiful tan-colored house stood at the top of the driveway. The two-story Mediterranean villa with a Spanish-tile roof was not large by any stretch. It could not have been more than two thousand square feet. She had expected a grand mansion to accompany such a palatial garden scene. Instead, the home before her was certainly nice, but it was humble in a way.

“Bought it six years ago,” Sean started again. “Since I live alone, I didn’t need a big house, but I loved the property here. I spend a lot of my free time out here working.”

“Gardening?”

“I enjoy the work. There’s something liberating about manual labor.” His reply was honest.

He pulled the machine around the back of the house to a large four-door garage that was behind and below the house. Invisible from the approach up the driveway, the car house stretched out perpendicular from the basement and seemed to be nearly half as large as the dwelling. When one of the four wooden garage doors opened, Allyson could see there was another car in the spot where they were about to park. Then she realized that the garage had doors on both sides. Convenient for a person with a lot of cars to park. In Sean’s case, a few cars and many motorcycles.

Sean parked the car, and they stepped out into a small collection of old and new bikes. Allyson’s gaze went past the Nissan Maxima in front of her to at least two dozen motorcycles of varying types. There were cruisers and sport bikes from different eras: Harley Davidson, Indian, Buell, and all of the Japanese makers were represented. A few British café-style racers sat quietly together as well.

“Those two are my favorite.” Sean read the fascination on her face and acknowledged the machines with a nod. “The Norton and the Triumph. I love the raw style those bikes have. No fairings. No tricked-out special parts. Just the bike and the road. The way it should be.”

“Do you ride them or just collect them?”

“I’m a rider first. A collector second.” He smiled. “Those guys that just collect them blow my mind. Never made a lot of sense to me.” The garage door started closing behind them; the Maxima beeped and then revved to life.

“Sorry that I can’t take you for a ride on one right now, but I think it’s best if we don’t stick around here.”

“Why?  Won’t we be safe here?”

“I doubt it.” His reply was blunt. “My guess is the cops will be here soon. And then there is the concern about the person following us.”

Instant paranoia struck Allyson’s face as she turned around, trying to see out of the garage windows.

“Don’t freak out,” he said calmly. “I doubt we have a tail. But I am pretty sure we have a homing device on my Camaro. That’s one of two