The Last Refuge by Chris Knopf

Author:Chris Knopf [Knopf, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780307369758
Google: RBb3A5PBhXcC
Amazon: B00492CNSM
Goodreads: 13532647
Publisher: Vintage Canada
Published: 2005-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

FIVE

MY HOUSE IN Stamford was in the woods not far from the northern border of town. It sat on the edge of a short cliff formed by glacial boulders. At the bottom of the cliff was a small pond that made a home for Canada geese and bullfrogs. The deck off the rear of the house was shaded by a canopy of oak and maple in the summer, and by hemlocks year round. We had a lot of freeloading birds who worked the half dozen feeders mounted off the deck and in the surrounding trees. One of the few things I enjoyed doing around the house was inventing ways to keep the squirrels out of the feeders. It was a battle of wits I never entirely won. There was one tough, mangy old squirrel who used to sit on the railing and stare at me. I thought he might be the head of engineering, sizing up the competition.

There was a wall of glass between the deck and the living room. It was so hot that afternoon I couldn’t leave the air-conditioning, so I just sat there and looked through the windows at the competing fauna. I was on my third tumbler of Absolut when Abby came home from wherever she went during the day. She didn’t expect to see me there.

“My God, you frightened me. What are you doing home?”

“Drinking.”

“Obviously.”

She dropped a handful of large plastic bags filled with merchandise on the sofa next to me and poured herself a stiff one from the wet bar in the corner of the room.

“And smoking, too, I see.”

“Yeah. You can’t quit these things for too long. It’s not good for you.”

“Yes, of course. What’s it been, twenty years?”

“About.”

Abby moved very gracefully. She flowed into a chair on the other side of the room, sat back and crossed her legs, resting her elbow on the armrest so she could hold her drink aloft, shaking it occasionally to dissolve the ice. She wore a silk blouse with large square pockets and an off-white skirt. A gold chain looped around her neck and disappeared down the open front of her blouse. Her legs were deeply tanned, nicely offset by a pair of white high heels. Her hair was still mostly natural blond, formed into elegant waves that made me think of Ethel Kennedy. Maintenance costs for hair, nails and face ran about five-hundred a month, not including yoga, health club and massage therapy. And it showed. Abby set an unachievable standard for women her age.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you going to tell me why you’re sitting there getting plastered? Or do I have to guess.”

“Seemed like the best course of action, all things considered.”

The ceiling in our living room was two stories high. There was a balcony above that led to three of the bedrooms. One was my daughter’s. She used to sit up there Christmas night and wait for the grownups to go to bed so Santa could make the scene. When I went upstairs I’d scoop up her limp little body and put her to bed, always wondering if she was faking it.

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