The Lie Maker by Linwood Barclay

Author:Linwood Barclay
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-05-16T00:00:00+00:00

He drove to Vermont.

Len Klay’s place was near the small town of Salisbury, just like the steak, on a small body of water called Lake Dunmore. It was about a four-hour drive from Boston, less if the traffic wasn’t bad.

Michael left before dawn, hoping to get to Len’s place before eleven. He’d thought about calling ahead, making sure the man was there, coming up with some excuse about having him sign papers for something that he’d dealt with while still at the company, but decided it was better that there not be a record of any phone calls between them. Not only that, but what if, before Michael’s arrival, Len happened to mention to someone that he was expecting his former boss’s assistant?

No, best to arrive unannounced.

There was a Glock in the glove compartment, but Michael wasn’t sure he’d need it. There might be easier ways to dispose of Len Klay, an old man and not especially fit, even if he did cross-country ski. And there’d be no trying to change Klay’s mind, like he’d tried with Gartner.

He made good time, and, with occasional consultations of the map on the seat next to him, didn’t get lost. Len Klay’s place was more than a cottage. It was a home. Set back from the road and nestled among the towering trees, it was a white, two-story structure on a tract of land that sloped gradually down to the water’s edge. The houses along this road were spaced well apart, the neighboring buildings barely visible through the woods.

Michael had noticed few cars parked at the other residences along this stretch. He guessed that many of these places were second residences for people from Burlington or Boston or Albany, probably even Montreal, which was closer, by at least an hour, to Salisbury than Boston was.

Michael pulled into the driveway, parking behind a white Lexus SUV. He took the gun from the glove compartment and was tucking it into the pocket of his windbreaker when the back door of the house opened and Klay came striding out.

He looked puzzled at first, but when he saw who it was, he smiled and said, “Michael? What the hell are you d-d-doing up here?”

He stuck out a hand and Michael, now out of the car, took it and smiled. “How you doing, Len?”

“What a surprise!” He grinned and slapped Michael on the shoulder.

“I’m driving up to Montreal, scoping out a few motel sites, realized I’d be driving right by your place, almost. A minor detour.”

“Come on in. Too early for a drink?”

“Maybe coffee, if you have some going,” Michael said.

Michael followed Klay into the house. Homey, lots of wood, plush chairs and a couch with afghans scattered about. A few embers glowed in the fireplace, just enough to take off the chill. It was in the low sixties outside.

Michael walked from the back of the house to the porch that looked out over the lake. A folding camping chair and an easel sat at the end of a dock that went some thirty feet out into the water.

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