Free Killer On A Hot Tin Roof by Livia J. Washburn Page B

that’s hospitable to a creative soul such as mine. The only reason I agreed to stay with her was because she said she could have me declared incompetent and place me in some … some home for old people.”
    The sneering emphasis he gave the word “home” made it clear he would consider such a place anything but. I understood what he meant. I wouldn’t have wanted to wind up in one of those places, either, unless my health was so bad I didn’t have a choice.
    “Natalie meant well,” Burleson went on. “I’m sure she did. She really does have a kind heart. But sometimes I just have to get out of there and be around my own kind again. And by that I mean … literary folks. Book people.”
    Will said, “That’s why you were in the bookstore that day when you ran into Michael.”
    Burleson nodded. “Exactly. I confess, I snuck out and called a cab.” He laughed. “I’m a terrible old man, ain’t I?”
    “I don’t think so,” I said. “But something bothers me.”
    “Well, I wouldn’t want so lovely a young woman as you to be bothered, my dear. What is it? Tell me.”
    “No offense, but it seems strange to me that Dr. Frasier would just believe your story about writing
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
when you didn’t have any proof.”
    Tamara nodded. “I thought of the same thing. You don’t have any real evidence to back up your story, Mr. Burleson.”
    He smiled at us. “Oh, but I do. I have the manuscript … the original, handwritten manuscript of
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
… by Howard Burleson.”

C HAPTER 7
    F or the second time tonight, we were left staring in mingled surprise and disbelief at the old man. Will spoke up first, saying, “You have the original holographic manuscript?”
    “That’s right. Written in my own hand, on this very table.” Burleson ran his fingers over the table again. “I can show you the places where my pen slipped into the scars and irregularities of the wood and it left marks on the paper … just like our lives slip into the scars and irregularities of the world and it leaves marks on our hearts.”
    I thought he was reaching a little with that one, but what do I know?
    Tamara said, “That’s how you convinced Michael? By showing him the manuscript?”
    “Yes, indeed. He was quite fascinated. And when he was through pouring over it, he believed what I had told him. He knew that I was the true author of that wonderful play.”
    “You’re aware that any such manuscript would have to be subjected to extensive textual analysis, not to mention forensic testing to determine the age of the paper and ink, before the academic community could even begin to lend any credence to your claims?”
    Burleson nodded. “Dr. Frasier has done so. He is convinced.”
    “Yes, but he’s just one man. To achieve any real acceptance, you’re going to have to convince many, many more people. Hundreds, maybe thousands.”
    “I stand prepared to do so, my dear,” Burleson declared.
    “You brought the manuscript with you?” Will asked.
    Burleson shook his head. “Certainly not. Michael made me understand that it’s far too valuable for that. I did, however, bring a few sample pages from the original so that they could be displayed as part of Michael’s presentation and then examined by the appropriate people.” He smiled at Tamara. “Includin’ you, I hope, Dr. Paige. Michael tells me that you’ve made a special study of
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
in your career. In fact, he says that everything you’ve ever done depends on it.”
    “He does, does he?” Tamara asked tightly. She understood, and so did I, what Frasier really meant by that. By dropping this bombshell at the conference, Frasier hoped to knock the legs out from under everything Tamara had ever written about the play. In light of his discovery, all her work and research would be meaningless.
    If Howard Burleson was telling the truth, of course.
    “Where are those manuscript pages?” I asked.
    “In my bag at the