Free The Extinction Event by David Black Page B

was dressed just like the resin-work figure and was almost as bony.
    â€œSince I live in such Gothic surroundings,” Keating said, “I figure I might as well use the setting to good advantage.”
    â€œYou have an odd sense of humor, sir,” Jack said.
    â€œI can afford to,” Keating said.
    Jack studied the sculpture and said, “Nice work.”
    â€œI studied at the Arts Students League,” Keating said. “A long time ago.” Keating tilted his head as he studied Jack’s bruised face. He asked, “Do you mind if I take a picture?”
    Before Jack could respond, Keating took a compact digital camera from his pocket and snapped. Twice.
    Jack blinked in the flashes.
    â€œQuite a ruin,” Keating said about Jack’s face, slipping the camera back into his pocket. “I can use the picture for one of my fright masks.”
    Jack scooped a spiderweb away from the sculpture’s face.
    â€œI know a cheap cleaning woman,” he said.
    â€œJack,” Caroline said, putting a restraining hand on his arm.
    â€œLight dusting,” Jack said. “Vacuuming. I don’t think she does windows.”
    â€œPity,” Keating said. “I’d like to let more light in.”
    â€œI think you need something more than light,” Jack said.
    â€œLight’s a good start,” Keating said. “Speaking of starts, I’m sorry if my scarecrow gave you one.”
    â€œThe dead don’t scare me,” Jack said. “It’s the living I find frightening.”
    â€œDo I frighten you,” Keating asked, “Mr.—?”
    â€œJack Slidell.” Jack held out his hand, which Keating ignored. “And,” Jack dropped his hand, “I’m not related to any Slidells you’d know.”
    â€œNo doubt.” Keating turned to Caroline. “My dear?”
    â€œCaroline Wonder.” Having seen Keating snub Jack, Caroline did not hold out her hand. But Keating took it and raised it to his dry, cracked lips.
    â€œCharmed,” Keating said.
    Jack said, “I’m sure you know her family.”
    â€œYour friend seems to feel that I’m not being a kind host,” Keating said, “a presumption, considering you’re both housebreakers.”
    â€œThe door was unlocked,” Jack said.
    â€œOh,” Keating said, “you’re standing on the letter of the law.”
    â€œThe law’s not a bad place to perch,” Jack said.
    â€œCommonwealth law.” Keating was dismissive. “I prefer the law of hospitality. Which I extend to invited guests.”
    â€œWhy do I think you’re reluctant to call the cops?” Jack asked.
    â€œJack,” Caroline said, “we did trespass.”
    â€œForgive me my trespasses—” Jack started.
    â€œAs I forgive those,” Keating said, “I guess that means you two—who trespass against me.”
    â€œWe’re looking for your son,” Caroline said.
    â€œYou’re welcome to play hide-and-seek with him in this old white elephant,” Keating said. “We don’t run into each other much in here.”
    â€œFamily’s all anyone’s really got,” Jack quoted Bix.
    â€œFamily is what we have to free ourselves from,” Keating said. “I’m a good example of what happens when you don’t. Robert, too.”
    â€œHistory’s prisoners?” Jack asked.
    â€œFrom an early age,” Keating said, “a family like mine instills in you a powerful Stockholm Syndrome.”
    â€œYou’ve got the key,” Jack said. “Why don’t you let yourself out?”
    Keating turned to Caroline and said, “Your rude friend’s people must have short memories.”
    â€œIf you mean,” Jack said, “we don’t practice ancestor worship, you’re right.”
    â€œYou can’t worship what you don’t know,” Keating said.
    â€œFunny,”