A Fine Line by William G. Tapply Page A

my hand. “Keep him as long as you want.”
    Henry was lying there with his chin on his paws watching us. His eyes snapped back and forth to our faces as we talked.
    I handed his leash to Julie. She clipped it onto his collarand stood up. Henry pushed himself to his feet, arched his back, then waddled over to me.
    “You’re with Julie,” I said to him. “She’s the boss now. Please behave yourself. You’re going to a loving home. You’ll have a great time.”
    He looked up at me and wagged his tail.
    I reached down to pat his head. He licked my hand.
    “Look,” I said to him. “It’s just for the weekend, okay?”
    “Maybe this is a bad idea,” said Julie.
    “Go,” I said. “Now. Please.”
    Julie started for the door. “Come on,” she said to Henry.
    He cocked his head and looked at me.
    “For God’s sake, just go,” I told him.
    After they left, I sat down on my sofa, put my feet up on the coffee table, and lit a cigarette. Free at last, Lord. A glorious weekend ahead of me. No responsibility, no obligation, no dog whining at me.
    I called Evie at her office and asked her if she’d decided whether she wanted to come fishing with me tomorrow. She said she’d made a plan with her friend Mary. They were going to meet at the Arnold Arboretum, stroll around looking at the trees and shrubs, then have an early dinner at one of the sidewalk cafes on Newbury Street before Mary headed back home. Evie said she intended to come to my place for a Saturday-night sleepover afterward, if that was okay by me.
    That was terrific by me. I told her to let herself in and make herself at home if I wasn’t there. I was going to be off fishing, and she might get there first.
    After I hung up with Evie, I called Charlie McDevitt. Hecouldn’t go fishing, either. One of his kids was in a weekend soccer tournament in Connecticut, and Charlie had volunteered to be one of the chaperones.
    I tried Doc Adams, but he and Mary were heading off to their place on the Cape.
    Well, the hell with my friends. They were tied down with kids and wives. Me, I didn’t even have a dog to tie me down. I could go fishing any time I wanted. I didn’t mind going alone. I thought I’d head for the Squannacook River out in Townsend. It was a nice little trout stream, and I hadn’t fished there for a couple of years. It was only a little more than an hour’s drive from the city. I could fish ’til dark and still have my Saturday night with Evie.
    The best of all possible worlds.
    I got to Remington’s a little before six-thirty and found an empty booth near the bar. Ben Frye ambled in a few minutes later. He slid in across from me and slapped a manila envelope down on the table.
    “The letters?” I said.
    He nodded. “Now you got ’em. Now they can stop harassing me. But I’m still pissed at you.”
    “So are they authentic?” I said.
    Frye shrugged. “I didn’t have a chance to test the ink and paper. That’s very delicate work, not something I do in my office. I go to a lab for that. I didn’t even take the letters out of their plastic sleeve. I heard about Duffy before I got around to that, decided I better just give ’em back to you. But the handwriting, the syntax, the sketch, it all looks like Meriwether Lewis to me. They could be forgeries, but I don’t think they are. Anyway, they’re yours now.”
    The waiter appeared. I ordered a gin-and-tonic. Ben asked for scotch. “So what happened to Duffy?” he said after the waiter left.
    “What I told you on the phone,” I said. “He fractured his skull. I found him out in his patio. He was unconscious when I got there. They tried to operate, but he died on the table.”
    “You
found him?”
    I nodded. “He asked me to come over. Said he had something he wanted to talk about. When I got there, he was lying on the bricks.”
    “So what’d he want to talk about?”
    “He didn’t say.”
    Ben shook his head. “You never know, huh?”
    I nodded.
    Ben looked up. Our waiter