A Borrowed Man Read Online Free PDF Page A

then. When I was stuck on The Ice-Blue Kiss I’d work on this for a while. At first it was meant to be a short story.”
    Colette smiled and gave the water a little extra splash.
    â€œIt kept growing and growing. I didn’t mind, but sometimes I felt guilty about working on it. I knew it would never make any money.”
    â€œWas that all you cared about, Mr. Smithe? Making money?”
    I flipped through the pages while my brain took care of the heavy lifting; it was sort of like petting a dog. “Obviously not, since this didn’t.”
    â€œAnd so the money’s still in the book, still locked up in there. Money or power, and they’re the same thing at bottom. If you’ve got money you can get power, and if you have power you can get money. Matter is energy and energy is matter. I always put a question or two about that on the final.”
    â€œThe interchange of matter and energy is a pretty big leap from the paltry fact that your father had locked this copy in his safe.”
    â€œIt isn’t just that.” Colette was not smiling.
    â€œI didn’t think it was. What’s the rest?”
    â€œI’ve told you a little about my poor brother. About Conrad, Junior.”
    â€œYou’ve told me that he gave you this book. Almost nothing beyond that.”
    â€œAnd I told you he was the one who had Father’s safe opened. He went straight to Spice Grove to tell me about it, gave me this book, and went back to New Delphi. I think he must have been murdered that same day.”
    Maybe two or three times in your whole life you feel the chill, and that was one of those times for me. I asked, “Someone killed him?” The minute the words came out, I knew how stupid it must have sounded.
    Colette nodded. “The police told me the killer had gotten him as soon as he stepped into the house. His bag had been opened and searched there on the floor of the reception hall. The rest of the house had been searched, too. In the bedrooms, dresser drawers were pulled out and dumped, and so forth. The policeman told me all about it. Do you want his name? I’ve got his name somewhere.”
    I said, “Not now.”
    â€œHe said they were looking for something, and it seemed as if they hadn’t found it. All the books in Father’s library had been pulled off their shelves and thrown on the floor. Two or three hundred real paper books. It must have been an awful mess.”
    I had gotten on top of the chill by then. “You didn’t see it?”
    â€œNo. The police told me about it. This one policeman did, mostly. Of course I was tempted to tell him about that book you’re holding, but—”
    â€œIt didn’t seem wise. You were probably right.”
    Colette nodded gratefully. “Later I called Bettina Johns; she’s an old school friend and lives near there. She went over and looked at everything, and it sounded just dreadful. She—”
    I interrupted. “How did Bettina Johns get into the house?”
    â€œThe maid ’bot let her in. The ’bots are still there, I think four of them. Anyway she told me about a company called Merciful Maids. They specialize in cleaning up the homes of dead people. Those homes are often disorganized and dirty—this is what they told me.”
    â€œI understand.”
    â€œThe late owner is ill and unable to take care of things for weeks and weeks before she dies. Often, they said, her friends and relatives steal things, anticipating the owner’s death. All Merciful Maids’ employees are bonded, and there will be half a dozen or so in the house at the same time, one waxing the floors while another cleans up the kitchen and two more dust. One or two more—these are upper-level employees—make an inventory. I hired them to straighten the place up.”
    â€œDo they use ’bots? I’ve been told they have certain disadvantages, but they wouldn’t