Hannibal Rising Read Online Free PDF

windows, square windows, rectangular windows, even a few round ones. A fortune had been spent on the glass alone. Pickleman casually mentioned that the mansion had fifty-seven rooms. Fargo marveled that it wasn’t more.
    Over a dozen outlying buildings surrounded it. There was a barn, a separate stable for the horses, a blacksmith shop, servants’ quarters, a gardener’s hut, a woodshed, and more. A quarter-acre of rosebushes was a testament to the money lavished on the grounds.
    An army of servants attended to the family’s needs. All the male servants wore the same purple uniforms as the dead driver, James. All the maids and cooks and cleaning ladies wore purple dresses that went clear down to their ankles.
    Roland Clyborn escorted them back to the carriage. He was quiet on the ride but kept glancing at Fargo as if puzzled by something. The only time he spoke was when Pickleman asked him what he had been doing on the road so late.
    “I was on my way to the hunting lodge,” Roland replied. “No one has been there in a while and Sam wanted me to be sure the servants have gotten things ready. I don’t think it’s necessary but Sam never has seen the hired help as entirely reliable.”
    The two men with him wore purple uniforms. Neither reacted to the insult.
    “Is everyone else ready for tomorrow?” the lawyer asked.
    “They more or less hate the idea but it’s not as if any of us have a choice,” Roland responded.
    “Don’t blame me. All of this was your father’s idea and he was a tad eccentric.”
    Roland snorted. “That’s a polite way of saying he wasn’t sane. But we both know better, don’t we? My father was the sanest man alive. He never did anything without a reason.”
    “True,” Pickleman said. “Which makes me believe his motive in this case was to make all of you suffer.”
    Fargo interrupted with, “Suffer over what?” He figured it had something to do with his being sent for.
    “You’ll find out soon enough. I don’t daresay. Sam has reserved that right.”
    “And what Sam wants, Sam gets,” Roland said.
    After that, not a word until they came to the victoria. Roland had stopped the runaways and tied them so they wouldn’t go anywhere while he and the servants raced up the road to find out what had happened to Pickleman.
    The mansion was half a mile farther.
    “How much land does the Clyborn family own?” Fargo asked over his shoulder as the lights came into sight.
    Pickleman chuckled. “You’ve been on Clyborn property since we left Hannibal. Tom Senior laid claim to ten square miles of prime woodland, in addition to his other holdings.”
    Light lit every window. From a distance it lent the illusion of being a small town.
    As soon as they rode up, servants rushed to take their mounts and tend to the carriage. Roland gave orders that the driver’s body be carried to the springhouse and wrapped in a blanket until the carpenter could make a coffin.
    “You have your own carpenter?” Fargo asked.
    “We have our own everything,” was Roland’s reply.
    “Someone will have to inform Marshal Lamar first thing in the morning,” Pickleman said.
    Roland turned. “What for? His jurisdiction ends at the town limits. The one to report this to is Sheriff Edes.”
    “I happen to know that the sheriff is off at the capital with his deputy and won’t be back for a week to ten days. By then we’ll have to bury the body or it will stink to high heaven.”
    “I don’t like involving Marshal Lamar.”
    “It can’t be helped. The murder must be reported,” Pickleman insisted.
    A gray-haired servant reached for the Ovaro’s reins. Fargo motioned him away and said curtly, “No.”
    The servant looked questioningly at Roland Clyborn.
    “Your animal will be taken good care of, I assure you.”
    “I’ll tend to my horse myself.”
    “That’s what the servants are for,” Pickleman said. “Why do anything we don’t have to?”
    “I’m not sure I’m staying.” Fargo didn’t