A Wager of Blood

By J. W. Coffey

When dicing with the devil, the wager is always blood!

The Thornton Inn has a past; a bloody and violent past of murder and disappearances. Zach Harper knows that only too well. He also knows that the smell of blood and death fills the air again. And another victim has disappeared -- his wife's best friend. The police blame him. But the Inn itself is to blame.

It will all come down to a game of chance -- and a bloody ending for someone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edin Road Press
• Release date: Oct 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781519913074

Book preview

Other Titles by the Author

Illusions & Reality

The Savior

The Brothers Cameron: An Opportunity for Resentment

Salt of the Earth

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Foreword

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I was a big fan of Unsolved Mysteries and one particular episode was about Civil War haunting. I remember one segment featured a building that, during the war, had been a hospital. The woman relating the story of her experience told the story about taking the elevator to the parking garage and the doors opening on to the haunting.

I watched that episode in fascination; the woman said it was so real that it was as if the doctor in the foreground could see her when he looked up. And I asked myself, what would have happened if she'd stepped off that elevator? I wrote A Wager of Blood to answer that question for myself.

What started out to be a short ghost story turned into a walk through someone's nightmare. I hope it unnerves you read it as much as it unnerved me when I wrote it.

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Table of Contents

Other Titles by the Author

Foreword

Roll the Bones

Part One – The New Shooter Steps to the Line

Part Two – Seven's a Bruiser, The Front Line's a Loser

Interlude I – The Stickman and the Come Out Roll

Part Three – Betting the Pass Line

Part Four – One on the Rail

Interlude II – Winner on the Dark Side

Part Five – Two Rolls and No Coffee

Part Six – The Natural

Part Seven – Eighter from Decatur

Interlude III – A Pair of Aces in the Wrong Places

Part Eight – A Square Pair

Part Nine – The ''Don't Come'' Bet

Part Ten – The ''Don't Pass'' Bet

Interlude IV – The Snake's Eyes

Part Eleven – I Can't Read 'er, She's In the Cedar

Part Twelve – Betting on Ozzie and Harriet

Part Thirteen – The Virgin Principle

Interlude V – An Inside Bet

Part Fourteen – Bring it Out–Eight the Hard Way

Part Fifteen – Press a Bet

Interlude Finale – Crapped Out

Epilogue – Up Pops the Devil

About the author

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Roll the bones

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He parked the BMW and made his way to the club's entrance, his mind on one thing only. His eyes adjusted to the smoky darkness as he stepped through the door. There was only a small crowd tonight, the easier to find what he was looking for. Feeding his way to the bar, he saw several likely candidates but none stood out as just the right one.

He ordered a beer–one of those domestic swill-in-a-bottle types that bore the name of a founding father, as if that elevated it in status. Taking a sip, he saw what he was looking for and made the decision. The man was dressed like a tourist out on the town–a blazer, turtleneck, and jeans; he stood, drinking his scotch and watching the action at the tables.

''You play?''

The prey took the bait. ''No, I don't, not anymore.''

''Neither am I.'' He faked a sip from the bottle in his hand. ''Oh, once upon a time, long ago, I had some success with the bones. It's been a long time.''

''I hear ya, pal.'' A grin spread across blazer man's face.

He thrust out his hand. ''Name's Remy.''

Blazer-man shook the offered hand. ''John.''

''You here on business?''

John nodded. ''Came looking for a little action.''

''Like to hazard the odd wager, do you?''

''Sure.'' John sipped from the glass he held. ''Afraid I'd be no good on this, though. Never got the hang o' these dice.''

''It's simple. You bet on what will come up. Perhaps the shooter will hit craps, perhaps an eight or a six.'' Remy pointed to a woman playing across the way. ''She needs an eight. She could make it the hard way, or shoot a seven and follow it up with the same.''

''Think so?'' John's eyes widened.

''I'm certain, my friend. Care to place a side wager?''

John chuckled and took another drink. ''I'm game if you are.''

''I say she'll make her seven-come-eleven.''

''Alright, Remy, I'll take the chance. And I say you're gonna be paying me well.'' John grinned, confident for a man who had no idea of what he was doing. ''C note?''

''Done.'' Remy reached for his cash, several of the bills falling to the floor as he pulled off the clip.

''Damn, Remy, are you rich?'' John bent down.

Remy smiled, watching John scoop up the bills in his fist. This was going to be too easy.

''You must be if you're throwing money on the floor, son.'' John handed him the bills.

Remy smiled. ''Quite wealthy, actually. And it would seem I owe you that hundred dollars, my friend.'' He pressed one of the fallen notes in John's hand.

John pocketed the bill with a grin. ''Thanks. Just luck.''

''You're better with the dice than you think, John.'' He leaned close. ''I know a place where we can game all we wish and I can surely vouch for the scotch as being top drawer, first rate single malt.''

John's eyebrows rose. ''Sure, I'm all for some gaming. Let's go.''

The drive out of Massachusetts was uneventful, slowed only by a trip through the speed lane in the toll plaza on Route 3. He rolled through just slow enough to allow the camera to scan the barcode on his windshield, but faster than the posted speed warning of ten-miles-per hour. The conversation was free and easy; Remy drove with the top down on his sports car. Tossing on a Doors CD, he turned the sound up loud. John was smiling at him. It was a pleasant drive back to Hudson and Remy was feeling fine when the old colonial building came in to view.

Pulling into the parking lot, Remy unlocked the door and they stepped into the dining room.

''Now, let me get you a real drink.'' Remy poured the smoky amber liquid with a free hand. ''You take rocks?''

''No, thanks. I like my scotch neat.''

''A man after my own heart.'' He handed John the glass. ''A toast to new friendship.''

John raised his glass and clinked it with Remy's, then took a deep swig. ''Mmm. That is good scotch, Remy.''

''Thanks. I only serve the best here.'' Remy touched the glass to his lips again.

''So, this is your place?''

''Yes.''

''You got a nice place, Remy. Real nice.''

''Would you like a tour?''

John nodded, taking another sip. ''Absolutely.''

''How about we start upstairs?'' Remy gestured to the hallway door. ''This used to be an inn, long ago.''

''It's not anymore?'' John hesitated on the stair for a moment, looking up at the landing half way. ''Why not?''

Remy grinned privately. Was this the one? ''Bad blood, actually.''

''Oh.'' John led the way to the second floor, wandering about. He reached out now and again to finger the wallpaper, then moved to the antique tables that stood at intervals in the hallway. He tried a couple of the doors, randomly opening and closing them before he came to the door that Remy was standing next to. He tried that one next and frowned when the handle refused to move. ''This one's locked?''

''Yes, it is,'' Remy replied. ''That room is special. But I can show you.'' He fished the keys out of his pocket and unlocked it, letting it swing open. ''Go on in, my friend.''

John got no further than the threshold. Remy didn't really expect him to go in. The sight and the smell would be enough to freak the poor bastard out. Forget the plastic covered mattress on the bed. Forget what was hanging on the walls. All the elements made the task swift and easy. Before John had time to cry out, the blackjack was out of Remy's pocket. In an instant, John was a crumpled heap on the floor.

Remy was stronger than most gave him credit for being. It was no hardship to drag the man into the room. John stayed unconscious long enough for him to drag the body to the bed, lift him up onto the mattress, and handcuff him to the four corner rings from the bedposts. Remy put the gag over his mouth; not because anyone was going to hear this, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. Pulling the dagger from the table, he set about the cutting–just as John's eyes flittered open and the first muffled scream began.

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(AP) Tyngsboro, Massachusetts

Police filed a missing report today for a John Northrup of Provincetown, Mass. Mr. Northrup was visiting the Tyngsboro area on vacation. Local authorities have called in the FBI for assistance in what may be an interstate kidnapping ring.

Special Agent Bill Denver confirmed that Mr. Northrup was seen in the company of another gentleman and had possibly been transported over state lines. ''We're pursuing all avenues of evidence and we've been checking video from the freeway and the casino that Mr. Northrup and this gentleman were seen at. We don't have the plate or model of the car, but we'll find it.''

Part One

The New Shooter Steps to the Line

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"Frankie! Frankie! Over here, darlin'!'' Meighan Harper jumped up and down on tiptoe trying to get her friend's attention. ''Frankie! Over here!''

She was rewarded with a smile and a wave as the tall redhead came through the gateway. Frankie stepped forward with the small shoulder bag flung over one weary shoulder. Meg wrapped her arms around her and hugged for all she was worth.

''You made it,'' she said with a giggle. ''And you're in one piece! Told ya! Welcome to New Hampshah! You're home, fah shu-ah!''

Frankie laughed in return. ''Well, I'm here. The plane didn't crash and I didn't yark once.''

''See? I told you!'' Meg took the carry-on bag, slinging it over her own shoulder, and led Frankie in the general direction of the baggage claim area.

''Yeah.'' Frankie grinned, visibly relaxing her shoulders into a slight slump. ''But I can't admit you're right all the time. You'd get a swelled head and then where would we be?''

Meg snorted, waving her hand in dismissal at the thought. ''You hush. Let's go get your bags and get you settled back at the hotel.'' She suddenly stopped in her tracks and looked around. ''Wait a minute; where's Sean?''

Frankie sobered, tugging on her ear lobe. ''He, uh, he couldn't come. Something came up at work.''

''Hey, listen; it's not forever, okay?'' Meg linked her arm with Frankie's. ''It's just that I haven't seen you in a long time and I miss you. Come on, come play in my back yard for a while. Please?''

It was a small one, but at least Frankie was smiling again. ''Sure, darlin', sure. Sean told me I needed to get out of town for a while, take a rest. So, here I am.''

''Well, one thing I've always said about Sean, he's a very smart man,'' Meg teased.

That got a laugh from Frankie. ''Absolutely! I totally agree! Come on, let's get the bags.''

They made their way to Meg's modest little sedan and started off. It was quiet until Meg pulled onto the freeway. ''You okay, darlin'?''

''Oh, yeah. I'm great, actually.'' Frankie sighed again. ''I really needed this, Meg, I really did. A week of peace and quiet, just what the doctor ordered.''

''Well,'' Meg said, ''I promise. No intrigue or adventures. Just rest and fall leaves. We'll do some shopping at the craft places. I'll show you some of our historical sites. Get you nice and rested.''

''When have you and I ever gotten together that we didn't have some kind of adventure?''

''Honey, this is New Hampshire. The biggest news lately is those people disappearing in Massachusetts. That last was almost three weeks ago and nothing more since.'' With a shrug, Meg added, ''Here? Boring! And perfect for visiting friends who need rest and relaxation!''

The actual drive from Manchester to Hudson took a little less than thirty minutes. The miles passed, filled with Meg's chatter and Frankie's giggles. Meg pulled into the parking lot of the closest Motel 6 and found a spot near the door. She eased her car into it and turned off the motor.

You know, she said, if Sean's not coming, you can still come to the house. Stay with me and Zach.

Frankie shook her head. No, I want my own space. I can call my old man in the middle of the night and not worry about waking you two up.

Meg smiled; she understood perfectly. ''We'll get your bags upstairs and you settled in. Then, I'll go find Zach and tell him you're here. You two are gonna love each other. I can't wait for you to meet him.''

''From everything you've told me, he sounds wonderful,'' Frankie answered. ''I can't wait to meet him.''

''Well, let's get you checked in so you take a nap, kiddo.'' Meg led as they started towards Frankie's room. ''This is a great place to stay, very comfortable and very New Hampshire. And then, we'll be eating where Zach works, at the Inn.''

''There's another inn?'' Frankie asked.

''Yeah, but it's only a restaurant now,'' Meg told her. ''I don't know why, actually. Zach could probably tell you. He's the manager of the Thornton Inn. They have the best stuffed lobster tails there.''

''Good, I like lobster. As long as I don't have to pick out my dinner, thank you.''

''Oh, you won't,'' Meg answered, shaking her head. ''It's all frozen stuff anyway.''

''So, what's the place like?''

''Wicked cool, darlin'!'' Meg winked, an impish gesture, and giggled.

Frankie fixed a dubious look on her friend. ''Is that good?''

Meg smiled. ''New Hampshire for 'it's great.' Here, if you say 'wicked,' it's the best compliment you can give.''

Frankie returned the smile. ''Okay, filing away for future reference; 'wicked' means good. And Zach knows why the Inn isn't an inn?''

''Zach knows all the local history. He's a buff, you see. You give him half a chance; he'll tell you the whole story of the Inn and the city. Zach knows it all.''

Frankie turned the key in the lock and opened the door. ''Let me guess, it's what attracted you to begin with, right?''

''Oh yes.'' Meg felt the inner stir, that sense of pride she always felt when she could brag about him.

''Meg? Can I tell you something else?''

''Sure, darlin'.''

''You were right about one thing; this place really does feel like home. You know?'' Frankie shrugged. ''Must be because of Sean. He's told me so much about Hudson; I bet I could find my way around in my sleep.''

''I bet you could at that. It's not a very big town!'' She closed the drapes, blocking out the rest of the light before turning back to Frankie. ''And speaking of sleep, you need to lie down and take a nap. I'll be back in about two hours to pick you up. Get some rest because after lunch, we're going shopping!''

Frankie nodded. ''Absolutely. I promised Sean some goodies from home.''

''Then, lay down there, and I'll be back, okay?''

Frankie smiled at her. ''Okay.''

Meg closed the door as quietly as she could and headed off to the Inn. She pulled her car into the nearly empty parking lot, next to Zach's four wheel drive. No sooner had she walked in the front door than she was swept up into Zach's arms. He whooshed her around, having her in giggles. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his lips passionately. Her feet returned to the floor, but his arms never left her waist, nor did his lips leave hers. When the kiss was over, he still held her–looking into her eyes and smiling at her.

Zach was a tall man. He wasn't overly muscular, but he was very well defined. His blue-black hair was long and layered, flowing back from his face in waves. When he was working, he wore it tied back in a ponytail. When he was home, he let it down and Meg loved running her fingers through the thick, soft strands. His eyes were an intense emerald green that were just as warm and brilliant as the gemstone. Zach was a very handsome man, getting a great many looks from other women. But he never returned the looks. He never wanted to, he said, because he had found his soul mate in Meg.

''Well, darlin'.'' He kissed the tip of her nose. ''We best stop that or the help is gonna have something to talk about.''

''Let 'em talk,'' she answered, standing on tiptoe to kiss his lips again.

He gave her another squeeze, then let her go. ''Come on. Let's get set up for lunch rush and you can tell me how your friend is.''

Meg helped him set the tables with the fine linens and flatware, water glasses at each setting. She knew it was something the wait staff would normally be doing, but it was a ritual with the two of them. With his long hours here, they didn't see much of each other during the week, so they took what they could.

She chattered away about Frankie's arrival and where she was staying. She told him about Frankie's ''significant other,'' that he hadn't been able to make the trip. To his credit, Zach seemed genuinely disappointed, and said so.

She put the last setting on the table. ''Well, we'll just have to get him up here, Willow.'' She'd called him that when they were in college, a term of endearment that had stuck. ''By hook or by crook!''

''Yes, we will,'' Zach agreed. ''Done here.''

''Me, too,'' she answered.

''Then, let me get us a pot of coffee and we'll go back in my office for a bit,'' he said. ''The staff can finish up in here. Besides, I want to spend time with my lady, if you don't mind!''

He winked at her and she winked back. She waited until he'd gone into the kitchen to get the coffee before making her way to his office. She had barely cleared the main dining room, standing in the vestibule again, when the smell came over her. It was an unmistakable smell of burning, nauseatingly thick. As if something in the Inn was on fire; and not a good something. Her hand came to her mouth and nose. She had to concentrate to hold back the gorge threatening to rise in her throat.

An exasperated retort of ''Judas!'' caught her attention, giving her something else to focus on besides her roiling stomach. It was one of Zach's favorite curse words when he was irritated. She turned back in time to see him coming through the dining room, shaking his head and carrying two mugs and a carafe. The grimace on his face told her it wasn't good.

''It wasn't bad enough that someone cooked a spoiled roast, but they had to burn the damn thing, too. We'll never get that aired out. I'll have to call for a few cans of air freshener. Get the door for me, honey?''

She opened the door to his office and he set the carafe and mugs on the desk, and went directly to his phone. He dialed a few numbers and made a few pleas. A few phone calls later, he had ordered a case of aerosol air freshener to be delivered within the next fifteen minutes, followed by fresh flowers and a case of scented candles. She unscrewed the lid from the carafe while she waited for him to finish. The steam from the hot coffee gave a slight hiss as the lid came away from the pot. She poured the coffee into the first mug, and handed it to him.

''They'll take care of it, honey,'' she said. ''It'll be fine.''

''I hope so,'' he said. ''At least we have the other two roasts in the big oven, and they're okay. And the fish and mussels. Lunch isn't a total loss.''

''You worry too much, Zach,'' she said. ''They'll spray the freshener and it'll take the smell out of the air.''

''I'll tell the servers to go ahead and light the dinner candles,'' he added with a sigh. ''Roses in the afternoon will help a bit. It's bad form, but what the heck, right?''

He looked at her with a hopeful expression and she nodded back to him. ''Sure, honey. No one'll complain, honest.''

He gave her a smile of appreciation and sat down to drink his coffee, blowing across the top of the cup. Meg set the other mug on the edge of the desk. She had barely sat back when the ceramic flew against her thigh and all she knew at that moment was scalding pain from the boiling hot coffee on her pants.

''Damn it!'' She dropped carafe and all, grabbing at the waistband of her jeans. She quickly unzipped them and dropped them to the floor.

Zach was on the phone to the house staff. ''Bring me a bucket of ice and a bar towel, fast!'' He moved quickly, easing Meg into the other office chair. Her leg was already turning an ugly red from the burn. There came a polite knock on the door. Zach met it, taking the bucket and towel. He closed the door again and knelt next to Meg. He took a handful of the ice chips and wrapped the ends of the white towel around it. ''Oh, darlin', that does not look good.''

Meg fought back the tears from the pain, giving him a wounded smile. ''It's not that bad, honey, really. I got my jeans off fast and it doesn't look like it's gonna blister.''

''Well, let's get this ice pack on it.'' Zach's brow furled in his concern. Gently, he eased the ice pack on the red mark. ''Meg, honey, what happened?''

Without thinking, hurting from the scald, Meg just blurted out, ''This place hates me, Zach. I know it! It hates me!''

''Meg; now you know that's not possible, honey. It's just a very old inn; it can't hate you.''

She covered his hand with her own, and he stopped, watching her with concern.

''Willow, I know what I know.'' She was struggling not to cry. She took a deep breath and went on. ''Zach, every time I come in here, it's always something. That smell, it isn't just the roast. I smell that every time I come in here.'' Her words started to rush out of her now. ''I know that coffee cup got thrown, Zach. I wasn't touching it, honest. I wasn't! And, before, when I've come, I can...I can....''

''Meg, honey, easy.'' His other hand came up to her face, and now the tears did come. ''Oh, honey,'' he murmured and took her into his arms.

The pain in her leg came back, but not as severely now, and it was easily forgotten in her crying.

''Shh, honey, shh. I'm not going to laugh at you. Tell me what happened. When you've come before, you could what?''

She nodded and sniffed back the rest of her tears. He handed her the box of tissues from his desk, and went back to icing down her burn. He always knew that when she needed to talk, she needed to avoid eye contact. It always made it easier for her, less like she was being stared at.

''Zach, the fireplace.''

He looked over his shoulder at the carved stone on the far wall. The face of it was marble, stark white with streaks of pyrite running through it. The stone had been carved with wildflowers from the area, and the stonemason had chiseled them into the hearth and liner stones.

''What, Meg? It's just a fireplace.''

''No, it's not,'' she insisted. ''I...I see them, Willow. I see the eyes. Every time I come in here, I can see it watching me.'' She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. ''And, I can hear someone laughing,'' she said, cautiously. ''I hear laughing, then screaming.''

His hand stopped moving. When she opened them again, she could see that his face had turned ashen.

''Zach?''

''I, uh; let me get you another mug,'' he muttered. He made to move away, but she stopped him with her hand on his arm.

''Willow, please, why won't you tell me?''

''Tell you what, Meg?''

She cupped her hand under his chin until he was looking into her eyes. ''What is it, Zach? Why does this place hate me?''

Zach took another deep sigh, and stood up with a measured abruptness. ''The place doesn't hate you, Meg! It's an inanimate object; it can't hate. It's just a drafty old inn with a lot of bad memories inside.''

''Yes, it does! Just because you're married to this place isn't going to change that! And I hate this place right back!''

''You stop, right there!'' Zach's fingers clutched his mug with a rare display of temper. ''I am not married to this place! And there's nothing wrong in my loving it. You're being stupid!''

She ducked her head, staring back down at her lap, curling up. He was there in an instant.

''Meg, my darlin', I am so sorry. God, that was rude and uncalled for, and not true at all. I am so sorry, my darlin'.'' It was his turn to cup her chin in his palm and he kissed her lips softly again. ''Please forgive me. Please?''

She nodded. She could never stay angry at him for more than a second or two. But she wasn't going to be deterred. ''Please, Zach, tell me?''

Zach kissed her again before standing. He sat down on the edge of his desk and began to play with a letter opener–a replica of an old dagger that they kept in the vestibule. The original had been badly burned and partially melted on one side.

''Willow,'' she said again. ''What is it about this place? What secret can be so bad?''

''Alright,'' he agreed. ''Meg, it's not a secret, not really. Hell, the Thornton family practically made a fortune on the story and the publicity. But there's truth and then, there's truth. You know?''

''What truth, honey? What is it you can't tell me?''

He started to twirl the opener on its end, the point sticking into his desk blotter. ''Meg, it could cost us. I mean, we get a good lunch crowd and a really good supper group, too. If people found this out, they might stay away, and it would hurt business.'' He dropped the metal object back on the desk. ''I can't tell you all of it. But, I can tell you the history, I guess.''

''Then, tell me.''

He took a deep breath. ''You know the Inn was originally built in 1775, right?''

She nodded.

''Well, it was a way station for the coach from Boston heading north. It was originally owned by the Harper family.''

Meg's eyes widened. ''The Harper family?''

''Yeah. See, that's why I wanted to work here. It was a piece of my family. But, that's not the story. I don't know how the Thornton family got it; it doesn't matter. It was the Thornton Inn on the books before the end of the Revolutionary War. Back then, it really was an inn. But, something happened. The place burnt down.''

''What do you mean? Lightning? Was it set deliberately? What?''

He shrugged. ''The Inn burned down. In fact, that fireplace and chimney were the only things left standing. Every timber, every room–everything was burnt to cinders but the fireplace and the stone hearth. And they found four bodies, burned beyond recognition, and that dagger in the case out there. It was the story passed down through the Thornton family that really got me interested.''

''Which is?''

''The story is that Newell Thornton was engaged to wed a Frances Parker, but she was seeing another man, an Ian Northington. Old Man Thorny painted a real slutty picture of Frances. Said she was sleeping around with anyone male and embarrassed the Thornton family.'' He took another sip of the coffee.

''So, how did the Inn burn?''

''Thorny said Frances started it,'' he answered. ''That she found out that my Great-great-great–never mind, you get the picture. Uncle Matthew and his wife, Hannah, were helping Ian to break it off with her. Thorny said she took an old family heirloom, that dagger, and stabbed Ian in the heart, where he slept, and did Uncle Matthew and Aunt Hannah as she found 'em. They found Newell in the barn, covered in blood and muttering to himself. He'd gone off the deep end.''

''What do you mean, 'gone off the deep end?'''

He blew out a short breath. ''See this is the part that old Thorny doesn't want gettin' out. He went insane that night, Meg. They had to lock him up in an institution for his own good.''

Meg shook her head. ''Zach, what happened? Do they know?''

''No, not with any certainty,'' he answered. ''Thorny thinks Newell might have found them and flipped out from how bad it was. He says the man wasn't all that stable, according to the family letters.''

''Didn't he ever say anything?''

''Who, Newell?''

''Yes.''

Zach shook his head. ''No, never did. When they put him in the asylum, he was babbling about not being shamed and how he would never get the smell off of him, about how women were the evil of the world, that kind of thing. After a while, he just became catatonic. Thorny said the family would visit, but he didn't even know they were. He said they always blamed the Parker woman for it all.''

Meg sat back in the chair, and absently ran her fingers over the wet spot on her jeans. The story was unsettling to say the least, but something didn't make sense to her.

''Are you okay, honey,'' Zach asked.

''Oh yeah,'' she reassured with a smile. ''I'm fine. It didn't blister and it doesn't even hurt anymore.'' A sudden thought came to her. ''Zach, why didn't you want to tell me?''

Meg heard a soft knock and Zach looked over her shoulder to the door. She turned around to see Katie standing there.

''Mr. Harper? We're ready to open, sir.''

Zach flashed one of his managerial smiles and nodded. ''Thanks, Katie. I'll be right out.'' The door closed again and he turned his attention back to Meg. He started rolling down his sleeves and buttoning his cuffs. ''Honey, I hate to do this....''

''I know; duty calls.'' He let her help him button the cuffs