“You bet your sweet aunt Matilda it is!” Horace said. “Come on in. Take a load off.”
He had remembered the feather duster at the last second, hiding it behind his back as he waved the guy toward the family room.
“I’m Horace,” he said. “My wife, Betty, is in the kitchen, brewing.”
“Brewing?”
“Coffee. Decaf. Want some?”
“No, thank you, but perhaps a glass of water. It’s very warm for October, don’t you think?”
“Hot as Africa,” Horace said.
The bald guy had come into the family room. Horace trotted after him.
“And here he is,” Horace said. “Here is Alfred Kropp.”
“I know who Alfred Kropp is,” the bald guy said, smiling at me. He had very small teeth with sharp incisors, like a ferret, though I’ve never really studied a ferret’s mouth. He offered his hand and I took it without getting up. His hand was moist and soft.
“My name is Alphonso Needlemier, Alfred,” he said.
“What a pleasure it is to finally meet you.”
Behind him, Horace turned and shouted toward the kitchen, “Betty! Nix the coffee and bring us some ice water!”
“No ice,” Alphonso Needlemier said.
“Nix the ice!”
“But chilled, of course.”
“Chill it!” Horace yelled over his shoulder. “Take a load off, Mr. Needleman.”
“Mier,” the bald guy said.
“Mier?”
“Needlemier.”
Mr. Needlemier sat on the opposite end of the sofa and placed his briefcase on his lap. Horace sank into the lounger and tossed the feather duster behind the chair.
“You’ve been following me,” I said to Mr. Needlemier.
“I have.”
“Why?”
“Mostly to satisfy my own curiosity.”
“That killed the cat,” Horace said. “But who likes cats?” He yelled, “Betty! Water!” He smiled apologetically at Mr. Needlemier.
“The resemblance is not striking, but evident,” Mr. Needlemier said.
“The resemblance to what?” I asked.
“To Mr. Samson, of course.”
Just then Betty came into the room carrying a tray with three glasses of water. She had pulled her hair back into a bun, but some strands had come loose and hung down on either side of her face. Mr. Needlemier took a glass of water and thanked her. Horace glared.