Read Online Fall from Grace by Richard North Patterson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Richard North Patterson
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“Meaning?”
“I want to know what happened the night he died.”
A veil seemed to fall across Teddy’s features, leaving him expressionless. “Damned if I can tell you. The bastard took his curtain call without inviting me to share the moment. Typical.”
“Did you see him at all that night?”
From behind the mask Teddy watched his brother’s face. “I barely saw him, period. It seemed to suit us both.”
“Did you talk to anyone? In the family or outside it?”
Teddy sighed. “The police asked me all this, Adam. Truth to tell, I really can’t remember. If I’d known it was his final sunset, I’d have taken better notes.”
“Do you agree that he was acting strangely?”
Teddy shifted on the stool so that one side of his face was in shadow. For the first time his voice, though level, was faintly accusatory. “As I keep reminding you, we didn’t hang out together. Maybe I lived a hundred feet away, but you were the one he wanted here. For him, looking at you was like gazing in the mirror. How could he not love you? But I grew up without a father. Why do you think that changed?”
Adam became pensive. “It’s just odd,” he finally said. “The way he died.”
“Falling off his favorite cliff? Actually, the image gives me a certain pleasure.” Abruptly, Teddy turned away, speaking in a different voice, rough and low. “Listen to me. Our father dies, and all that’s left to me is hollow jokes. God knows how much I wanted to love him, and him to love me. Even though I knew it was impossible.”
Adam felt a wrenching sadness—not for his father, but for those whom he had harmed and would continue to harm. “We’re taught to believe in archetypes,” he replied. “Families are warm, parents love their children, fathers cherish their sons. But that’s not how it was. Believe me, he did real damage to us both. I just resemble him too much for you to see that.”
Teddy regarded him with open curiosity. “Strange, isn’t it? The son he wanted was the one who cut him off.”
The unspoken question lingered between them. “It was instinctive,” Adam said. “Like the reflex that tells an animal when to run.”
Ted gave him a look of silent appraisal. “There’s something else that’s odd,” Adam ventured. “Carla Pacelli.”
“That’s odd?” An incredulous smile spread across Teddy’s face. “It’s classic Benjamin Blaine—a beautiful actress, thirty years younger. It would have been odd if he hadn’t gone for it.”
“Maybe so. But this attachment somehow feels deeper than his norm.”
“I couldn’t really say,” Teddy responded in his driest tone. “Our father didn’t confide in me about male–female relations.”
Nodding, Adam looked around the room. He saw now that it made a perfect studio for Teddy, containing the elements his brother had explained to him long ago. There was wall space for his finished work, ample room for a table on rollers, its surface covered with multicolored oils and cups filled with paintbrushes. The main window faced north, admitting a steady light, and during the day the skylight would illuminate Teddy’s easel. It was possible, Adam reflected, that the work Teddy could do here allowed him, at least for a time, to forget the man who owned it. And then a painting on the wall caught him up short. As stark as the others, it portrayed an image Adam had seen a hundred times before, the sun setting over the promontory from which their father had fallen to his death.
Teddy followed his brother’s gaze. “A memory painting,” he said evenly. “As I told the police, I haven’t gone there in years.”
Adam met his eyes. “Even though it’s literally in your own backyard.”
“Even so. Then and now, I hated that place.”
Remembering the truth of this, Adam fell silent. At length, he said, “It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?”
Teddy still stared at the painting. “With many more to come. Maybe we can rent our family home from the
“I want to know what happened the night he died.”
A veil seemed to fall across Teddy’s features, leaving him expressionless. “Damned if I can tell you. The bastard took his curtain call without inviting me to share the moment. Typical.”
“Did you see him at all that night?”
From behind the mask Teddy watched his brother’s face. “I barely saw him, period. It seemed to suit us both.”
“Did you talk to anyone? In the family or outside it?”
Teddy sighed. “The police asked me all this, Adam. Truth to tell, I really can’t remember. If I’d known it was his final sunset, I’d have taken better notes.”
“Do you agree that he was acting strangely?”
Teddy shifted on the stool so that one side of his face was in shadow. For the first time his voice, though level, was faintly accusatory. “As I keep reminding you, we didn’t hang out together. Maybe I lived a hundred feet away, but you were the one he wanted here. For him, looking at you was like gazing in the mirror. How could he not love you? But I grew up without a father. Why do you think that changed?”
Adam became pensive. “It’s just odd,” he finally said. “The way he died.”
“Falling off his favorite cliff? Actually, the image gives me a certain pleasure.” Abruptly, Teddy turned away, speaking in a different voice, rough and low. “Listen to me. Our father dies, and all that’s left to me is hollow jokes. God knows how much I wanted to love him, and him to love me. Even though I knew it was impossible.”
Adam felt a wrenching sadness—not for his father, but for those whom he had harmed and would continue to harm. “We’re taught to believe in archetypes,” he replied. “Families are warm, parents love their children, fathers cherish their sons. But that’s not how it was. Believe me, he did real damage to us both. I just resemble him too much for you to see that.”
Teddy regarded him with open curiosity. “Strange, isn’t it? The son he wanted was the one who cut him off.”
The unspoken question lingered between them. “It was instinctive,” Adam said. “Like the reflex that tells an animal when to run.”
Ted gave him a look of silent appraisal. “There’s something else that’s odd,” Adam ventured. “Carla Pacelli.”
“That’s odd?” An incredulous smile spread across Teddy’s face. “It’s classic Benjamin Blaine—a beautiful actress, thirty years younger. It would have been odd if he hadn’t gone for it.”
“Maybe so. But this attachment somehow feels deeper than his norm.”
“I couldn’t really say,” Teddy responded in his driest tone. “Our father didn’t confide in me about male–female relations.”
Nodding, Adam looked around the room. He saw now that it made a perfect studio for Teddy, containing the elements his brother had explained to him long ago. There was wall space for his finished work, ample room for a table on rollers, its surface covered with multicolored oils and cups filled with paintbrushes. The main window faced north, admitting a steady light, and during the day the skylight would illuminate Teddy’s easel. It was possible, Adam reflected, that the work Teddy could do here allowed him, at least for a time, to forget the man who owned it. And then a painting on the wall caught him up short. As stark as the others, it portrayed an image Adam had seen a hundred times before, the sun setting over the promontory from which their father had fallen to his death.
Teddy followed his brother’s gaze. “A memory painting,” he said evenly. “As I told the police, I haven’t gone there in years.”
Adam met his eyes. “Even though it’s literally in your own backyard.”
“Even so. Then and now, I hated that place.”
Remembering the truth of this, Adam fell silent. At length, he said, “It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?”
Teddy still stared at the painting. “With many more to come. Maybe we can rent our family home from the
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